Marbella Beauty

by Oster, Camille

  Obviously, Paul had no idea of strategies related to predators. Sure, there were professors who had ruined their reputations—plagiarism scandals, sex scandals, even the odd drug scandal occasionally shocked the academic community. It was a small world and it had ousted members in clouds of shame. They went away and disappeared, probably off to some university with a name no one could pronounce in a country where they had tropical diseases.

  “I don’t know. You’re smarter than most give you credit for, and you certainly don’t lack courage. So perhaps you have to cut your losses and start over.”

  Cheyenne sniffed but didn’t say anything. Predators landed on their feet; it was one of nature’s rules. What did former models do? Actually, he didn’t know that much about the breed. “I think you need a new hunting ground.”

  She sniffed again, and sat up, looking glumly down on the ground. “You think so?”

  “What’s the point of hanging around here? This well is poisoned.”

  “Someone needs to pay for that.”

  “Can’t do that with cut claws.” He had no idea what he was saying, feeling like a gazelle giving a pep talk to the lion. Enough with the analogies.

  “No, I need something better, something bigger than this shithole.”

  “That’s the spirit. I think.”

  She stood up. “No, you’re right. Good point and good advice.”

  “Happy I could help.” Maybe he was Alice and had slipped through some looking glass along the way. It certainly felt like it. “Pull your bootstraps up and go… conquer. Is that the right word?”

  Surprisingly, Cheyenne gave him a hug, admittedly an awkward one. Gingerly, he patted her on the shoulder, hoping she didn’t stab a knife in his back. Perhaps his imagination was a little overactive today. “Maybe in the future, you should hide the overtness of… you, maybe go with a little more stealth. You could even try being a little nicer to people. It can go a long way.”

  She snorted derisively. “If they can’t keep up, they need to back off.”

  “Or not. Well, good luck with your new… direction.”

  “Thanks, Paul. You’re sweet.”

  More likely a complete patsy, he told himself and pointed to the exit, miming he was going to go now. Not entirely sure why he’d done this, but he felt better—felt he could put this entire episode behind him. Surprisingly, he didn’t bear a grudge towards her. Maybe seeing her so low and compromised made him a soft touch, unable to hold onto his anger. It wasn’t an emotion he excelled at.

  Chapter 62

  Dominic felt out of sorts, ever since that visit to Miss Waters’ house. In truth, he’d felt a bit out of sorts before that, no doubt related to Esme’s recent behaviour and decisions. He hated feeling out of control and that was what Cheryl made him feel like. Her life was chaos and she wandered around looking neat and polished when under the surface, she was anything but.

  But somehow, Cheryl had stacked everything to suit her, including him. He bent backwards to accommodate her and he had no idea why. And the worst of it was that she didn’t appreciate a bit of it. Instead, she was suspicious of his intentions, which might actually be smart, because he couldn’t even articulate why he was doing any of this.

  Closing his eyes, he let the driver take him to the office. Today was the follow up from the meeting in Paris, and he would probably have to fly to Beijing at the end of the week. Business was easy—everything made sense in business. It was everything outside of that which didn’t make sense. Esme’s actions didn’t make sense, and neither did Felix’s. Truthfully, he didn’t understand either of his kids.

  He’d always prided himself on the fact that he accepted the truth. He didn’t hide his head in the sand like Cheryl did. The world worked a certain way and telling yourself it didn’t was fooling yourself. Cheryl was fooling herself that chaos had a virtue.

  “Danny, let’s go to the building site instead,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Danny replied and made a U-turn. A building site was the nexus of chaos. There were things moving everywhere. It was dirty and frantic, and stuff lay everywhere. Trucks passed in and out, and things were even flying through the air. But in the end, there was order. A beautiful building emerged. Except this one was going to have an eyesore—a little salon that looked completely out of place. Resentment welled up in his chest. Why was there a salon in the middle of his beautiful complex? With those stupid little screens to hide the chaos behind it, as if she was embarrassed it was there.

  He could see the cranes from a distance and they slowly moved closer. The site was crawling with men. It almost looked like an anthill, everyone going about some business.

  The project manager’s hut sat at the edge by the road and he walked in. Mark sat at his desk, heatedly speaking Spanish on the phone.

  “How’s it going?” Dominic asked when he sat down.

  “Eh, usual stuff. Contractors trying to renege on what they agreed to. Everyone wants the business, but then baulk at delivering.”

  “We don’t renegotiate.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  By the look of it, Mark wasn’t quite sure why Dominic was there. His input wasn’t needed, unless he was going to ruin Mark’s day by changing his mind. He could already see Mark cursing internally. But no, he didn’t change his mind, except he badly wanted to tell the man that they were going to tear that little sore of a salon down. Mark would probably appreciate that. But Dominic had given his word and that was something he stood by, through thick and thin. He’d promised her he’d let her stay, but all he wanted to do was get rid of her.

  Would he tolerate going back on his word? In the end, that would be a mark on him that would sit there for years. Changing one’s mind, particularly when there was no good reason, was simple weakness. Well, there was reason. Her little salon made no sense, but then he’d been fine with this decision when he’d made it and there were no economic reasons to change his mind. The plans were set; she was in there already. The architects had done their thing, the quantity surveyors had done theirs. Changing his mind now did not make economic sense.

  “How is the issue with the German glass manufacturers?”

  “It is resolving,” Mark said. Mark was good at his job. He wasn’t a pleasant man, but you didn’t really want pleasant men as your project managers. You wanted bulldogs who barked like hell when things went wrong.

  “Good,” Dominic said and rose. There was nothing here for him. Speaking to Mark had not been the reason he’d come. And this bothered him most of all; he was acting without reason. There had been no purpose for coming here. There was no purpose for why he was sitting here, contemplating going back on his word. This was all bullshit.

  With a nod, he stepped out of Mark’s office, to be greeted by seeing Cheryl Waters walking across the street, wearing a satin shirt and a pencil skirt with little ruffles at the back. The shirt she wore had diamante hearts on the cuffs and collar. She wore glossy heels in a raspberry colour, little peep toes at their rounded tips, her nails painted the same colour of her shoes.

  “Miss Waters,” he said loudly, catching her by surprise. “A word, please.”

  A frown marred her eyebrows as she walked back towards him. “Mr. Dunbury.”

  Now he didn’t know what to say. What should he say? You annoy the hell out of me, more than any other person alive. That was the truth. “I think it needs to be said that when the time comes, we need to discuss the décor for the salon.”

  “Excuse me? There is nothing in the contract—”

  He cut her off. “Things need to be uniform, don’t you think? This whole ensemble needs to make sense. We can’t really have this, can we?”

  “Have what?” she said, looking back at the salon. “Are you saying you know better than me what a salon should look like?”

  “I know the difference between trashy and refined. Your salon could use an update. I am sure this is fine for Brighton, but this is Marbella.”

  “This coming from yo
ur years of experience in salon management? Or is it your profound understanding of women? No, I think we’ll go with: you can get fucked,” she said, crossing her arms, her mouth a tight grimace.

  “Upgrading a little makes sense for business. A business can’t operate in chaos. Surely that makes sense even to someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?”

  “Let’s face it. You have no control over your business or your life. Your staff walk all over you. Your kids are a nightmare. The image you present—”

  The slap was a complete surprise. It rang through his ears. “You’re a divorced man with two lushes for children. You went to prison for your business dealings. How exactly are you proficient in giving me advice on anything?”

  The accusations were like a further slap. “At least I know you don’t get by in business by looking like a trussed up harlot.” Even as he said it, he knew he’d gone too far, so perhaps he needed to clarify where he was coming from. “I’ve gone out of my way to be accommodating to you. The least you could do would is make an effort to not look like such a complete eyesore.”

  “I think we’re done here,” she said calmly. “You should go,” she said, pointing her long, lacquered nail towards his car. And those nails. Cheap and tacky.

  “Don’t you understand that you present an image that doesn’t work here?”

  She’d already turned her back at him, sharp, angry steps walking away, her hips swaying ridiculously. Even her walk was unacceptable. Who did she take after, Dolly Parton?

  Well, that had gone well. He had perhaps opened his mouth a little too freely, but everything he’d said had been the truth. She was limiting her own potential. That was all he was trying to say. Who was going to take her seriously as a businesswoman looking like that?

  Didn’t she get that he was trying to help her?

  Chapter 63

  The fire was going, the catered food sat along a table, and most importantly, the drinks were flowing. Clara had done a good job, proud of her hostess role, wearing a flowing lemon dress. Felix wasn’t coming tonight, because he hated Clara. Alistair kind of saw Felix’s point, but Clara’s vacantness didn’t get to him like it did Felix.

  The gang was all there. Aggie sat across the lawn in one of the poolside beds. The girls tended to congregate where Aggie was. Others milled around, some clinging to their boyfriends.

  He’d think worse of Terese if she didn’t show, but he knew she would, if only for Parmi, who really wanted to be here. They weren’t there yet and on some level, Alistair felt nervous. Maybe because he had no idea what this was between them. The evening could flow onto a catastrophic fight; he had no way of telling. Or not. Maybe they’d laid their thing to rest. Either way, he was looking forward to it.

  It could be he was so bored he’d developed an obsession for the only thing around here that was different. But she was returning back to Berlin. That was a bit of a chink in the plan. He wanted her to stay, for this thing to evolve and develop. Into what, he didn’t know.

  There was actually adrenaline in his system. He could feel it, as if he was getting ready for a fight. And it was all about her. So far, there was no sight of her. For a moment, he wanted to call and find out where she was and when she was coming, but that was just a little too pathetic.

  Jasper was talking about some new technology he’d picked up, something to do with satellite linking his car—a system developed in Abu Dhabi, and he’d gone to check the company out and walked away with one of their systems. Alistair couldn’t bring himself to listen, instead looked around. It was the typical get-together. The girls were dressed in their latest shopping conquests, the guys talked about toys or tech, or whatever else was cool.

  And then Parmi appeared, looking overexcited. Why did girls insist on wearing heels to these types of things? They sank into the grass. Terese appeared after her. She wore a white dress with a high collar, lace panels down the front and arms. If it wasn’t for the short skirt, it would almost look Victorian. Her black ankle boots had thick, straight heels. And red lips that were so glossy, it looked like it would drip varnish. She barely wore any other makeup. Her hair was messy, like she couldn’t be bothered. He couldn’t stop staring.

  She didn’t look the least bit excited being there, and next to Parmi, in her typical garb, Terese looked like a foreign bird that had flown into their midst. Adrenaline flowed again.

  Alistair watched as the girls took a detour towards where the girls were sitting. Parmi chatted with quick arm movements, while Terese stood back, looking slightly bored and stiff as if the collar wouldn’t let her slouch. That dress was unusual, and stunningly sexy in a completely unconventional way. He got a strong flash of seeing himself buried in her thighs, that lace under his fingers. Was that the intent when she put that dress on? He doubted it.

  Taking a deep breath, he cleared the heat out of his lungs and mind. A question surfaced in his mind. Why was she here? What did she want by coming here? Was it only for Parmi? Was she such a martyr, she would abuse herself like this for her friend? Or was there something else?

  Her eyes scanned around and stopped when she spotted him. Involuntarily, he held his breath. “Excuse me,” he said and stepped away, walking over to her. Her eyes didn’t leave him the entire time. What did that mean? “You look very… restrained, tonight. Interesting dress.”

  “Do you like it?”

  It probably wasn’t a good idea to say what he liked about it. “It certainly is different.”

  “Alexander McQueen.”

  “I see you made it to our little shindig.”

  “Couldn’t stay away.” The sarcasm in her voice was kept to a hint.

  “Do you think you’ll regret coming? Last time you came, you ended up on your back, screwing someone you hate.”

  “Yes, well, I’m seeking help for that,” she said, looking away.

  “Come say hello to some of the boys.” He urged her away by her elbow. Gentle, but enough to make her go. “You remember Jasper.”

  “Of course,” she said with a smile. “How are you?”

  “Good. Excellent. How are you? Where are you these days? Haven’t seen you around much.”

  “Berlin.”

  “What the fuck’s in Berlin?” Miles said. Alistair wasn’t sure they knew each other.

  “Just me and a bunch of Germans.”

  “Clubs are pretty good,” Jasper said. “Been clubbing there a few times. Copenhagen isn’t bad either, actually. Gorgeous girls.”

  The lace along her arms was tactile under his fingers. She was saying something about how different the culture was up in those parts. Egalitarianism, she said. Smiling, he knew the guys had probably tuned out by now. They weren’t all that interested in studies of cultural differences between Anglo-Saxon and Germanic cultures.

  “And you reject your own and praise another,” he said quietly as the boys had started talking about ski fields.

  “You live in Spain,” she said, looking over at him.

  “No, I live in Marbella, which is just a different form of our culture, isn’t it?”

  “Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

  He stared at her. “Probably. I like it when you get all worked up.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Let’s get you a drink.”

  “I might not want a drink.”

  “How am I possibly going to loosen your inhibitions otherwise?” He could tell there was a smile she refused to release. Again he led her, this time towards the bar.

  “So what is this? Are we friends now? Or is this you looking for another conquest to brag about?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think anyone’s going to give a fuck what we do at this point.”

  “No, then why are you parading me around?”

  “Just trying to be a good host, as you are essentially newishly reacquainted with the group.”

  “So you’ve taken it upon yourself to be a good host? Are we like mates now?”

  “I thou
ght we could say we have a truce.”

  “Does that mean you won’t sleep with my friends?”

  “Why, do you have any more other than Parmi?”

  She looked at him deploringly. “How’s your quarter-life crisis going?”

  “Excellent. They say acceptance is the first stage to recovery.”

  “I think that’s the last step.”

  “Even better. I’m further along than I thought.”

  The bartender handed her drink over and he now led her to a set of chairs away from where the others were. “Oh, okay, so just you and me, then?” she said, sitting down awkwardly and crossing her legs. Another flash of heat seared through him.

  “Are you tiring of my company?”

  “Just, you know, spending a party in the company of someone you have the most awkward relationship with. Shouldn’t we be avoiding each other?”

  “I think your mother would be crushed.”

  “Ha ha, very funny.”

  The problem he faced now—and it was a problem he loved to have—was how to get her from here to where he wanted to go. He relished the challenge. “Parmi seems happy.”

  Her eyes shifted over to where her friend sat, laughing at one of the girls’ jokes, not quite comfortable enough to be relaxed and herself. “Yes, she does.”

  Chapter 64

  Perusing the table of nibbles, Terese picked up a Chinese spoon filled with something that tasted utterly divine. It had the softest meat she’d ever had, and some kind of noodles. There were also blinis with salmon and a white foamy sauce. Roast vegetables on a stick in a gorgeous dressing. The caterers were gifted. She had to give them that.

  Alistair was standing further away, a drink in his hand as he spoke to some of the guys. They’d chatted for a while, and the banter had been modestly scathing, neither of them relenting to the other. She had no idea what was going on, in truth, but she felt she couldn’t back down. He would judge her if she did, and for some reason, she wasn’t willing to do that.