The Makeover Read Online Free Page B

nestled her head into his chest. “You’re going to be fine,” he said soberly.
    “Yes I will,” she said authoritatively. “I needed a day to assimilate is all. This is a big city and there are dozens of magazines that would kill for my direction. I’ll shower and dress then make a couple of calls.”
    “That’s my girl,” Henry said, hugging his wife close.
    “Enough about me,” Camellia said, looking up at her handsome husband, “what do you have going on today?”
    “Hospital all day. Can you believe I’ll be finished with my fellowship in three months?”
    “And then I can brag to the girls back home that I’m married to a doctor,” she said with a smirk.
    “Girls back home? Have you decided to renew childhood friendships?” Henry teased.
    “Are you kidding? Our mailbox would be filled with invites for chili cook offs and road rallies.”
    Henry laughed. “You really are terrible. But I love you madly.”
    “No, I’m honest. And,” she paused, squeezing her husband’s hand, “I’m so proud of you, Henry.”
    He smiled and kissed Camellia’s forehead. “It’s still early. Alain won’t be here for another twenty minutes. Would you like me to make some eggs?”
    Camellia’s hand went to her stomach. “Good God, no.”
    Henry’s mouth dropped open, a sly smile forming. “Camellia, you’re not…”
    “Absolutely not,” she snapped. “I’m without a job, not my faculties.”
     
     
     
    Feeling much like her old self in a red Donna Karan pantsuit and Chanel slingbacks, Camellia sat at the desk in the wood-paneled office she shared with Henry, her iPhone in hand. She was scrolling through the phone’s address book, determining the order of magazine publishers she wished to call. As editor-in-chief was the only title she would accept, she knew better than to contact the magazines with beloved figureheads already in that role. Obviously, no one was going to fire Anna Wintour to give her a job, though Camellia thought that was just the kind of move that would invigorate the no-surprises glossy.
    Jean Kingston over at Woman , however, was a different story. She was a too-young editor-in-chief of a rather artistic fashion and beauty magazine, who fell into the position after her predecessor Valerie Brown quit on a whim to marry Italian Indy Car driver Rudy Vianelli and travel around the world. While the adventure would be fun for a while, Camellia felt certain the move had been a huge mistake, and she was right. Less than six months into the marriage, Valerie discovered her new husband was having not one but three affairs, learning about his trysts through a YouTube video made by one of the mistresses, who was feeling betrayed after he brought all three women together in Brazil for a weekend-long orgy.
    Valerie was out of a job and out of a marriage. It was rumored she had taken up with a billionaire playboy, who had no long-term plans for her, but kept her name in the headlines, which suited Valerie for the time being.
    Meanwhile Jean was in a constant state of panic, struggling to stay on top of all her new responsibilities and not look like a cat immersed in water while doing it.
    Camellia tapped the number of Woman ’s publisher, Clinton Cavanaugh, and put the phone on speaker.
    “Mr. Cavanaugh’s office, Ruth speaking. How many I assist you?”
    “Ruth dear, it’s Camellia Rhodes. Is Clinton in?”
    “Um, I’m not sure if he’s in the office yet. Hold one moment please.”
    An instrumental of the B-52’s Love Shack blared from the phone’s speaker. “You know if he’s in, darling,” Camellia said to the music. “His office is located directly behind your chair.”
    The music cut off abruptly as Ruth came back on the line. “Um, I’m sorry Miss Rhodes, Mr. Cavanaugh is in a meeting.”
    “How about voicemail?”
    “No voicemail. I can take a message if you like.”
    Camellia paused, wanting to be harsh but knowing Ruth was the gatekeeper to Clinton. “Ask him to call