My gratitude has her smile returning, her shoulders easing. ‘No problem. Just wave me down if you change your mind.’
I nod and go back to Olivia.
She’s perfectly poised on the bar stool. Her platinum blonde hair, smooth and sleek, snakes down her exposed spine in a ponytail that ends just above the low curve to her dress. Her eyes are all made up, the dark shade making her crystal-blue eyes strike out across the distance, her lips far more subtle in their blushing pink gloss.
The entire look is sexy, sultry, and so far removed from the polished businesswoman and wholesome charity organiser the press were once accustomed to.
She’s not the official face of the charity any more; she stood down months ago when her wild behaviour first hit the tabloids. In all fairness to the press, they did cite mitigating circumstances. She’d recently lost her husband after all. But it wasn’t long before they started putting the boot in anyway.
And I get her behaviour. I feel it. The ache of loss. The mark it leaves and the interminable chasm. I understand. And I know that’s why Alan, my friend and mentor, her chief operating officer, came to me for help.
So that’s why I’m here. To witness it for myself. The truth. Not the persona the press now project, the rumour mill doing its thing. I’m here to get a feel for what lies ahead, to decide if it’s worth the battle that’s bound to ensue and the raking over old wounds that I seek to forget.
Is she worth it?
My head says yes. She doesn’t deserve the hand she’s been dealt in life and the PR shitstorm brewing. Not to mention the potentially grave consequences if she takes it one wild step too far.
But my gut...that’s a whole other ball game.
I’m too interested. Too intrigued. I feel it build with the atmosphere as I wait for her next move. Just how far does she partake in the illicit fun under this roof? Is it natural curiosity that has her coming here as an innocent bystander, an observer? Or is it something more...is she seeking to indulge another side to her?
A side I long ago denied myself...
I watch as she swirls the glass in her hand, her eyes lost in the movement of the drink and then they lift, pierce the mirror, pierce me.
My lungs still, my breath caught in some weird suspended state...but she can’t see me, I’m in the shadows, and yet that feeling she sparks returns tenfold, stirring up something deep, long forgotten.
I shift in my seat, look away. It’s time to go. I’ve seen enough. She’s nursed the same drink, not even touching it until now. And, whatever she’s here for, it doesn’t matter; it’s enough that she’s crossed the threshold in the world of Public Relations. It isn’t just some falsified rumour designed to discredit her.
I rise, turn to leave, but the bartender catches my eye as he pauses before her, says something that has her turning rigid. I can see her eyes dance in the mirror, see her cheeks streak with a flush of colour as she nods and then she’s lowering herself from the stool. One long, creamy leg unfolding to reach the floor, followed by the other. Her red-soled black stilettos making her appear taller, all the more slender as she rises up...
Her dress, what there is of it, shimmers in the lights, the draping curve to its back sashaying as she turns and faces me head on, and I lose the ability to breathe once more. The dress ends mid-thigh, the high front and full-length sleeves contrasting with the skimpy rear, but the way it clings to her with that accentuating shimmer...
She’s something else.
I force my eyes up, take in the sleek ponytail, blue eyes and alabaster skin and realise with a surge of heat inside just how much I’m attracted to her. And I haven’t felt that kind of pull in so long.
I blame the alien environment, the carnal longing thrumming off the crowd. It’s messing with my status quo. I haven’t wanted anyone since Layla and no brief visit to a den of iniquity will change that. No matter what my reawakened body is trying to tell me.
I control it. Not the other way around.
I learned my lesson the hard way. And it really is time to leave.
I turn and smack into something.
‘Shit!’ it curses. Big brown eyes stare up at me as something cold and wet seeps through my shirt and glass shatters on the floor at our feet. It’s the waitress from moments ago, her tray now devoid of drinks and stuck flat between us.
I step back. ‘Apologies.’
‘No, I’m sorry, I’ll just...’
But I’m no longer listening. Every eye in the vicinity is now on me, on us.
Including hers. Olivia’s.
Bollocks.
CHAPTER TWO
Olivia
I TURN TO follow the bartender as the sound of breaking glass snags my attention. A pretty brunette waitress is clutching a tray to her chest, her eyes wide as she blinks up, up and up at a man so broad and so tall he dwarfs everyone around him.
I watch as the girl blurts what must be an apology, watch her cheeks flush pink as she drops to the floor. And then his eyes flit in my direction, long enough for my heart to trip over itself, but not long enough that I get to drink my fill of his chiselled appeal.
It normally takes a good filter and camera angle to pull it off. But he’s au naturel and I’m gawping, the new me eager to take in more...eager but he’s not obliging. He’s angled away now, crouching down to assist the waitress in the clean-up, and I’m left with the memory of the look he sent me. The slight flare to his eyes as they widened with...with what? Awareness, recognition...a mutual desire?
Because I don’t know him. I’d remember if we’d met before. He doesn’t have a face
