Читать книгу Girl in a Vintage Dress - Nicola Marsh - Страница 9

LOLA clutched her monstrous cerise crushed velvet holdall against her chest as she strode along Collins Street.

While the Dazzle offices might be at the elegant bustling Paris end of the street, walking through the central business district after dark always made her nervous.

The fairy lights strung through tree branches twinkled as commuters rushed past her, heading for the underground train stations, oblivious to their surroundings, caught up in the rat race.

She eased her grip on her bag and tucked it under her arm, her fear receding. Being a business drone like these commuters was far scarier to her than any imagined bogeymen lurking in the shadows.

She hated that lifestyle: the pace, the relentlessness, the frenetic whirlwind to be bigger and better and brighter than everyone else.

She’d tried it once, had been caught up in it against her will. After all, what choice did she have when her mum was a former Miss Australia finalist and her sister a catwalk supermodel?

They’d dragged her along to countless parties and Fashion Weeks and make-up launches, no doubt hoping some of that glamour would rub off on her, the lacklustre fat Lombard of the trio.

While she’d enjoyed the fashion shows and make-up giveaways, she didn’t belong in that world and never would. The fake-ness, the schmoozing, the air kisses while everyone sized up everyone else behind their backs… Nah, she’d leave that to people who thrived on it, like her gorgeous waiflike sister Shareen—yeah, she was that famous she had a single name, like Cher and Madonna—and her mum, Darla, who still graced the glossy magazines every few weeks.

The sad thing was, she could now match them for poise and fashion-consciousness yet they rarely acknowledged her transformation, they were so caught up in their own lives. And what was worse? That she still cared what they thought, after all this time.

Just once, she’d like her mum to say, Darling, you look gorgeous, a compliment often thrown out to Shareen. The closest she got these days was, ‘That’s an interesting outfit,’ which was better than nothing but not a patch on what she wanted, what she deserved.

Annoyed at dredging up memories guaranteed to sap her confidence, she picked up the pace and as she reached the offices of Dazzle, enclosed in a modern glass monstrosity reaching for the sky, she knew Chase Etheridge belonged in the group of go-getters she’d just shouldered through.

He oozed class that money couldn’t buy, an innate assurance evident in those slashed cheekbones, square jaw and sensual mouth.

The way he’d barged into her shop, overpowering her personal space with his brand of charisma, never doubting for a second she’d fall in line with his plans… Yeah, he had confidence to burn and, despite her private vow made a long time ago to never fall for the falseness of that glamorous world, she found herself looking forward to seeing him again.

Irritated, she marched through the glass doors, ignoring the inevitable stares from business drones leaving the building.

She was used to the stares, used to people taking a second look when she walked past. Hadn’t she cultivated this image for that very reason all those years ago, turning her personal penchant for vintage into a unique look all her own?

She liked being admired, liked standing out from Shareen and Darla and the more people complimented her the further she honed her image to the point where she never stepped out of her bedroom without her retro mask in place.

Lola Lombard was striking, different, distinctive and a far cry from frumpy, mousy Louise Lombard who’d slunk in her gorgeous family’s footsteps, wishing she could be just like them.

The ten second ride in a supersonic elevator made her ears pop and, increasingly grumpy she strode along the plush thirtieth floor corridor and into the flashy Dazzle offices.

She’d expected glitz to the max but the understated elegance of the place surprised her: cinnamon carpet, mushroom walls and a simple mahogany front desk bordered on antique. The whole front office had an old world charm rather than the modern slant she’d expected after meeting Chase and her misconception rattled her. What other surprises did Chase Etheridge hide up his Armani sleeves?

A suitably sleek receptionist glanced up as she approached and to her credit the woman didn’t balk or stare at her appearance, offering a genuine smile instead.

‘Hi, you must be Lola. Chase is expecting you. Last door on the left; go straight in.’

Acutely aware of her nineteen-fifties dress next to the receptionist’s black Dolce and Gabbana power suit, she headed off down the hallway where Miss D&G had pointed.

She hesitated outside a monstrous ebony door, wishing she didn’t have to do this. Then she remembered that latest mortgage rise notification and her teetering finances, took a deep breath and raised her fist to knock.

Her knuckles had barely grazed the door when it opened and she bit back a wistful sigh.

Because that was how seeing Chase again made her feel: pensive, yearning for something she knew wasn’t good for her yet craved anyway. Kind of like her favourite double choc fudge brownies.

‘Glad you could make it.’

As if she’d had any choice. Apart from her dire financial straits, the minute he’d barged into Go Retro he would never have taken no for an answer; he was that kind of guy.

‘I’ve got a rough presentation for you to take a look at.’

‘Great, come on in.’

He opened the door wider but didn’t move and as she slid past him she could’ve sworn a bolt of electricity zapped her. How else could she explain her wobbly knees and shaky hands and boneless spine?

Striding across the office as if she was used to being in fancy executive suites every day of the week, her eyes widened when she neared the desk, a gargantuan glass and chrome concoction that would’ve served half a call centre.

It was covered with fancy gadgets and neat document stacks, with a gleaming stainless steel pen holder housing gold pens. A laptop as thin as a wafer sat side by side with a huge PC screen bigger than her television.

The desk spoke volumes about Chase: modern, efficient, smooth. So what did her chipped, scratched antique roll top say about her?

‘Have a seat.’

Oh-oh. She’d expected him to retreat behind his well organised desk and leave her a welcome few metres away on the other side. Instead, he gestured to a low ochre suede sofa nearby—a sofa without matching chairs, which meant he’d be sitting next to her, nice and cosy, while she gave her presentation.

When he cast a quizzical glance she perched on the edge of the sofa, smoothing her full skirt before delving into her bag for her notes, concentrating on gathering her documents and trying not to stiffen when he sat next to her, so temptingly close.

‘Looks like you’ve got an office in that bag.’

‘I like to be prepared,’ she said, yanking the folder from her bag and brandishing it like a protective shield.

‘Let me guess. You were in Girl Scouts.’

His mouth kicked into a teasing smile and she swore her heart kicked back.

‘Not a chance.’

She’d been too busy traipsing around after her sister as a kid, fetching costumes and tights and mascara wands, hanging around backstage killing time at countless talent and fashion shows. While she’d loved the clothes she’d hated the condescending pity stares from people in the industry who knew she was Shareen’s fat baby sister.

Exasperated she’d let more memories distract her at a time like this, she flipped open the folder.

‘This is a very basic outline of the week, which I’ll flesh out later…’

The rest of her pitch faded into oblivion as he leaned towards her to look at the folder, his shoulder brushing hers and setting off a bunch of internal fireworks that rocketed and pinwheeled and spiralled until she was dizzy.

This out of control physical reaction to a guy who embodied everything she didn’t like was crazy, a purely hormonal reaction for a girl who hadn’t had a date in a while. Okay, a long while.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t make this any easier and, gritting her teeth against blue-eyed, wicked, smiling, rich rogues, she rattled the paper and stabbed her finger at the first point.

‘The gist of the hen’s party is pampering for the bride-to-be, including manicures, pedicures, facials, massages, makeovers. Then I throw in deportment lessons, etiquette, dance and home-style cooking classes.’

Chase snorted and she raised an eyebrow.

‘The thought of Cari in the kitchen, let alone cooking anything beyond microwaving a frozen dinner is mind-boggling.’

‘She doesn’t cook at all?’

Lola never understood how anyone couldn’t at least scramble eggs or make a basic chicken salad. She loved the warmth of a well-used, well-loved kitchen: the aromas, the fresh herbs, the spices, the fun of throwing stuff together and creating a delicious surprise.

Guess that explained why she’d been the size of a blimp growing up and her mum and sister never ventured to the fridge for more than to grab iced water and a lettuce leaf.

Chase grinned and once again her heart performed some weird dance ritual halfway between tap and mambo.

‘Cari’s a take-out kind of gal.’

He pointed at her presentation. ‘So the cooking? This I’ve got to see.’

Her heart did a final pirouette and sank into the splits as she realised what that meant.

‘You’ll be at the house?’

A slight frown creased his brow and she silently cursed her abrupt question complete with horrified undertone.

‘We’ll see. I have enough work here to keep me busy so I’ll be staying in town most likely.’

The guy had two houses? She could barely afford the mortgage on one. Another reason why she was here—the thought of her precious two bedroom Californian bungalow a street away from Go Retro being ripped away from her was too much to bear.

She’d put it up as collateral when she’d gone from leasing the Errol Street storefront to buying it as an investment in her business and now that interest rates were on the rise and consumer spending was down and Go Retro wasn’t doing so well…

Panic flared, lurching from the darkest recesses where she clamped down on it on a daily basis, doing everything in her power to make Go Retro a roaring success and saving her business, her livelihood and her home.

‘I’ve got a penthouse not far from here, but get away to the Mount Macedon house when I can.’

‘Great.’

Her response sounded forced and before he could pick up on it, she rushed on. ‘I’ll need to know if there are any food allergies, that sort of thing.’

He nodded and slipped his trusty smartphone from his jacket pocket, tapping away at the miniature keyboard with his thumb.

‘Onto it.’

His rudeness grated—stupid darn technology—and she wanted to rattle him.

‘With the itinerary I’ve planned, including two six-course dinner parties, I might need to stay over two nights out of the seven.’

As if he’d care. He’d be ensconced in his glass tower in the city, giving her carte blanche to his mansion at Mount Macedon. And while his blasé attitude to his wealth annoyed her, she had to admit she couldn’t wait to check out his country mansion.

‘I’ll make sure to be there those nights,’ he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief and, to her mortification she blushed, only serving to increase his amusement as his mouth curved into a teasing smile.

Great, now he’d think she couldn’t handle a little light-hearted flirtation.

The problem wasn’t the flirting as much as the guy doing it. For a woman who hated his lifestyle and all it stood for—superficiality at its finest—she sure wasn’t averse to the man himself.

Gathering her documents along with her wits, she shoved them back into the folder and stood.

‘Well, that’ll do for the preliminaries. I’ll email you something more formal next week.’

‘Sounds good.’

He stood and glanced at his watch. ‘I need to be somewhere.’

Bristling at his careless dismissal, she squared her shoulders.

‘I’ll get out of your way then.’

Her frosty tone raised both his eyebrows.

‘Actually, if you’re not doing anything I’d love you to join me.’

If the sofa wasn’t pressing against the back of her knees she would’ve crumpled into an embarrassing heap.

Speechless, she searched her brain for a polite refusal, something to mask her total shock he’d actually asked her out.

‘There’s some fashion designer/modelling agency launch, might be good PR for you to meet some people? They’re always looking for a new angle for these shindigs, could be good for your business.’

His phone beeped and he cast a quick glance at it and grimaced.

‘Plus you’ll be doing me a huge favour seeing as I’ve just heard the media will be there and if I turn up to these things single they’re always writing gutter rubbish about me the next day.’

‘When you put it that way, how can a girl refuse?’

Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on him and he shot her an apologetic glance while tapping a response on that infernal phone.

‘Look, I really think it’ll be a beneficial business opportunity for you and I offered to introduce you to suitable contacts as part of our deal.’

Hitting send on his phone, he finally gave her his full attention and, as the impact of those startling blue eyes and sensual lips curved, she almost wished he’d return to his phone.

‘As for helping me out of a tight spot by being my date for a few hours, consider it your good deed for the day.’

Hating how he’d railroaded her, she folded her arms. ‘Maybe I’m not feeling so charitable today.’

With his eyes crinkling adorably at the corners, he leaned towards her and she held her breath, bombarded by an incoming sexy male she had no hope of handling.

‘Come on, Lola. My reputation is in your hands.’

She snorted, the corners of her mouth tugging into a reluctant smile. ‘I have a feeling your reputation was shot long before I came along.’

‘Ouch.’

He clasped his hands to his heart while hers gave a suspicious twang; enough of a wake up call to never take anything he said seriously. Chase schmoozed for a living, knowing the right thing to say for any occasion.

However much he turned on the charm she had to realise it was as natural to him as breathing and not read too much into it, something she’d been guilty of before. Sometimes having dreams of a white picket fence and home cooked meals and a bundle of adorable kids wasn’t so helpful, especially when smooth-talking guys like Bodey who she dated more than a few times started to look like a prospective groom.

‘Shall I take your silence as agreement?’

She shook her head at his good-natured persistence. ‘You can take my silence as musing time filled with misgivings.’

‘But you’ll do it anyway, right?’

She hated accepting help from anyone, least of all a guy like Chase who she suspected of having strings attached to his offer but she couldn’t bypass the opportunity to put Go Retro front and centre with fresh contacts. New business meant a much needed cash injection and it wouldn’t be smart to rely on pride alone to save her.

While her head screamed no, her hopeful heart already strutted alongside him, proud to be his date for a few hours.

Exhaling on an exaggerated sigh, she shrugged. ‘Why not?’

Giving a much needed boost to her business and playing Chase’s arm candy for an evening? She could think of worse ways to spend a few hours.

‘Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,’ he said, brushing a quick kiss on her cheek, already distracted by an incoming call while she stood there, reeling.

Not from the quick thank you peck as much as how it made her feel.

As if she wanted a lot more where that came from.