Читать книгу Diva - Carrie Duffy - Страница 13

Across the city, Dionne was finishing her third glass of Veuve Clicquot, generously provided by Saeed Al-Assad, one of her rich Arab friends. David, her regular date at the moment, was away working in Singapore, but Dionne had lots of male contacts in her phone.

Saeed had just flown back into Paris after three weeks away on business in Saudi Arabia. Young and good-looking, he was the stereotypical international jet-setter. Dionne saw him whenever he was in town, and now she and CeCe were out with him and his entourage in Kasbah, a Moroccan themed bar just off the rue St Honoré.

Saeed raised his glass. ‘To Dionne, the next supermodel!’

‘Yes, to Dionne,’ CeCe chimed in, grinning at her friend.

Dionne giggled as she toasted herself, loving being the centre of attention. This was definitely something she could get used to.

‘What catalogue did you say it was again?’ Katerina asked pointedly. A stunning Latvian model/actress, her biggest claim to fame was that she’d had a walk-on role in the last James Bond movie.

‘Bonprix,’ Dionne smiled, determined not to let Katerina rile her. They’d met a few times on the circuit. Dionne thought she was a bitch, but Saeed was paying, so he got to decide who came along for the ride.

Katerina sniffed. ‘It’s hardly a Vogue editorial, is it?’

‘Six thousand euros, baby,’ Dionne grinned.

‘I think it’s vulgar to talk about money,’ Katerina drawled disapprovingly, in her thick, Eastern European accent.

Saeed watched the two girls with interest. ‘I love to talk about money,’ he declared, ‘as long as it’s big numbers. Anything less than a million doesn’t interest me.’ He laughed loudly, a booming, self-satisfied sound.

‘I’ll be making that soon,’ Dionne declared, as Katerina rolled her eyes.

‘So, where are you ladies taking me tonight? Where’s hot?’ Saeed changed the subject, placing a friendly hand on Dionne’s knee. She was wearing the tiniest denim mini, which showed off her endless legs as she relaxed back onto the sofa.

‘VIP Room?’ suggested Katerina, referring to the exclusive club.

Dionne wrinkled her nose. ‘No. No one fun goes there any more,’ she told her dismissively, gently placing a hand over Saeed’s to stop it from wandering any further up her thigh.

‘How about Bijou?’ CeCe suggested. She was dressed in a typically eccentric outfit; black Balmain harem pants that she’d picked up in a thrift shop, and an oversized, sequinned crop top, accessorized with chunky gold heels, enormous hoop earrings and a pair of deliberately geekish spectacles. ‘I haven’t been, but Dionne said it’s incredible.’

Dionne stiffened, an unexpected surge of excitement pulsing through her. ‘Totally!’ she exclaimed, trying to suppress how badly she wanted to go there. Bijou meant Philippe Rochefort – the hottest guy in the city, as far as Dionne was concerned, and the man she’d set her sights on. With David out of town, this would be the perfect opportunity to get to know Bijou’s owner a little better. ‘I love it there – it’s where it’s at right now. Saeed, honey, you’ll just adore it,’ Dionne purred persuasively.

Saeed nodded thoughtfully. ‘Where is it?’

‘The Marais.’

‘Fine, then let’s go there,’ he agreed easily, finishing his drink and pausing only to take a brief glimpse up Dionne’s skirt as she stood up in front of him.

‘I know the owner,’ she commented casually, oblivious to what had just happened and unable to resist bragging. The statement was an exaggeration – she’d been introduced to Philippe once, on her first night in Bijou, but Dionne had learned that you didn’t get anywhere in life without a little embellishment of the facts.

‘Philippe? I met him in St Trop,’ said Katerina airily. ‘I was a guest at his club there. He is very handsome and he liked me very much.’

Dionne felt the implicit challenge in Katerina’s statement, and relished the competition. Back off, bitch. He’s mine.

‘Yeah, he’s a great guy,’ Dionne agreed nonchalantly. ‘Takes the time to be friendly to everyone. Even the little people.’

She shot Katerina a dazzling smile, then climbed into the blacked-out SUV, pulling CeCe in beside her. When they got to the club she would ditch Saeed and see who else was around – Katerina was welcome to his over-friendly advances. The rumour was she was little better than a prostitute and would sleep with anyone for the right price.

Dionne wasn’t into that scene, but a lot of the girls she knew maintained their lifestyle that way – when they realized they were never going to make it big in modelling, they soon turned their hand to a much more lucrative trade. Even the world-famous Fashion Week could be little more than a flesh fest, with a whole seedy underbelly operating on the sidelines of the main event. Girls who hadn’t been selected for the shows instead competed to make it into the beds of rich and powerful men – all for the right price, of course.

But while Dionne was happy to party, she wouldn’t sleep with just anyone. It was a fine line, but she knew damn well which side she was on. Dionne was going to make it, and when she did it would be on her own terms.

Right now, she was going to have a little fun, and Philippe Rochefort was the perfect guy to be by her side – handsome, rich, well connected. Power like that was sexy, a real turn-on, and together they would make a spectacular couple. It wouldn’t be easy, but Dionne loved a challenge. She was confident she could get any guy she wanted.

Smiling to herself in the darkness, she settled back into the luxurious seats of the SUV, watching in anticipation as the bright lights of Paris flashed by.

‘Thanks, have a great night. Enjoy the rest of your holiday …’

Aidan closed the door and locked it, the bolts making a satisfying clunk as they slid into place. He’d already turned the music off, and the late-night silence was striking.

Alyson had begun clearing up, rinsing the drip trays and wiping down the tables ready for tomorrow.

‘Take five minutes, if you want,’ Aidan suggested. ‘Get yourself a drink.’

‘Thanks,’ Alyson said gratefully. She poured herself an orange juice, then sat down at one of the tables, where she slipped off her shoes and began to massage her feet. The long shifts were always a killer.

Aidan fixed himself a neat Jameson’s for Dutch courage and came over to join her. He watched her as she leaned forwards, her long, slim fingers making sweeping movements along the soles of her feet. Even after a gruelling shift she still looked incredible, the dark circles under her eyes highlighting her fragility.

Aidan took a slug of the whiskey, feeling the warming sensation as it hit the back of his throat. Shit, he had to get a handle on the situation. This girl was really starting to get to him.

As the manager of Chez Paddy, there’d been countless young women passing through, all far from home and looking for a friendly face. Aidan wasn’t stupid – he was a good-looking guy, and could have taken advantage on dozens of occasions. But he’d always made it a rule not to get involved with the staff. It caused too many problems.

But Alyson was different. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was different to all the rest, with a real sense of class, a vulnerability that brought out his protective side and a smoking body that brought out another side entirely.

He was ashamed to admit that he’d done something completely out of character the other day. It had been Alyson’s day off and that French guy had come in looking for her – the older, smarmy creep. Aidan couldn’t stand him. He’d asked for Alyson, and Aidan had coldly told him she wasn’t working.

‘Tell her I passed by,’ Philippe had said, looking at Aidan with a cool, level gaze. There was something triumphant in his expression, as though he knew that Aidan couldn’t compete with him – his power, his wealth.

Aidan had been furious, jealousy pumping through him. For the first time he’d felt his humble status, embarrassed of working in a tourist bar when this guy looked and behaved like he owned the world.

Aidan hadn’t told Alyson about her visitor. He insisted to himself that he was just looking out for her, but deep down he knew his behaviour was born out of envy. He’d seen the way Alyson was with this guy, the way her eyes had lit up when she was speaking to him. He’d never seen her behave like that with anyone else – letting her guard drop completely, hanging off his every word.

Aidan gripped the glass tightly at the memory, his fingertips turning white with pressure as he threw back his head and downed the last of the Jameson’s. It was do or die, and he was about to break his own golden rule.

‘So, how’s everything going with your new flatmates?’ he asked cheerily. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he could have kicked himself. Bloody coward. It wasn’t what he’d wanted to ask at all.

But then Alyson lazily opened her eyes – they were luminous blue and huge, framed by long, pale lashes – and gave him the most divine smile. Aidan felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him.

‘They’re great,’ she replied tiredly. ‘Really sweet girls. Kind of crazy, but fun.’

Aidan nodded, struggling to keep his focus. He took a deep breath and tried again.

‘Good. Great. Look, I um … sorted out the rotas for the next two weeks. I don’t know if you’ve looked at them?’

‘No, I haven’t had a chance yet, I’m afraid.’

‘No problem.’ Aidan paused, uncertain of where to go next. He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘It’s just … it’s worked out that we both have this Saturday night off. I was wondering if you fancied … if you wanted to do something. I know you said you hadn’t seen much of the city, so I thought it might be fun to explore …’

Alyson broke into a wide smile. ‘Yeah, that sounds great. I’d love to.’

‘Really? Fantastic!’ Aidan had to stop himself from punching the air. ‘Right, well …’ He cleared his throat, businesslike once more, as he tried to hide his delight. ‘I guess we’d better get cleaned up in here.’

The music was pumping loudly as the DJ segued effortlessly from a remixed R&B track into electronic dance. A wash of coloured lights swept the room, bouncing off the mirrors and reflecting from the polished glass tables.

Saeed Al-Assad was seated in Bijou’s VIP area, the exclusive roped-off section. The table in front of him was piled high with bottles of spirits and mixers, Rochefort champagne stacked in silver ice buckets. Saeed sat like a king surveying his harem, surrounded by a posse of black-clad friends, mostly Arabs, and short-skirted, beautiful girls – the ones he’d arrived with, and the ones he’d picked out of the crowd and invited to join him.

Behind the banquette seating was a recessed area, like a luxurious cave, the size of a double kingsize bed and with sheer gauze drapes that could be pulled across when the occupants wanted a little privacy. Already a number of girls were lying languidly on the oversized cushions, sipping drinks and artfully arranging themselves to show off their assets to best advantage. They would start off chatting to Saeed’s friends, then slowly move closer to the man himself, each hoping to land the big fish.

Dionne had no interest in lying around being decorative – she was here to have fun. She and CeCe were dancing with abandon, the men around them watching with interest as they rolled their bodies, hips grinding, booty shaking. From time to time the pair got tantalizingly close, as Dionne flung her arms around CeCe and their bodies pressed together, leaving everyone watching and wondering: will they or won’t they? Each of them loved the spotlight, craving the attention. Dionne, especially, fed off it, needing all eyes on her.

Wiggling her way past his entourage, Dionne leaned over to Saeed. ‘I’m just heading to the bathroom, honey. Back soon.’

Saeed nodded easily, reaching over to give Dionne a playful slap on her behind as she walked off. Dionne span round, giggling, before grabbing CeCe’s hand and pulling her away.

‘Let’s go have some fun,’ Dionne whispered in her ear.

They wound their way through the crowd, Dionne ever alert for Philippe Rochefort. She hadn’t seen him yet and hoped he’d put in an appearance tonight. She knew she’d be pissed if she didn’t get an opportunity to speak to him.

But, even if he didn’t show, she and CeCe were getting more than enough attention to make up for it. As they moved through the club, the men all checked them out, while the women narrowed their eyes jealously. Their attitude made Dionne laugh, all the uptight bitches standing around trying to bag a rich guy, not daring to do or say anything that might put off a potential sugar daddy. As far as Dionne was concerned, life was too short. She was all about having a good time, about drinking, dancing and enjoying herself. In her experience, men loved a wild girl – it made them imagine what she’d be like in bed.

The pair made their way to the bathroom where Dionne repaired her make-up, dabbing under her eyes where her mascara had streaked. She wanted to make sure she looked good. You never knew who was around – a lot of the top photographers and big model agents hung out here.

She spritzed on some perfume – Poison, by Dior – and readjusted her top. It was a loose gold halterneck, made from a silk mix that draped provocatively around her body, gaping open and showing her breasts whenever she leaned forward. Dionne was well aware of that. It never happened accidentally.

She turned to CeCe beside her, who was slicking on her trademark red lipstick.

‘Okay, baby girl,’ Dionne grinned. ‘Let’s go see what we can find.’

Philippe was making his way through Bijou, squeezing past the mass of bodies pressed up tightly together as they danced and drank. There was a good vibe in the club and they were at capacity, operating a strict one-out one-in policy. It didn’t seem to deter the crowds outside, huddled on the pavement and hoping that they might get lucky, picked out of the mob and allowed inside to join the chosen few.

Philippe stopped briefly to pose for a photo with an up-and-coming pop starlet, then headed for the DJ booth. He wanted to ensure that the DJ had everything she wanted; he’d spent a lot of money flying her in from LA for the night and intended to keep her happy.

‘Philippe! Philippe, honey!’

Out of the corner of his eye, Philippe saw some girl making a beeline for him. Tall, black, with an incredible body, she was barrelling towards him like a heat-seeking missile locked onto her target. He’d met her before, he thought – in his line of work it was necessary to have a photographic memory. His recollections of her weren’t good. He remembered her as loud, attention-seeking and trashy. And she was American, he realized with distaste, pronouncing his name in a grating, nasal accent.

His mind was working quickly; perhaps he could still get away. The music was pounding and he could pretend he hadn’t heard her. Changing course, he headed for the bar. He needed a stiff drink if he was going to survive this evening. As soon as the bar girl saw him approaching, she immediately began pouring a large whiskey with a dash of soda and not too much ice. Exactly how he liked it. The staff had been well trained in how to keep Monsieur Rochefort happy.

He drank it straight down and nodded to the girl to make him another as he felt a predatory hand clamp on his arm.

‘Philippe, honey!’ Dionne kissed him ostentatiously on both cheeks, thrilled to have finally tracked him down. She glanced around quickly to see if Katerina was watching – she’d show that dumb-ass clothes horse that there was only one woman Philippe Rochefort was interested in. ‘Baby, how are you?’ she demanded.

‘Fine, thank you.’ Philippe fought to be polite. He wasn’t in the mood for this tonight. After he got rid of this girl, he would go home, take a shower and prepare for his trip tomorrow.

‘Your club is amazing, I’m having a fabulous time,’ Dionne gushed, going for the full-on charm offensive. She was a firm believer that the way to a man’s bed was via his ego. ‘And you’re looking so incredibly handsome,’ she murmured, leaning in close as she slid a hand along his torso. His shirt was open at the neck, showing the thick, dark hair on his chest.

‘Thank you. You’re very kind,’ he muttered, as the bar girl handed him another drink. He downed it in one and felt it hit the spot that the first one hadn’t.

Dionne sensed his distraction and upped her game. ‘You know, I’d love to come here every night if I could. Are you here every night? That would totally be worth coming back for …’

‘I’m afraid I go away on business tomorrow. I will be out of the country for at least a week.’

‘A whole week! How’m I gonna survive that long without you?’

‘You will manage.’

‘It sounds so exciting,’ Dionne persevered in a low, breathy voice. ‘It must be awesome to fly all over the world the whole time.’

‘It is not always so awesome,’ Philippe pronounced the word distastefully, ‘when it is work.’

‘Oh, but you must have a lil’ fun sometimes too, y’know what I’m saying?’

Philippe gave a tight smile but didn’t reply.

Dionne pressed on, unfazed. ‘So, are you going somewhere glamorous and exotic?’

‘Perhaps you may think so. I must fly to the US.’

‘The States!’ Dionne exclaimed. ‘Oh, I wish I was there! I miss my home country. Hey, maybe I could go in your suitcase?’ she suggested mischievously.

Involuntarily, Philippe glanced at her full breasts and well-rounded butt on her skinny frame. ‘I don’t think you’d fit.’

Dionne saw him look her over, noticed the expression on his face as he registered her spectacular body. It gave her an idea.

‘Have you met my housemate, Cécile?’ she cooed, dragging CeCe over from where she was chatting with friends. ‘She’s a designer, and sooo talented.’

Philippe smiled automatically, kissing CeCe’s cheeks in greeting. Physically she was nothing special, not in the way that Dionne was, but her dress sense was striking and she undoubtedly had something about her – that indefinable je ne sais quoi.

‘We do everything together,’ Dionne continued, adding with a grin, ‘And I mean everything …’ She giggled as CeCe slipped an arm around her waist and leaned in, beginning to nuzzle her neck. Dionne turned and kissed her softly as CeCe responded, reaching up to pull Dionne’s face down to hers. Their mouths were open, eyes closed. All around them, people began to stare.

Philippe shifted uncomfortably. He could feel the stirring in his crotch, the bulge growing in his trousers as he watched them, hands caressing each other’s bodies. For Christ’s sake, he reprimanded himself, he was thirty-eight years old and his dick still had a mind of its own.

Dionne came up for air, looking across to Philippe to ensure she had his attention. He was staring at her, that familiar look on his face that she recognized from so many men. It was almost funny, how easy they were to manipulate.

Dionne moved across to him, eager to seal the deal. She was tall, an inch or two above him in heels, and she bowed her head to whisper in his ear. ‘How about we all get together before you leave,’ she breathed. ‘Give you something to remember us by.’

Philippe looked over at her, taking her in properly this time. She was stunning, no doubt about that – stacked, sexy, and with huge lips that would look great round his cock. The other girl looked wild, totally uninhibited.

What the hell, maybe he should go home with them. Perhaps this would be the way to get Alyson out of his system – by banging some meaningless women that he didn’t give a shit about. They obviously didn’t give a damn about him – other than as some kind of trophy fuck.

Breaking into a charming smile, Philippe turned to them. ‘Ladies,’ he began solicitously, his arm snaking round Dionne’s waist. ‘Can I buy you a bottle of champagne?’