Читать книгу The Chatsfield Short Romances 6-10 - Carol Marinelli - Страница 8

Chapter One

It was him!

No, no, it wasn’t… damn, yes it was. And he looked… Chloe Tyler flattened herself against the brickwork at the Chatsfield London hotel and tried not to stare. Which was a bit like those lab experiments where small children were told not to touch a plate full of cookies or something equally tempting, because Liam Hunter was born to be stared at.

He always had been. The most popular boy in high school, probably the most popular boy in kindergarten as well, he was, at twenty three, now the most popular star to grace the silver screen. Privileged. Wealthy. Spoilt. Chloe pulled a face. Basically the opposite of her. The poor, dorky exchange student who had gone to America looking for adventure and come away with egg on her face. Like every other girl in senior high she had fallen head over heels in love with him. Then she’d got to know him when she’d started tutoring him in English and not only did she think him the best looking guy she had ever seen but the nicest as well.

Boy, did he relieve her of that misapprehension very spectacularly. And very publicly.

His horrible prank had been the most humiliating experience of her life and he’d even posted the video of it on YouTube where it had gone viral. God, even her father had seen it.

Making sure to keep well out of his line of vision Chloe was unable to tear her eyes away from his long, muscular frame as he strolled along the red carpet and greeted what seemed like thousands of screaming fans and paparazzi. It had been five years since the nightmare of prom night. Five years since she had seen Liam Hunter – aka rat loser extraordinaire – in the flesh and unfortunately he looked better than ever. Larger. Leaner. His tawny brown hair, worn long now, sat just above shoulder length in an artful array of thick layers. His broad shoulders were encased in a navy blue shirt open over his trademark white t-shirt, and aged denims road low on his lean hips and muscular thighs, ending in worn workman boots.

Ha. The man – for that was what he was now – had never done a day’s hard labour in his life. He was the Golden Boy who could do no wrong, except that he had a snake’s personality and he thought nothing of hurting others. Of hurting her. And her fall had been that much steeper because he’d done it after making her feel so special. So wonderful. So beautiful.

Yeah, right. That should have been her first clue that something was up. If there was one thing Chloe wasn’t it was beautiful. Oh, she had some pluses – she had creamy skin that despite her red hair hardly freckled and blue eyes with long dark lashes and an okay smile. Unfortunately she had red hair - really red hair - that had a tendency to frizz when it was humid and her nose was a little on the prominent side, made worse, in her opinion, by her too wide mouth. Added to that she also had size eleven paddles on the end of her legs and was as tall as a giraffe.

As far as Chloe was concerned, the only women who fared well from being tall were supermodels and basketball players. Of which she was neither.

Suddenly dizzy she realised that she was holding her breath and released it in a rush. Painful memories of Liam’s cruel joke buzzed into her head like darting mosquitos around a bag of blood and she pushed them away, reminding herself that she was here to do a job whether she liked it or not.

A job that had landed on her desk yesterday afternoon when Globe magazine’s flighty entertainment journalist had decided to take off to follow a singing career. With her boss left in the lurch Chloe had eagerly jumped into the fray to take over Candy’s next assignment.

God.

She released a long slow breath. If only she’d asked who Candy’s interview subject was before she’d said yes.

Refusing to continue to dwell on what she couldn’t change Chloe slowly peeled herself away from the wall and walked with leaden feet past the still amped crowd – no doubt waiting for the other star of the movie to arrive, the divine Bethany Lord.

Flashing her press card at the uniformed doorman, Chloe barely noticed the grand staircase or the elegant clientele of London’s premiere hotel as she hurried down a maze of wide corridors and pulled up short at the end of a long line of journalists.

The man in front of her turned and smiled by way of a greeting and Chloe noticed that he wore glasses. She used to wear glasses before she’d had laser surgery on her eyes. Liam had called her Specs during their tutoring sessions and she’d loved it. Loved him. Chloe groaned and covered it with a cough behind her hand.

A friend had told her that if she went on exchange to the USA, the Americans would find her exotic and that she’d be Miss Popular within minutes of arriving.

In fact the opposite had happened.

Chloe’s social awkwardness and tendency to take everyone literally had shone out like a warning beacon and she’d been an outsider the whole time. Well, maybe not the whole time. She’d been accepted by the ‘in’ crowd for about two weeks towards the end. But that hadn’t been real. That had been set up to lull her into a situation that wasn’t unlike the way ranchers corralled unsuspecting brumbies into hidden yards and then yelled ‘gotcha’. Only the kids at West Preston High hadn’t yelled gotcha because they’d been too busy laughing.

When she had returned to England her aunt had told her that the best revenge was to live well and Chloe had done that. She’d put the events of her past behind her and focused on her career. Focused on creating a steady, comfortable life for herself. And she’d succeeded. She was happy. Or she would be when she got this horrendous interview out of the way.

Suddenly an electric ripple ran down the line of waiting journalists. ‘He’s here,’ the journalist in front of her announced unnecessarily. Chloe glanced at him wryly. She’d already guessed they weren’t all a-twitter over the cleaning lady.

***

A fantasy she had constructed on the Tube journey came back to her. A fantasy about how she would walk into Liam Hunter’s room and he would be so bowled over by her new look and compelling sophistication that he would fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness and ask her to go out with him for real, only to have her frown down at him as if he was slime on a rock and say ‘whatever for?’ or some such put down of equal merit.

Of course she’d immediately discounted the idea. She did not want Liam Hunter to find her attractive. Now or ever. She was here because if she hadn’t shown up she’d be most likely sacked from the dream job she’d landed six month ago.

So why the short skirt and fitted blouse?

‘Don’t be nervous, love,’ the man in front said reassuringly, pulling her attention away from her skirt that was not short by today’s standards and her professional, not fitted, blouse. ‘I hear Liam Hunter is one of the good guys.’

So many responses to that statement played on the edges of Chloe’s lips but in the end she just smiled weakly. The Golden Boy’s reputation continued to soar and frankly she didn’t know how he did it.

The line inched ever closer and Chloe’s breakfast churned alarmingly in her stomach. Nerves. Dammit all.

‘Well, good luck,’ the man in front doffed his cap at her and Chloe fiddled with the strap of her shoulder bag as she realised she was next.

She should be thinking about her questions. Thinking about how she could shorten five minutes to two. Thinking about how she could show Liam Hunter how over that whole experience she was. Instead she stood in front of the glossy cream door separating the two of them and thought about the past. It was so clear in her mind she might as well have been standing outside the prom in the awful purple dress she had bought with the last of her savings and which had rubbed under her armpits. Once again she could feel the warmth of that summer night on her skin. Hear the cicadas as she walked into the dance hall where the covers band played loud and true. Worse, she could still see the sweetness of Liam Hunter’s smile and smell his wonderful male scent as he’d leaned forward and kissed her. Kissed her for the first time.

Chloe’s hands started to shake as the rest of the memories came crashing in. The excitement of turning up at his best friend’s house for the privileged after party for all the rich kids in town. The confused moment when she’d walked into the main room to find it lit by what seemed like a hundred candles. The soft music playing from an unseen stereo. And the large banner on the back wall. ‘Chloe Tyler, will you marry me?’ She still remembered with cringe-worthy clarity that moment of complete exhilaration that the boy she had fallen in love with loved her in return. It was only afterwards that she’d thought of the absurdity of the proposal. At the time she’d been buzzing from equal parts wine and happiness and she’d thrown her arms around Liam Hunter’s neck and declared her love for him for all to see.

That was when the main lights had come on and everyone had fallen about the room laughing. Oh, she remembered the laughing but even if she hadn’t the video had captured every stunningly awful moment. It had also captured the look on Liam Hunter’s face.

Pity.

He’d looked at her as if she was the most pitiful creature in the whole world. And after the video of her total humiliation they’d titled ‘a social experiment’ came out on YouTube everyone had agreed with him. Including Chloe.

God, the only thing missing from that horrible night had been the pig’s blood. It had been an out and out prank and she’d been the gullible fool who had – for one brief, thrilling moment – fallen for it.

At the time Liam had tried to blame his friends but Chloe didn’t believe him. One of the girls who felt sorry for her had told her the whole story and… dammit, she didn’t want to keep thinking about it. She wasn’t a frizzy-haired social misfit anymore. She’d grown up and she was a budding career woman in charge of her own destiny.

‘Next.’ A beautiful woman who looked like an LA supermodel but had whip-like authority in her voice that said she could lay you out cold with her little finger stood waiting impatiently in the open doorway.

A budding career woman who was about to throw up all over the plush Axminster carpet between them. Chloe couldn’t go in there. She just couldn’t. No way. No how. No–

Of course you can go in there, she admonished herself sharply, and you will.

Yes, good.

Chloe patted the sides of her head to make sure her sleek bun was still in place and smiled at Miss LA before raising her chin and sailing past her into the room.

A budding career woman who already had a reputation for being polished and professional under pressure and Liam Hunter was still the rich, spoilt – most gorgeous man she had ever seen.

Chloe’s heartbeat boomed like a drum inside her head as she stared at her nemesis slouched in a bucket chair. His long jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him and seemed to take up half the spacious room; his broad shoulders and wide chest took up the other half. A hot flush crept up Chloe’s neck and she fought to draw what little oxygen was in the room deep into her lungs.

Thankfully he wasn’t looking at her; his head bent over his mobile phone so that the caramel-coloured shoulder length hair that had made every woman swoon in the cinema the night before at the private press screening fell artfully forward, hiding his chiselled jaw. She wondered if Miss LA in the sleek black suit had tousled it into place just so for him.

Her eyes drifted to the enormous poster pinned to the wall between the two chairs. It was of Liam and Bethany Lord standing side by side in all their medieval glory. Bethany in her suit of armour and Liam with his black fur cape billowing out behind him and his shiny silver sword crossed over the opposite shoulder; a fierce scowl on his face that said he could conquer the world – with his bare hands if need be. The words ‘The Most Wanted Man’ were emblazoned across the bottom of the poster followed by his name. An unnecessary addition if ever there was one. Liam Hunter’s charisma and powerful presence made him that alone – his handsome face and lean muscular body just finished off the package. And the film, a moving epic about war and loyalty and love had been phenomenally good. As had Liam Hunter as the heroic star.

‘Liam, this is Candy Lane from Globe magazine.’ Miss LA’s voice pulled his head up, a genial smile already curving the edges of his lips in that sexy, confident manner she had grown to hate. Realising that her magazine had forgotten to inform his staff of the change in interviewer Chloe was about to correct her when the woman tapped a sharp fingernail against her laptop. ‘Your five minutes starts now, Ms Lane.’ And I suggest you don’t waste it by gawking at the star, she might as well have added.

Chloe glanced toward Liam who was still smiling at her and she realised that for all her pep-talking she was just as captivated by him as ever.

Then she realised something else. He didn’t recognise her.

Wait. What?

Chloe’s stomach clenched in disbelief. At the very least she had expected that he might be uncomfortable with her in the room and she only just realised how much she had been looking forward to that. For him not to recognise her after the way he had kissed her so tenderly at the prom, after the way he had humiliated her, was completely shocking to her. Completely, appallingly shocking. A well of hurt and rage so deep it was more like an ocean rose up inside her. Had she really been so forgettable back then? And worse, was she still?

As much as she hated to admit it, Liam made her feel invisible all over again which raised the old insecurities she thought she’d put well behind her. God, had she ever disliked anyone more?