Steadying herself on his shoulder she swapped her heels for the flat, sheepskin boots. They were about a size too big but she wasn’t complaining.
“Thanks, Nick.”
“No problem.”
He turned and fled. She bit her lip and checked the screen on her phone.
I’ll call you when I get back. :-) Promise. Alex XXX
She hoped he’d be okay. He hated his parents lashing out at each other in the press. Publicity usually sent him retreating behind a wall of steely silence. Last night had been different. His barriers had come down like never before. If only she could rewind the clock and not fall asleep in his bed. What a twit!
She’d giddily tumbled into bed with Alex, a hot tangle of limbs, breath, skin. The rasp of a zip, feeling her sexy Santa dress fall to the floor, stayed fresh in her mind, even if the rest was hazy. She’d blown her budget on stockings and high heels, but not having anticipated revealing her undies to anyone, let alone Alex, they’d been on the ever-so-slightly unsightly side of things, grey from too many laundry days. Frankly her lingerie – if it qualified to be called that – had seen better days. She cringed, remembering the pause for condoms, uncertainty setting in. Having fruitlessly turned his room upside down, Alex had gone off to see if he could cadge one off a house mate. In a house shared by four guys, a stash had eventually been found. But by then, hit by a wave of embarrassment and beaten by the alcohol, she’d started drifting off to sleep. He’d held her, her hair tangled with his, her head in the curve of his neck, and they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, waking in the cold grey dawn to the realization that in a drunken frenzy they’d almost gone too far.
Except he’d kissed her again and now she was on cloud nine.
Flakes of snow swirled around her. She was having a snow-globe moment. Inside her own little bubble Nick’s words hit home. “Have a nice life.” Alex didn’t realize it yet, but as sure as lucky black cats didn’t wear white boots, the Wells twins were leaving London for good.
They wouldn’t be coming back from LA.
She’d fallen asleep and blown the only chance she’d ever have of making love to the gorgeous guy she’d been really more than a little bit in love with since the moment she’d first looked flirtily into his seductive eyes, and said, “My name’s Magenta, but my friends call me Maggie.”
Chapter One
Oh my giddy aunt! He’s actually on the flight!
What had possessed her when she’d accepted this last-minute styling job? Apart from itchy feet and the promise of a healthy paycheck, there was the decidedly unhealthy curiosity she still harbored over the big what-might-have-been-and-wasn’t-meant-to-be factor.
Secretly, she’d always kicked herself that she hadn’t had sex with Hot Vampire Guy when she had the chance. Frankly, she should be over all that. And she was. Really, she was.
Magenta Plumtree, fashion-stylist-on-a-mission, boarded the flight from London Heathrow to Boston clutching her cabin baggage so tight that her knuckles turned white. A British magazine had hired her to fly out and style twin celebrities, Alex and Nick Wells, in two fashion shoots scheduled to coincide with the promo for the final series of their top-of-the-ratings television show, Mercy of the Vampires. It was all very last-minute and a bit of a shock.
The flight attendant, a blonde bombshell with a candy-pink pout, checked her boarding card.
“You’ve been upgraded to Business.”
To her right, bursting at the seams, Economy buzzed with passengers stowing carry-ons.
“I have? How come?” She almost high-fived Blondie. She’d lucked in. For once. Delighted to be moving up in the world, she turned left.
Yay.
Then again. Not so yay. Of course there was a drawback. The empty seat was smack-bang next to super-sexy vampire actor Alex Wells. In this position many women would have imagined they’d died and gone to heaven. Not so Magenta. She winced. She’d braced herself for working with him in Boston. She hadn’t planned on travelling with him, or being bowled over by his fabulousness. These days he was just another celebrity clothes hanger. It was her job to pick him out some knock-out fashion items. Unusually for her she was lost for words.
He flicked her an arrogant glance up and down from behind dark glasses.
“Hey.”
She reeled. One rumble was enough to make her heart drop into her freebie, perk-of-the-job designer boots. “Hey.” Her terse echo masked intense, self-conscious attraction. With a perfunctory smile, she sat down and snapped on her seatbelt.
Big comfy seat. Masses of leg room. Nice.
They ignored each other through the spiel about life jackets and no smoking in the toilets. She picked up the emergency-procedure leaflet and gave it the benefit of her undivided attention for longer than was strictly necessary.
After take-off a star-struck flight attendant batted her eyelashes at Alex with a dose of not-so-professional allure. “Complimentary champagne, Sir?”
He removed his sunglasses. “Don’t mind if I do,” he quipped, infamous Wellsian charm much in evidence. How did he manage to pull off that cool twinkle? He turned his penetrating gaze on Magenta. “Join me?”
“No thanks.” She declined the bubbly, and the flight attendant substituted champagne with orange juice.
Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “What happened to your party-girl tendencies?”
She tried him with a couple of lame excuses. “I’m detoxing. Anyhow, alcohol and jetlag don’t mix.”
He was having none of it. “Go on. Be a devil. You used to be fun,” he joked. “A. Lot. Of. Fun.” She hadn’t seen him for donkey’s years and here he was, large as life, all flirty and fabulous. She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t about to tell him the truth, so she needed another excuse for not drinking. She could hardly claim to be a recovering alcoholic. That would be insensitive given his mother’s history of stints in rehab.
“I’ve just finished a course of antibiotics and, anyway, I’m counting calories.” She tipped her head to one side, exuding fake nonchalance.
Alex sipped from his flute. “No champagne for you, huh? That’s tough.” He checked that the flight attendant was out of earshot and whispered so she wouldn’t hear. “It’s not properly chilled. It pretty much tastes like fizzy bath water – if that’s any consolation, Maggie.”
The mini champagne bottle looked perfectly chilled. Was this Alex being considerate? She didn’t know what she’d expected from the man who’d walked away without saying goodbye, but it definitely wasn’t quips about tepid champagne.
His incendiary eyes ignited a touch paper of acute embarrassment topped off with a sprinkling of nostalgia. Her heartbeat skipped, like an awkwardly timed hiccup. She laughed, jittery. His voice was all actorly. Posh – sort of. Not marbles – more velvety, like rich, dark, melted chocolate. So much for having got over the effect he’d had on her in their student days.
He sounded kind of mid-Atlantic, half-Brit, half-American. De-lish. And altogether too smooth. What was it about that soft rumble? He made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention.
“No one’s called me Maggie since …” She stopped abruptly. Um. You did. Way back when. “… It’s Magenta now.”
“Magenta Plumtree – fashion stylist to the stars.” Did she detect a hint of cynicism?
“I wouldn’t go quite that far.” A lump formed in her throat. “Until now, that is.”
He snared her gaze. The moment lasted a second too long. Even after all this time, she could lose herself in his dreamy eyes.
“You’re still just plain Maggie to me.” His delectable drawl gave her tingles. The orange juice sloshed. She set it down on the tray table, eyes fixed on it as if she’d just found a fly floating in there. Avoiding Alex’s roguish face, she studied her blue nails, the only soupçon of color in her meticulously monochrome appearance. She pinched the skin on the back of her hand, though a little bit harder than she intended. “Ouch.”
“What are you doing?” he ask
ed.
“Checking you’re not a nightmare.”
He frowned and pinched the back of his own hand. “Well, what do you know? Neither are you.”
A bubble of emotion burst. He compelled her to smile despite her inclination to send him frosty, couldn’t-care-less-about-you vibes.
You’re ridiculously dreamy actually!
The Wells twins’ celebrity status was stratospheric. They had the bad-boy reputations to go with it. Less inclined to publicly flaunt his love life than his scandal-prone brother, Alex maintained an air of mystery. Even so, he’d been the subject of his fair share of gossip over the years.
“So. Long time, no see. How the hell are you?”
She must be hearing things. He’d said “long time, no see”. Despite her annoyance at his cheek, sparks of their once-upon-a-time chemistry flickered. “I’m good. Grr-reat. You?”
“Fine. Busy. Doing promo for the final series of Vampires. She took another hit of his blue eyes and spine-tingly voice, barely listening to the actual words he was saying. “And working on a new project in London.”
Fidgety, she picked up her drink, took a sip and waited for the next question.
“What about you, Maggie? What are you up to these days? Not married or anything?”
Right on cue. More cheek!
“Nope. Not married.”
Maggie met his magnetic stare full on. She sizzled. She had to tough this out. She couldn’t in all honesty add “Or anything”, but she certainly wasn’t about to share her personal life with him. The eyes that wowed women all over the planet from the safety of their TV screens slid to her left hand. No wedding ring.
Flipping flippity flip.
Why couldn’t they be on a posh new plane? Then he’d have his own personal first-class pod to chillax in? Instead of spoiling her upgrade.
“How do you like your upgrade? Shame about the champagne. I hope you don’t mind, Maggie, but I took the liberty of having you moved to Business. It’s been a long time, I thought it might be good to meet, clear the air, ahead of working together.”
Maggie gulped, only just managing not to splutter juice all down her front.
“You upgraded me?” she squeaked. How dare he interfere with her travel arrangements? “There was really no need. I’ll reimburse you.”
He downed his champagne. His eyes scintillated. “It’s a tight schedule. I thought you’d be more comfortable in Business. And I get the pleasure of your company. We can have a catch-up.”
Awkward!
“A catch-up? It’s been ten years, Alex. How long have you got?”
He glanced at his watch and laughed. “About seven hours.”
Even after a decade, he unnerved her with a sense that he could see inside her soul with those penetrating blue irises.
Outrageous.
That was silly. Deluded. It was the TV-star effect. Guys like Alex shouldn’t be allowed in confined spaces – like airplanes. Much too distracting. Flight attendants should be issued with Hot Man Alert signs. By law, or something.
Keep calm and carry on.
Her professional preparedness for the prospect of working with him after all these years had taken on an unexpected turn now that she was sitting next to him. Polite chit-chat she could do. The last thing she wanted was to start spilling out an over-share of personal details as if they’d never lost touch.
“There’s not much to tell. I know transatlantic travel is boring, but I’m not the in-flight entertainment.”
Okay, so long ago in a forgotten land, Alex had been her friend … And they’d fallen into bed together – that one time. She winced. That was before he went off and became famous and dropped her like a hot potato. She fumed. If they were on a bus, she’d hop off at the next stop. Seeing him like this had catapulted her back in time, and she was suddenly a tad out of her depth.
“Go on. Indulge me. Tell me all about it. How did my old mate Maggie become fashion guru Magenta Plumtree?” Alex’s mid-Atlantic voice hypnotized her, weakening her wariness.
His old mate! Really?
“I have my dippy mother to thank for the la-di-da name. The rest, I guess, is down to a lot of good luck and hard work.”
“Not to mention an instinct for style and a flair for all things fashion. Don’t be modest. You’re good and you know it.”
“The truth is I sort of fell into it. I’ve loved fashion since I was a little girl. I guess I like playing dress-up.”
“Good for you for doing what you love.”
He was more heart-stoppingly attractive than he’d ever been, but there was an aura of distance about him. Was this his celebrity bubble? She couldn’t make up her mind if she was annoyed with him for quizzing her, or pleased that he still thought of her as having been a friend. She was intrigued by him, that was for sure.
“I like helping people express their sense of style – whether it’s a special event or a makeover.” She was off. “I love it all. I like putting together looks that are bang on trend, or quirky ones that are a bit of a mash-up, the way we’re doing for these shoots with you and Nick. I love catwalk shows, fashion weeks, shoes – oh my lucky stars – how I love shoes.” She dipped her glance towards her beloved designer boots, wiggled her toes and clicked her feet together in the mode of The Wizard of Oz’s red-shoed Dorothy. “Then there’s the shopping – need I say more? I get to go wild in great cities. New York. London. Paris. I pick up accessories. I find little boutiques off the beaten track. Just last week I found a vintage shop to die for in Montmartre. It’s the best!” He watched her intently. Was he actually interested? He’d always been kind of unreadable. Her heart hammered. The more her pulse raced, the faster she burbled. “I’ve worked with designers and big high-street chains. I don’t have a preference. I can’t get enough of it all.” She forced herself to draw breath. “Sorry.” She sensed the spread of a blush rising up her neck and setting her face ablaze. “I’ll get down off my soap box now. I suppose you could say I’m incredibly shallow.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” She couldn’t believe that he wasn’t completely indifferent, like he’d spotted a vaguely intriguing but ultimately forgettable relic on a between-takes boredom- busting visit to the studio prop store. “There’s nothing wrong with making people feel good about themselves.”
The heat in Maggie’s face began to subside. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail for travelling. On autopilot she undid and re-fixed it. “I guess I’m just a free spirit. Fashion styling suits me. I like working freelance.” She hated that she felt such a strong need to justify her lifestyle. If things went according to plan, she’d have to stop travelling, settle down and try something different. She’d already started putting out feelers, thinking about new directions. “If you must know, I’m planning to make some changes. I’ve been a bit of a rolling stone since uni. I did this and that for the first few months, then I got hired as a temporary Girl Friday for a designer at London Fashion Week. I worked my socks off for her and she gave me recommendations. Before I knew it I was building a reputation as a stylist. And voilà.”
“What kind of changes?”
He’d zapped her cool, if she’d ever had any. Although she’d taken this styling job because she’d felt compelled to find out about the man Alex had become, it hadn’t occurred to her for one moment that he’d want to know about her. He was fabulously good-looking and then some. These days she’d have been happy to put it all down to air-brushing. Seeing him in the flesh reminded her it was so not. He was off-the-charts gorgeous.
“Oh, you know,” she said evasively, brushing her hand through the air as if she could sweep her words away. “I want to settle down. Find something a bit more permanent.”
Fidgety, she pretended to pluck a non-existent piece of fluff off the sleeve of her black designer sweater.
Miles above the Atlantic Ocean, there were hours to go. How was she going to damp down the disastrous fireworks that she thought had died long ago? With any luck it was down to sky
-high hormones, and the plan she was hell bent on not sharing with him. She hadn’t told anyone yet. Not even Layla, her lovely BFF since age zilch. She hadn’t wanted people to try and dissuade her from her decision.
“Your meal, sir.” Alex accepted his tray from the flight attendant turned swoony bimbo.
Maggie identified with her wholeheartedly. Being on the flight with Alex was too surreal – more like riding a rollercoaster. She’d expected to meet him at the shoot and adopt an air of professional distance. Instead the memory of tumbling into bed with him wouldn’t get out of her head. It mortified her.
He’d gone to LA. And he’d never called. She’d forgotten him – kind of not. The problem was that his alter ego loomed everywhere. Hot Vampire Guy, as Layla called him, adorned the walls of Tube stations. His eyes blazed from the sides of red, double-decker London buses. Co-workers at coffee breaks bandied his name around. Alex had been replaced by Jago. And Jago was not a man who went unnoticed.
She was more than a smidge curious about getting a call out of the blue asking her to style Alex and Nick. It was extremely short notice and very unusual. The editor was about to put the magazine to bed when she got the green light for these photo shoots, so the pressure was on to get it right. Maggie was beginning to think that she should have said no. Still, she planned to tack an extra day onto her stay in Boston and go on a whale-watch. It was something she’d always wanted to do. Added to that, her bank balance was healthy enough, but she was in no position to turn down work; especially well-paid editorial work for a top magazine.
The funny timing coincided with a new phase in her life. Some kind of karma? Alex had gone off to a new life and hadn’t contacted her. It wasn’t so much the one-night-flop, although she could have kicked herself about that. It was the silence that hurt. She’d called him half a dozen times, but he hadn’t answered his phone or followed up the message she’d finally left with Nick. Basically, she hadn’t mattered enough for him to say goodbye. She’d been dumped. So she did what she always did. She glossed over it, put on a smile, and moved on. After all, being left behind was Magenta Plumtree’s normal.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 2
