Dressed to Thrill

by Bella Frances

  She walked on through the throng. She was even more of hypocrite than he was. She should be ashamed of herself for her lack of integrity.

  Her phone flashed again. She sat on a make-up bar high chair to read the message. Her heart flew, hoping it was from Michael. Her heart sank when she saw it wasn’t. Feared the worst and so it came. There were more capital problems. The transportation costs had been raised. She hadn’t nailed that side of the deal and it was coming back to bite her.

  There was no more scope at the shark bank. So the party. She sighed from her soul. Here we go again.

  * * *

  By the time the fourth glass of actually pretty good-quality fizz had hit the back of her throat Tara had decided that she had nothing left to lose. She was back in her scene. She could mope about. She could play hunt the celebrity—the real celebrities. She could flirt with Lars—except she couldn’t find him. Or she could just drown her sorrows. Like a sackful of unwanted kittens. Boy, she was feeling sorry for herself!

  She checked her phone. A complete waste of time. She had been more than clear with Señor Cruz that he was the last person she wanted to hear from. So why did her sad little heart sink every time she performed this sad little ritual? He was not going to contact her because she’d done everything in her power to push him away. She hated that she could cut people off at the knees. Hated to hurt anyone. Ever. But it was who she’d become in this game of hide and seek that she’d started

  Another glass. Another scout around the place. A trail to the ladies’. There were so many people offering her things tonight…but nothing that was going to do her any good. The new turquoise eyeshadow was stuck in the creases of her eyes. And it made the whites of her eyes look pink. Or was that the drink? She’d get another. Find Lars. He had to be here.

  Stupid shoes. They were too high. She lost her balance and her foot slipped over. Drink spilled on her hand. She licked it.

  The glass was taken from her hand. ‘Hey!’

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  It was him. Michael. It was Michael. Her eyes focussed. A little bit. He was so handsome. He was so beautiful. His golden skin over those perfect bones. That smudge of stubble. She put out her fingers to touch his face. He grabbed her wrist.

  ‘Tara. Are you OK? Had enough to drink?’

  She just wanted to touch him. ‘Hey baby… yes, I’m having a good time! What are you doing here? Have you come to party? You need a drink. Give me mine back and let’s go to the bar.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Wha…a.. at? Come on! There’s such lovely fizz, and I spilled mine.’

  She reached for her glass but he was being weird and wasn’t letting her get it.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ She pouted.

  ‘Tara—you’ve had too much to drink.’

  She tried so hard to stand straight, but one foot wouldn’t find the floor properly. ‘I’ve hardly touched it. Only had two or three…maybe four. Five. Oh, come on, Michael, its a party and I have to find Lars. Give me my drink.’ She swung out an arm to get her glass but he was still being such a killjoy.

  ‘Who the hell is Lars?’

  Who the hell was Lars? ‘I don’t know. Some guy. With money. For me.’

  ‘What? He owes you money?’

  That was funny. She laughed—a bit too hard—and fell against Michael again. It was so nice to fall against him.

  She held onto his shirt. ‘Cruz…’

  But he took her by the arms and held her away from him. ‘Tara. Sober up. Tell me again—what’s the deal with this guy? Does he owe you money?’

  ‘No.’ She did sober up then—for a moment. ‘I’m broke. My business is broke. I went to the bank and they gave me some money but not enough. But Lars…wherever he is…he wants some “assets”—ha-ha. And I have assets, Michael. Don’t I?’

  Oh, that had been the wrong thing to say. Even though it was hard to focus on him completely, she could see and feel that he didn’t like that.

  ‘Your assets are not up for debate. And you’re not going to stay here drinking—with Lars or anyone else.’

  ‘But it’s early. It’s…’ She tried to focus on her watch. It looked like it was only one a.m. Far too early to go home. Some people wouldn’t even have arrived yet. ‘It’s early, Michael. And I need to stay for just a li’l longer. There might be some good publicity too. And I really need it now.’

  ‘You don’t need to get publicity this way, Tara. There are other ways to promote yourself and your business.’

  ‘Yeah, but…’ she poked at his chest with her new nails ‘…this way is free. And it suits who I am. ‘

  What a look he was giving her. Like she was a real disappointment. ‘We can talk about that. Let’s go.’

  His touch was crazy strong. He scooped her close and put his arm round her. That felt good. But then he marched her, and her feet just wouldn’t do what she wanted them to do.

  ‘Michael. Slow, baby. I can’t keep up.’

  She almost went over on her ankle, so he scooped her in harder, until she was plastered right down his side and she didn’t need to use her feet at all.

  ‘Wheeeee!’ She giggled as she was scooted along. ‘You’re so strong…’ But then they went to the stairs and not the bar, and she realised that he was heading out… ‘Michael. Where…? What…? Hey, I can’t go. I told you—I need to find Lars!’

  ‘Yeah? Well, we can talk about that too.’

  ‘Michael, put me down.’

  This wasn’t funny any more. Cold air hit her bare arms and thighs. He still held her clamped to his side. There were paps about and their flashes and catcalls sounded. She started to struggle against him. That feeling of being powerless was taking over. Didn’t feel good. At all.

  A car door opened and he put her inside, then jammed himself in beside her. ‘Drive.’

  The car moved off. Fast. She jolted to the side. She was really beginning to sharpen up now.

  She turned to him, her voice choked with fury, furred with alcohol. ‘What the hell is all this about? Just who do you think you are, dragging me about like you own me?’

  He stared straight ahead, his jaw clamped and his mouth worked into a tight line. No way was he going to sit there in silence. Not after that disgusting display of machismo.

  ‘I mean it, Michael. What do you think you’re doing? Didn’t you see the snappers? They were all over the place. I’m going to look like an idiot tomorrow.’

  Swift turn of head then. ‘You’d have looked like a bigger idiot if you’d stayed on in that club. You’re drunk. You’re alone. And you were cruising the place for men with money. What on earth are you playing at, Tara? You’re asking for trouble—and who knows how you’ve managed to escape so far? So you can consider this a favour. No need to repay.’

  ‘I decide what I do and what favours I call. Not you! You’re nothing to do with me! What’s wrong? Have you run out of sisters to bully?’

  He shook his head at her and stared straight ahead again. But there it was again. He actually thought she was just another little girl to order about. He hadn’t so much as stopped to ask her if she even wanted his help. Maybe she should lighten up and let him? After all, he could solve her problems in a heartbeat. But really? Had she put all that effort in over all the years just so that she could pimp herself out down his version of Easy Street?

  ‘You can look down your nose at me all you want, but I’ve managed to survive perfectly well up until now by doing things my way. So you can tell your driver to turn the car around. I’ve got business to attend to.’

  ‘Business? Dressed like that? Full of drink? Not a chance.’

  She was sobering up at lightning speed now. She leaned forward. ‘Driver. Can you let me out, please?’

  She saw the driver’s eyes
flick to Michael’s in the mirror. The car didn’t even slow down.

  ‘You’re coming to my apartment. You can have a business meeting there. When you’ve sobered up.’

  ‘You know, you’ve got serious control problems. Do you really, really think that I’m going to just walk out of this car and up to your apartment? Because you tell me to? And dressed like what, exactly? What’s that supposed to mean?’

  He sat there. Didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to have heard her. It was as if she was insignificant. Irrelevant.

  ‘Are you even listening to me?’

  He turned his head. Just a bit. Looked at her out of the corner of his superior eyes. As if that was all she merited.

  ‘I’m listening to a woman who isn’t capable of rational thought because she’s too drunk. So let’s keep the sartorial chat until the morning.’

  ‘The morning? The morning? You actually think I’m going to spend the night with you?’

  ‘No, I don’t, Tara. Not in the way you think. I wouldn’t take advantage of any woman who was as out of control as you are. It’s not my style.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, I wouldn’t let you near me tonight if my life depended on it.’ She tried to hiss at him, but it came out in a jumble and made her feel even more furious—with herself and with him. ‘Oh, you know what I’m trying to say.’

  ‘Just about. But that’s fine—it’s sorted, then. You can sleep in the guest room and then in the morning we can talk about your business.’

  Still he stared straight ahead, as if looking at her was going to make him lose his lunch—or whatever meal he’d last eaten. He was so arrogant. Really, it was all she could do not to slap him. Hard.

  She looked down at her dress. There was nothing wrong with it. Well, nothing that a ton of accessories better than she could afford could fix. To be honest…it was way past its season. And its sell-by date. In fact a firelighter and a pyromaniac could sort the whole lot out in a heartbeat. She really was looking awful. And that eyeshadow. What had she been thinking?

  The car braked and lurched. A crowd of drunken girls had spilled off the pavement onto the road, squealing and laughing. They looked as drunk as her. She was knocked into the door as the driver swerved to avoid them. Michael slid against her and she yelped. He was right there. Warm breath on her cheek.

  ‘Tara! Are you OK?’

  His whole weight had smashed against her as the car turned and she felt him jerk back, fold his arms around her, scoop her close to his side, comfort her. There it was again. That feeling of letting herself sink into him. Into the warm tropical waters of his presence. So easy. Would be so easy to let go. But she mustn’t. Must never give in. Must keep him back. Never let him get her heart. Or her mind. He’d had her body. Her body loved his body. But he would never have her mind. Never.

  ‘Tara…’

  He was smoothing her hair, her cheek. Kissing her cheek. Holding her head as if it was a glass egg. She shoved at him.

  ‘Fine. I’m fine.’

  The car stopped. She wasn’t fine. She was shot. Shattered. Too much stress, too much drink and too much emotion had decked her like sucker punches. The end of the road. Felt like she wanted to sleep in a layby. Just until this next lot of emotional traffic passed by. So tired. So, so tired. She rested her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

  The door opened. He was there. Arms, body, warmth, strength. She was lifted. Held. Secure.

  Her head fell against his chest. Every part of her felt contained. She loosened and let go. Treacle in his arms.

  He carried her through the space to his apartment. She felt the changes in the air, felt his heartbeat against her cheek, felt the solid wall of his chest and the solid wall of him. Man. Just pure man. And for the first time in her life she accepted it.

  ‘How do you do this to me?’ she whispered into him. Didn’t know if he could hear her, but it didn’t matter. ‘How do you make me melt when I want to stay so strong? I need to not melt. I don’t want to be soft—and sad. I don’t want to be like her, Michael. I wish you could see that.’

  He opened the door to a room that was silver. And white. Brittle light from a sparkling chandelier. A large white bed stuffed high with pillows. Gently laid her down. Sank into the softest mattress. Felt it envelop her. Felt a soft, heavy quilt wrap around her. Felt the cloak of sleep steal over her. Darkness.

  NINE

  Tara awoke to more darkness. A tight, tight band of pain across her head. Pressure from where she had lain all night in the same position. The quilt had fallen away but she was warm. She turned on to her back, pulled the quilt over her and just lay there. What had happened?

  A knock on the door and then it swung open. Michael walked in. She squinted at him through the hand that was nursing her head. He looked amazing. Jeans and a shirt. Tall and impossibly handsome. He glanced at her and then made it to the window. With a whoosh the blind went up and daylight seared her vision.

  ‘Wow, the sun’s up, then?’ Her voice was hoarse and crackly.

  ‘For a good few hours, yes.’ He walked to the bed. Placed a glass of water on the table beside her.

  She shuffled and leaned up on her elbows, but the pain in her head was immense. Had to flop back down again.

  ‘Feeling less than perfect?’

  She kept her hand over her eyes. ‘Slightly. Can’t you shut the blind again? That’s just cruel.’

  He sat down on the bed. She felt his weight and sank towards him a bit. ‘You’ve got a strange view of cruelty, Tara. Imagine how you’d be feeling if you’d stayed there even longer.’

  ‘Yeah, but I didn’t.’ She hadn’t wanted to go at all, but she’d forced herself. For… Lars! ‘Dammit!’ She sat straight up in bed and winced at the axe through her eyes. ‘What time is it anyway?’ Maybe there was an after-party somewhere. ‘Where’s my phone?’

  It was worth a text—she had such little time left to get anything sorted before she had to start shipping clothes to Paris.

  He handed her the bag which was sitting at her feet. She scrabbled through it—pulled out her phone. Dead. ‘Ah, no! I’ve got no power!’ She looked up at Michael. ‘Have you got a charger for this?’

  ‘Tara. Calm down and drink your water.’

  ‘But I could be missing something. That guy—Lars. I never got a chance to meet him. Haven’t you got a charger for this? I thought you had the same phone as me?’

  He shook his head. Stood up.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  He didn’t turn round—just walked to the door. ‘To get a different perspective on life.’

  She looked at his disappearing back. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ No response.

  What did he mean? What other perspective was there when your business was going down the tubes? Closely followed by your life. If she didn’t get this sorted she risked everything she’d gained at London Fashion Week. If she didn’t have the cash for Paris she wouldn’t have the cash to keep going. Period. And that was way bigger than just expanding her business. That was public humiliation. Bankruptcy.

  And where did you go when you had no money? Home? With your tail between your legs and your ears full of I told you sos? Never! Never, never. Never.

  It was all right for him—he had piles of money and piles of contacts. She had…she had… She had the hangover from hell and in one way he was right—it could have been much worse. She reached for the water and took a long, gulping drink. Finished it. And she had dehydration.

  This was not going to plan. She had two days left to get more cash. If she got on it now she could maybe, maybe see if she could get a meeting set up. Surely there had to be someone interested in funding her? Maybe she’d made some impact last night? She should get online, see what was being reported about the party. There was still time to cash in.

 
She got out of the nest of a bed, noticed that the putrid eyeshadow had transferred itself to the snow-white linen. Then she caught her own reflection in the large freestanding mirror. Oh, man, she looked like a bouquet of dead flowers! Her hair was sticking up, her face was smeared with make-up and her dress—all forty shades of vibrant neon jungle print—was wrapped around bits of her. Just bits. With the rest of her poking out at various angles—none of them flattering.

  She needed a shower. Maybe Michael would have some of his sisters’ clothes she could borrow until she got home? Ha-ha—get real. She might just about be able to squeeze into Fernanda’s duvet cover.

  She went through to the kitchen. It was like a photo shoot for Sunday mornings. High windows, lazy light. Gorgeous guy on a bar stool, papers spread in front of him, espresso cup and half-eaten pastry at his right-hand side. Place set for her. All you could want.

  His laptop was open. He glanced up at her, then back to his paper. But his probing eyes saw everything in the two-second body-scan. She hugged herself. She didn’t belong in this photo shoot.

  ‘OK if I have a shower?’

  ‘Of course. Though you may want to see these first.’ He touched the laptop towards her, then picked up the corner of his paper and his coffee cup, got on with the business of breakfast.

  She looked at the screen. ‘What is it?’

  At first she couldn’t make out what she was seeing, but then it registered. It was herself and various others. A photo-montage of the party, with editorial. There were clips of her arriving in Shoreditch. She brightened. She actually looked OK! The dress was not as bad as it had ended up…having been slept in. Hair was fine. Make-up—not so good, but she’d pulled it off—just.