Secrets of the Rich & Famous

by Charlotte Phillips - Secrets of the Rich

  She soon found that belittling the girlfriend of a rich bachelor was practically a sport in itself among these women.

  ‘I had that dress, too—what a coincidence! It’s darling, isn’t it?’

  Jen glanced at the skinny blonde woman, introduced to her as Sukie.

  The three other women leaned backwards in unison and looked at her dress. As a spectator she might even have found it funny. She concentrated hard on keeping her posture relaxed.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Designer. Last season.’

  Jen didn’t miss the challenge. Pointing out that the dress wasn’t brand-new was an underhand move. She didn’t rise.

  ‘Unfortunately I had a bit of an accident in mine,’ Sukie said. ‘Someone spilled red wine down it at a wedding back in January. Landed mainly on the hemline. I remember it flapping around my ankles all wet. I could never quite get the …’ her voice trailed off ‘… stain out.’

  If this had been a movie the camera would have moved in on Jen for an immediate close-up. She tried desperately to keep a dignified look on her face when what it wanted to do was fold in on herself. Four pairs of beady rich eyes swivelled downwards to the hem of her dress. Jen didn’t need to glance down herself. She could tell just from their expressions what she would see if she did. The sweet floral print on the deep green fabric was busy enough for the stain to blend in on cursory checking. If you didn’t know it was there you would miss it. Turned out, she had.

  ‘I donated it to Oxfam,’ Sukie added, to no one in particular. ‘In Knightsbridge.’

  So Sukie had no compunction about donating imperfect clothing to charity without pointing out the flaw. Jen really couldn’t give a damn what someone like that thought about her. Her temper flared.

  ‘I’m all for wearing second-hand clothing,’ she said. ‘Too much emphasis is placed on the price tag in my opinion. No one cares if it costs more than a car as long as it’s by an in-vogue designer. It’s incredibly shallow. And by the way …’ she frowned at Sukie, who took a step backwards ‘… you were supposed to point out to the store that there’s a stain on the dress.’

  She realised that the elegant, quiet tone she’d consciously been trying to maintain had disappeared and her loud voice was making heads turn.

  Richard Moran swiftly rejoined the group, tumbler of whisky in hand.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Genevieve appears to be wearing one of Sukie’s cast-offs,’ Annabel said smoothly, with that tinkly laugh again. ‘I think she’s finding the situation a little awkward, Richard.’

  Jen’s heart plummeted. Not one face in the group was friendly. They saw her as an impostor, and she supposed that was exactly what she was.

  Richard Moran grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her aside.

  ‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on here?’ he barked in a stage whisper. ‘Your big talk about a jewellery business just doesn’t stack up, you fobbed Annabel off when she asked about school and now it turns out your dress is from a charity shop. What are you? Some kind of stalker?’

  Jen felt a hot flash of contempt at the way he was treating her. And he thought she was pursuing him because she was infatuated? How arrogant could you be?

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She yanked her elbow free and snapped impulsively, ‘I’m not a stalker. I’m a journalist!’

  The words were barely out of her mouth before he’d grabbed her a second time, one arm clamped around her waist, the other digging sharply into her arm. The black eyes had a sinister tinge in them. He pulled her hard towards the roped-off exit.

  She struggled. ‘What are you doing? Let go of me.’

  He clamped her against him and spoke with absolute clarity in her ear as he propelled her along. She was vaguely aware that he was simultaneously smiling and nodding at people as they passed. Keeping up appearances.

  ‘You are going to walk out of here with me without making any fuss,’ he hissed. ‘We are going to go somewhere quiet and you are going to tell me exactly what you are up to and who you are working for.’

  His grip bit bruisingly hard into her arm and she felt the first dark tendrils of real fright twisting their way through her. Her instincts told her Alex had been right. This was not a man to be trifled with. She forced her whirling mind to think. She needed to get herself away from Richard before he could find out any more about her. Thank goodness she’d used a false name. If she made a run for it there was no way he could trace her.

  Gathering all her strength, she kicked him as hard as she could in the shins—but instead of releasing her he unclamped his hand from her arm and grabbed a handful of her hair. She struggled madly and drew in a huge breath to scream.

  The sound died on her lips as Richard Moran lurched suddenly sideways. Letting go of her, he fell into a nearby dark blue spiral Christmas tree. She stumbled to keep her own balance. As he got to his feet, covered in blue glitter and dabbing the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, she found herself dragged away at speed.

  It was Alex.

  He’d come, after all.

  They barely spoke at first as the car sped back to London. Her emotions were in turmoil. Hideous disappointment at the failure of Mission Racing churned deep in her stomach along with the humiliation of being manhandled to the exit, VIP heads turning her way. The dreadful feeling of being frighteningly out of her depth was something she loathed. But underneath it all there was a tentative glimmering of deep-down happiness at what Alex’s dramatic intervention might mean.

  He’d bailed her out again. This time at huge cost to himself. Would he really do that for a potential one-night stand he never needed to cross paths with again?

  Eventually she could stand it no longer.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For not saying it.’

  ‘Saying what?’

  She gave him a rueful smile.

  ‘I told you so. The temptation must be huge.’

  She saw the tension in his shoulders soften a little.

  ‘It is,’ he said.

  Silence fell again.

  ‘VIP tickets weren’t as scarce as they made out, then,’ she said. ‘Seems a bit of a scam.’

  ‘What?’ He glanced at her.

  ‘The auction,’ she said. ‘The other night. I almost got stung for a grand on supposedly golddust tickets, but you just strolled in like you owned the place.’

  Strolled in was actually way off the mark. Vaulted into the fray was more like it.

  He stared straight ahead.

  ‘No big deal.’

  ‘No big deal? You hit him! There were enough diamond-encrusted mobile phones in that VIP enclosure to guarantee you a place on tomorrow’s front pages. You’re probably already an internet sensation.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ he said.

  Her stomach gave a dizzying flip. Being rescued shouldn’t really sit well with her lifelong determination to go it alone. And yet the deliciousness of it took her breath away.

  They were almost at the apartment now.

  ‘What about the movie? All your PR rules? You’ve probably broken every single one in the space of two minutes.’ The grief this was likely to cause him suddenly hit home, and she felt a sickening stab of guilt at what she’d dragged him into.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve spent my entire career worrying about how my every move affects my work, chasing success at the expense of everything else. Maybe I just decided to do what I want for a change, without reference to any of that.’

  ‘So all this is about you making a point? Nothing more?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘All this …’ She waved her hands in an all-encompassing gesture. ‘Everything you’ve done. Gatecrashing the racing.’

  He pulled the car to a standstill in his apartment’s parking space, turned the engine off, got out. She followed him into the lobby, waiting for an answer.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Am I just a distraction because you’ve been forced to stay in an
d miss the party for a few lousy weeks? What’s this all about?’

  He stopped, laughed into the darkness.

  ‘A distraction?’ he said. ‘You’re right. I’ve never been so distracted by anything or anyone. And it has nothing to do with my PR team or the award prospects for my damn movie.’

  In two quick strides he was right back beside her. Her stomach melted into softness.

  ‘I should never have let you go with him today.’

  ‘Then why did you?’

  ‘Because you were so determined to prove a point, and you would have argued me down until you were blue in the face.’

  He looked up at the ceiling briefly.

  ‘And because I didn’t want to admit how much I want you.’

  Heat tingled through her as he slid one hand firmly around her waist, traced the other along her collarbone. Sparks jolted deliciously down her spine.

  ‘Since when?’

  He smiled down at her.

  ‘To be honest I think I was halfway there the first night—just finding you in the apartment like that, with your long legs and all that attitude. But I think what really sealed it was the orange hair.’

  All sense and rationality left her, pushed out by the intensity of the desire that rushed through her under his touch. She let her arms circle his neck, let his thick hair slide through her fingers. The green depths of his gaze met her own. She felt as if her knees had melted and might quit holding her up very soon.

  ‘I could always dye it back,’ she said into his mouth, and she felt the grin on his lips as he kissed her, his hands sliding lower to press her hard against him.

  She felt him tighten his hold enough to lift her and then he was walking down the hall, her toes skimming the floor in the semi-darkness. She heard him mash the key blindly into the lock as he kissed her hungrily. Then, as he carried her inside and kicked the door shut behind him, all reservation was gone. She locked her legs behind his waist and let him carry her through to his bedroom.

  Sunlight slanted into the room through a chink in the heavy curtains and fell on the pillow next to Jen, pulling her back to consciousness. Alex’s side of the bed was empty. She slid her hand beneath the cover.

  Still warm.

  She glanced around, collecting her thoughts. The room was pure Alex, like the rest of the apartment. Nothing personal or sentimental. No indication that he’d put down roots here. It felt like sleeping in a hotel room. A very expensive one. A full flashback of what had happened between them zoomed into her mind and she threw the sheets back quickly.

  The deep feeling of hot euphoria that had enveloped her very bones at the feel of him the previous night was fast regressing into cold tension. She stood up, glanced round the room for her clothes. Her panties had somehow ended up under the chest of drawers, and she hooked them out and stepped into them.

  What had she done?

  Carried away by her very own Sir Galahad, stepping in yet again to save her. Was that what had removed her sanity? The novelty of having someone actually be there for her for a change, for her to rely on? She’d told herself she was happy with her life, yet there had always been that sniff of what might have been lingering just out of her reach. Hell, that was what had driven the whole article idea. Had she let him under her radar because he represented that parallel universe for her—the one where she really was a rich socialite instead of just playing a part?

  Rationality was sinking in deeper with every moment, driving away the delicious feeling of happiness she’d encountered in his arms, with his hands on her skin.

  She could hear his muffled voice somewhere outside the room and paused near the door, listening hard. He was obviously on the telephone. That meant he could be back in here at any moment. She looked hurriedly around for the rest of her clothes and suddenly registered a swatch of dialogue.

  ‘… tomorrow. Send me the flight details through …’

  Cold regret seeped into her heart as she followed what he was saying. Along with anger at herself for letting things go so far.

  Where exactly had she thought it would go from here? She knew what his priorities were. He hadn’t made a secret of it. Work came first. Would always come first with him.

  Flight details.

  So he wasn’t even staying in the country for Christmas, then? What would he give her? A couple of days before he jetted off back to his life? What had she been thinking? She’d fallen into his arms like some simpering idiot, all because he’d rescued her from a scary situation. She’d slept with him and now he was going.

  The only thing stopping her from becoming her mother right now was the fact he’d used a condom.

  She dashed around the room, picking up her dress and cardigan. Now reality had bitten she knew only that she had to put a stop to any further repeat of history. There was only one way forward if she were to retain the control her mother had given up.

  She’d have to dump him before he got in first.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ALEX returned to the bedroom via the kitchen fridge, thinking they would have a slow and languorous champagne-breakfast-fuelled second round. Just the thought of the warm softness of her body curled up in his bed made hot desire rush through him again.

  The bed was empty, sheets strewn haphazardly across it. As he glanced at the half-open en suite bathroom door, of the darkness beyond it, she popped up suddenly from behind the far side of the bed. She was naked except for lace panties and clutching the rest of her clothes to her chest, hiding her modesty as if he hadn’t just spent half the night exploring every silken inch of her body. He stared at her.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  She avoided his eyes, bent down and retrieved a shoe from under the bed.

  ‘I need to get going.’

  He shoved the tray down on the chest of drawers as she moved towards him. On her way out.

  ‘To do what, exactly?’

  ‘I need to get to work. This article won’t write itself.’

  ‘Come back to bed. Have some breakfast. Another hour isn’t going to make a difference.’

  ‘Well, if that’s your attitude I’m amazed you’ve made such a success of your career,’ she said. ‘Lying in bed until all hours.’

  ‘It’s only seven-thirty,’ he pointed out.

  She was next to him now, next to the open door, shoes balanced on top of her clothes. She apparently really was going.

  ‘So you’re choosing work over a lie-in with me?’ Surely she couldn’t be serious. ‘Let’s just have something to eat and then you can get started, spend the day on it. You can use the office, if you like.’

  ‘I don’t need to use the office. I need to get packed and then I’ll be out of your hair.’

  His mind whirled. What the hell was this?

  ‘Out of my hair?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘It’s been fun, but we both knew it was never going anywhere … right?’

  He didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to fathom how things had gone from the intimate sizzling passion of the night to this detached coldness.

  Not bothering to wait for an answer, she finally pushed past him and walked barefoot down the hall towards her own room, still clutching her clothes against her. He followed her, the smooth contours of her naked back tantalising him. Messy waves of hair were tumbling every which way over her shoulders.

  She talked loudly without looking round. ‘Won’t take me long to get my stuff sorted.’

  ‘You’re moving out?’

  ‘Yes, our agreement’s reached an end. I told you I needed to stay until I got enough material. I’ve done that.’ She paused. ‘It’s over.’

  She walked into her room, made as if to close the door. He grabbed it and stood in the way.

  ‘But you haven’t written it yet.’

  ‘Oh, I can write the thing anywhere,’ she said. ‘I’ve got all my notes. Once it’s done I’ll just e-mail it in and hope it’s good enough. I’m going to see my mum.’

  ‘
You’re going home to the country?’

  ‘For Christmas,’ she said. She turned. Faced him. ‘Let’s face it, Alex, I was always going to be going home to the country for Christmas. This can’t come as a big surprise.’

  ‘But last night …’

  ‘Was great. But you’re not exactly the marrying kind, are you?’

  She smiled at him, as if she was perfectly fine with that, but it was a perfunctory effort and didn’t really touch the blue eyes. He’d seen what a proper smile looked like on her face and this was a poor imitation. Whatever was going on here, he wasn’t buying it.

  ‘I’ve got ambitions,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot riding on this project for me. I don’t have time to take a few more days out for sex with you just because you’re stuck here and you happen to have an empty diary.’

  That was all it was to her? Sex? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  ‘Let’s just cut our losses and get back to normal. You must be going back to work any day now, anyway, aren’t you?’

  There was a loaded tone to that question, a hint of contempt. Or maybe he’d imagined it.

  He dropped his eyes for a moment, but there was no point trying to hide it.

  ‘I do have to fly out to the States,’ he admitted. ‘My spat with Richard Moran is going to be plastered all over the papers for the next day or so, but my PR team will smooth it over. We’re well known as business rivals, and it isn’t the first time we’ve crossed swords, so they’ll pass it off as a long-running feud and your name shouldn’t come into it.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘And even if it does it won’t be your real name.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. She didn’t smile back. ‘So I’ve become Viveca Holt. You sleep with me, there’s a scandal in the press and you make yourself scarce. History repeats itself.’

  ‘What happened with Viveca has nothing to do with this. Don’t you think I’d stay here if I could? Ride out the storm with you? There’s been a hitch with the funding for one of my films—the kind of thing I don’t want to leave to anyone else to sort out. That’s the reason I have to go. I need to get back in control. I’ve been gone long enough.’

  That urge to be back in charge was as strong as ever. He had a hands-on involvement in every film. Delegation didn’t come naturally. He found it hard to believe anyone else had the commitment and standards that he did. And yet now he found it tempered by the want, the need to be with her.