Misbehaving Under the Mistletoe (Mills & Boon M&B): On the First Night of Christmas... / Secrets of the Rich & Famous / Truth-Or-Date.com (Mb)

by Heidi Rice

  Jen’s stereotype of a stylist to the stars involved someone impossibly trendy, bossy to the point of offensive and brutally honest in pointing out things like saddlebags and bingo wings. In pre-emptive self-defence she pasted a don’t-care expression on her face and clung to the hope that he would also be the polar opposite of Elsie when it came to styling skills, and this hideous embarrassment would all be worth it.

  Marlon turned out to be all of these things. He was also camp as Christmas, and greeted Alex with a smacking kiss on both cheeks. She noticed Alex returned the embrace without an ounce of self-consciousness.

  She couldn’t help feeling a touch of admiration. Now, there was a man who was comfortable with his sexuality. Her ex-boyfriend Joe, who worked as a farm hand and who’d put up with her for six months—a personal relationship best—would have deepened his voice and launched into a football anecdote before running a mile.

  ‘This is Jen,’ Alex said, pushing her forward and holding her there, as if he could sense she wanted to bolt back into the background.

  The firm slide of his hand around her waist as he stood just behind her made her stomach flutter with more than just nerves. He was close enough for her to pick up the scent of aftershave on warm skin. She swallowed hard and tried to focus her attention on the stylist.

  Marlon wore a slim-cut shirt with a flower print over skinny black jeans, and his shoes had the sharpest toe-points she’d ever seen. His eyes widened in surprise as she removed the baseball cap Alex had lent her and shook her horrific neon hair free.

  ‘Oh, my darling!’ he exclaimed sympathetically. Then, to Alex, ‘We definitely start with the hair.’ He bustled over and looped his arm through hers.

  She threw a backward glance at Alex as Marlon propelled her from the room. He was settling into the lounge area with its leather sofas and complimentary wi-fi. As she watched he gave her a supportive grin and a wink. Her heart gave a warm and fuzzy little leap in return. He was impossibly gorgeous, and now he’d turned out to be less self-centred than she’d given him credit for. As he opened his laptop she looked away and caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors. She grimaced. That had to have been a sympathy wink. The man dated the likes of Viveca Holt. He wasn’t about to be making eyes at Ronald McDonald.

  Marlon patted her hand comfortingly.

  ‘Don’t worry, sweetie,’ he said. ‘I like a challenge.’

  If that was intended to make her feel better it failed miserably.

  Ushered into a swivel chair in the hair salon and swathed in a protective gown, she was assigned a hairstylist who was intimidatingly young and trendy but who turned out also to be very sweet.

  ‘I did a season on that reality talent show,’ she confided reassuringly. ‘Transforming contestants for the live performances. It takes more than a dodgy dye-job to faze me.’

  A couple of hours and a make-up lesson later and Jen couldn’t believe the girl in the mirror was her. Her new hair colour was gorgeous, with multi-layered tones of toffee and gold, and long layers made it swingy and glossy. The make-up was subtle—a bit of mascara, bronzer and pink-toned lippy. She could blend in easily with the girls at La Brasserie. Excitement bubbled in her stomach. After everything that had gone wrong, she finally felt as if she might be able to pull the article off, after all.

  Marlon reappeared as she stood up and took off the gown.

  ‘You look fabulous, darling!’ he exclaimed delightedly, but then, as she glanced up to smile at him, he caught sight of the High Street jeans and old T-shirt combo she was wearing underneath and pulled a face. ‘Shame about the ghastly clothes. Let’s go and look through this stuff you’ve bought.’ He led the way through another door. ‘Don’t you just love the internet?’

  Her heart sank as she followed him into a dressing room with glossy black floor tiles and a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree range of brightly lit mirrors. She’d be able to view her bony hips and flat chest from every angle. Terrific.

  He ushered her behind a screen.

  Alex flipped idly through his e-mails and ordered another coffee from the starstruck junior. Jen had been gone a good couple of hours now. Enough time for him to finish making notes on a new and exciting script idea which made him itch more than ever to get back to work. Jen was fast becoming the only thing taking his mind off it, and he wondered if there were any other ways he could help her—other contacts he could enlist to help her succeed with her project. Living with her was anything but dull. He never knew what she might throw at him next. He realised with a flash of uneasiness that he was beginning to get off on that unpredictability.

  He glanced through an e-mail from his PR company which recommended that he attend a charity ball this week, despite the fact he thought it would be media suicide. The charity funded grants for underprivileged youngsters wanting to build a career in film and Alex was a patron. Surely with the words ‘casting couch’ hanging over his head it wouldn’t take much for a savvy journalist to come up with some sordid story about his association with them.

  The PR company didn’t see it that way. Reverse psychology, apparently. To be seen at the ball would show he had nothing to hide, that the stories about him and Viveca were groundless tabloid pap when they actually weren’t.

  It struck him with sudden amusement that his desire to party seemed to be disappearing. Since his life after Susan had been rebuilt as one long social event that was pretty damn unheard of for him. After failing so miserably at family life he’d gone for the opposite end of the spectrum, enjoying his situation to the full with no responsibilities to hold him back.

  Worryingly, staying in was beginning to be more attractive than going out.

  Once you realised his bonkers exterior was actually total perfectionism, Marlon turned out to be hilarious. And he was clearly harbouring a huge crush on Alex. He was devoted to him.

  ‘He’s never done this before.’

  Standing in the middle of the circle of mirrors in flesh-coloured underwear, Jen was being treated to a view of her bony straight-up-and-down body that she could most definitely have done without.

  ‘Done what?’ she asked.

  Marlon glanced up from the rail of clothes. She could see her own purchases in there among other stuff. He must have unpacked them while her hair was being fixed.

  ‘Brought in a waif and stray.’ He handed her the catsuit she’d bought with nightclubbing in mind. ‘Put this on.’

  She began to step into it, hackles rising.

  ‘In fact, he’s never brought in anyone on a one-to-one basis like this. We go to him, usually. Film sets. Awards ceremonies. He doesn’t come to us.’

  ‘I am not a waif or a stray,’ she said, trying to look dignified with one leg in and one leg out of the catsuit. ‘We have a working arrangement.’

  He raised sceptical eyebrows at her over the rim of his statement glasses.

  ‘He’s helping me with an article,’ she said. ‘I’m a writer.’ Oh, it filled her with joy to be able to say that to someone. ‘He’s using his contacts, one professional to another.’

  ‘Sweetie, this is the first time he’s ever had me style someone who isn’t on his payroll. So you tell me what that means. And you’re staying with him?’ His voice rose with a hint of awe. ‘People would kill! You’ve got closer than the rest of the population in the last five years. Not for the want of trying.’

  He winked at her and she shook her head at him.

  ‘You don’t understand. We’re not together at all.’

  ‘Not yet, maybe.’

  She didn’t tell him she had Alex over a barrel with the threat of a front page tell-all. It was just so delicious to be thought alluring enough for it even to be plausible that Alex might be interested in someone like her. She opened her mouth to remind Marlon that Alex had seen her at her worst with her neon hair, but he cut her off with his own horrified squawk.

  ‘Oh, my life! What blind, tasteless person chose that?’

  Her intended pirouette in front o
f the scary mirrors in the brightly printed catsuit turned at the last moment into a damp squib of a wiggle. It was a designer label, wasn’t it? Hadn’t it cost practically a week’s wages?

  ‘It cost me two hundred pounds,’ she said pointedly. ‘Second-hand.’

  ‘Sweetie, you were screwed,’ he said to her reflection. ‘Lesson one: bling does not equal class, girlfriend. Just because you spent a fortune on it, does not mean it will look good.’

  He spent the next twenty minutes ordering her in and out of clothes, mixing and matching, adding accessories.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m the first person he’s introduced to you who isn’t working for him,’ she said, dragging the subject back to Alex the first chance she got. ‘I mean, come on.’ She gave him a wink. ‘I’ve seen the papers. He’s always dating.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Marlon mumbled, then removed the pin he was holding in his mouth to speak clearly. ‘He dates. That’s the important word. It never lasts. He’s never really interested and it’s usually a mutual benefit.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Those women he sees—all the same type, usually up and coming. Maybe with a movie in the pipeline or a DVD release to publicise. Nothing like being seen on Alex’s arm to get a bit of exposure, and he gets a no-strings date out of it. Genius.’

  ‘So it’s more of a publicity stunt than anything?’

  Her heart felt suddenly floaty. Maybe his playboy image was just that—hype, the papers twisting things. Perhaps there could be more to his helping her out than the damn agreement between them. He didn’t have to do any of this, after all. She would have been happy with a few nuggets of advice from him. Her stomach felt suddenly melty at the thought of his interest in her being more than just … well, a contractual requirement.

  ‘Well, of course he beds them,’ Marlon said with brutal matter-of-factness, making her floaty heart plummet as if he’d stuck it with a pin. ‘I mean Viveca Holt. Exquisite. Of course he beds them—who wouldn’t?’

  ‘Of course!’ she said, with a chummy laugh that wasn’t quite convincing enough to hide the fact he’d stamped on her feelings. Stupid feelings that she shouldn’t be having.

  ‘That’s all it is, though, darling,’ he comforted her. ‘Don’t you fret. He hasn’t shown any real interest in anyone since the nightmare with his ex-wife.’

  ‘I am not fretting!’ she snapped.

  Marlon made a cynical face. Whatever you say, it said.

  ‘Did you know Susan?’ she asked.

  He pressed his lips together in a hard line.

  ‘The wife?’ He pulled a face. ‘I knew them both. I worked on his first film. I wasn’t long qualified myself, then. She was very normal. Not famous. Miss Ordinary. They were at college together.’

  So Susan was like her, then. Nothing like the film star conquests Alex was linked to now.

  ‘He’s always been very close to his family. Probably thought he had it all. Happy families, career booming. No wonder it hit him so hard when it all went pearshaped.’

  He flicked through the rack of clothes and produced a silk shift dress, cornflower-blue.

  ‘You need to cinch in that waist to give you an illusion of curves while making the most of those legs,’ he said.

  ‘Did it come as a surprise to you when they broke up? she asked, hungry for more information.

  ‘I think it came as a surprise to everyone—including Alex. Imagine that. You build yourself up from nothing, just get to the point where you don’t have to worry about money, and then your wife calls the whole thing off and takes half of everything. Can’t have been easy.’ He fiddled with the waistline of the dress, not looking at her. ‘And of course he didn’t have a pre-nup. He wasn’t anyone at all when they married, so she really did take him to the cleaners.’

  She let Marlon finish the outfit. So the press stories were true. Susan had really hit him where it hurt—in the wallet. No wonder Alex wasn’t keen on promoting any of his conquests from overnight guest to a more permanent position.

  Had he thought he could trust Susan because she knew the real Alex? The one before he became a celebrity goldmine? She could see now why he surrounded himself with superficial relationships.

  She was too preoccupied to be shy about Marlon’s no-feelings-spared advice. By the time he’d put together outfits for casual wear, dinner, cocktails and lunches, she was desensitised to standing in her underwear and wasn’t even cringing any more.

  ‘I’ll just get changed back and then I’ll be on my way,’ she said, when he announced that he’d finished.

  ‘You will not!’

  He grabbed her saggy-kneed old jeans out of her hand, balled them up and threw them in the nearest bin.

  ‘There’s no going back now,’ he said. ‘Wear the clothes. Think class, not chav. Get yourself in character and stay there.’

  He took her proudly by the arm.

  ‘Now, let’s show Alex what he’s missing.’

  Alex glanced up as the door opened, heaving a sigh of relief. He hadn’t banked on it taking this long. Clearly whatever horrific process Marlon had had to put Jen through to restore normality was more complicated he’d expected.

  It was a moment before he saw her because she was shuffling nervously about behind Marlon.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Marlon beamed smugly, stepping aside. ‘Isn’t she just stunning?’ He waited, clearly ready to bask in anticipated praise.

  It took a moment for Alex to reply because his tongue had momentarily stuck to the roof of his mouth. When he’d driven her here this morning, half-eaten toast in her hand, his own borrowed baseball hat jammed over her eyes, she’d been girl-next-door Jen, still hanging her head over the monstrous hair mistake, and in spite of himself he’d been beginning to like having around far too much. Somewhere in the last few hours, under Marlon’s supervision, the double cream skin had become lightly sun-kissed and the ghastly orange hair had morphed into soft golden tresses.

  ‘Wow,’ he said eventually, because he’d only just regained control of the hinge of his jaw. A one-syllable word was about the limit of his capability right now. The golden tan made her blue eyes stand out more than ever, and the blonde highlights and freckled nose with her skinny figure made her look like an off-duty model just back from a shoot in the Bahamas.

  He suddenly wondered at what point he had thought it would be a good idea to let Marlon loose on Jen. After all, she was never going to look less attractive, was she? Focusing on getting her out of her latest scrape with the horror hair and, he had to admit, enjoying the madness of it all along the way, it hadn’t occurred to him that he might be making the situation a whole lot worse. If he was getting off on just being around her when her hair looked like a fright wig, it stood to reason that a makeover was only going to make things a shedload more complicated. He could kick himself.

  A blush rose in her cheeks, making her look prettier than ever, and she ran a hand self-consciously through her hair.

  ‘Does it look OK?’ she asked him. ‘Come on—give me your opinion.’

  There was an awkward smile on her face that told him she wasn’t completely comfortable with this. His heart gave a soft flip. The dark slim jeans made her legs look longer than ever. The shirt looked classy and expensive. She bore little resemblance to the shorts-clad indignant young woman with the bed-hair he’d found in his apartment a few nights ago. His stomach knotted with tension.

  OK didn’t even start to cover it. The collar of his shirt felt strangely tight, and it suddenly seemed degrees hotter in there. The freezing air outside was suddenly attractive. He’d been cooped up way too long.

  ‘Terrific,’ he blurted out. ‘Excellent job, Marlon, as ever. We must get together soon and catch up.’ He stacked his papers on top of his laptop and got to his feet. ‘I need to get back and make some calls.’

  What he really needed was to get out of this situation right now. He ignored her puzzled expression and made for the front door of the studio, bandyi
ng about promises to meet Marlon for lunch soon. Unfortunately not looking at her didn’t go any way at all to numbing his sharp awareness of her as she followed him out, her high heels sounding every step she took on the tiled floor.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS fantastic to wake up and look in the mirror and actually quite like what she saw for a change. Makeovers were seriously underrated, Jen decided. A few blonde highlights and make-up tips and she felt as if she could conquer the world single-handedly.

  As long as the world didn’t include Alex.

  She squashed the churning disappointment she still felt at his lack of enthusiasm yesterday. He’d made barely any comment about her transformation and had disappeared to his study the moment they’d got back from Marlon’s studio. She was furious with herself for minding so much. What was she expecting? That Alex Hammond, who had the pick of the world’s most beautiful women, would swoon at the sight of her in a pair of designer jeans?

  Yesterday had been a turning point. She’d been building their friendship up in her mind when to him it was clearly no more than a distraction from his own problem situation. He’d been sticking to his side of the gag order, nothing more, and she had been a fool to read anything else into it. Well, she was truly back on task now. Being here was all about work, nothing more. She intended to live the rich life properly, really get into character, do her article justice and make the sale.

  Wearing the new jeans and a casual fitted shirt, she made her way to the kitchen for toast.

  He was there, looking at his laptop screen with a face like thunder. He glanced up as she breezed into the room and went to the fridge. She removed a pint of milk and went to switch the kettle on.