Falling for Grace

by Kate O'Keeffe

  I swallow hard. “Of course. Yes. That’s good . . . err, thank you.”

  She flashes me her beautiful smile. “I’ll try the next one on. Sam, honey, are you coming?”

  “Of course,” Sam replies, following her as she leaves the room.

  A moment later Vanessa walks back in wearing the second dress, a pale pink strapless evening gown.

  “Wow, you look wonderful,” I can’t help but utter.

  “Thanks. I love it.” She admires her reflection in the mirror. “And a perfect fit. No need for any adjustments.” She looks directly at me.

  I squirm, smiling weakly at her.

  Sam returns to the living room, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, carrying the suit bags over one arm.

  “You look amazing in that one,” he comments to Vanessa. “Doesn’t she, Grace?”

  “Yes, she does.”

  He hands me the suit bag. Our fingers brush one another for a fraction of a moment.

  Of course.

  I clear my throat. “I’ll have them ready for you tomorrow, Mr Montgomery.”

  “Thank you.” He shoots me a flirty smile.

  In front of his girlfriend? Really?

  “Thank you for your help with this. And it was really nice to see you again, Grace.”

  His electric eyes almost bore right through me.

  I ignore the knot in my belly. “What time works for you tomorrow?”

  “Three o’clock?”

  “Three it is.” I begin to back away, eager to get out of the room. Fast.

  “Take care.” He smiles, watching me closely.

  “Okey-dokey.” Okey-dokey? “Bye.”

  I close the door to the suite behind me and heave a sigh of relief. ‘Awkward’ doesn’t even begin to describe that encounter. I’m just glad it’s over. And after tomorrow, I’ll never have to see Sam Montgomery again.

  Chapter 7

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I sit at my favourite Mojo café with a cup of coffee and a chocolate brownie. I try not to think about Sam Montgomery. I fail. I take a bite of my brownie, try to concentrate on its chocolate-y deliciousness. My mind wanders back to Sam.

  Wow, I know I’ve got it bad when even chocolate can’t do the trick.

  Damn him! He has no business being all hot and sexy and handsome and looking so good in those suits and flirting with me and having a girlfriend.

  I cringe as I think about how I brushed up against his, err, private area. Twice. God.

  And teasing me! I guess he just wanted to have some fun with the stupid chick who fell off the stage and into his lap. I’m probably a joke to him, a story he can tell his celebrity friends, to have a good old laugh at my expense.

  I take another bite of my brownie. Chomp it, swallow. Barely taste it.

  And he has a girlfriend. A beautiful, famous actress girlfriend. Who saw him flirting with me. She must have seen my blush—hell, you could probably spot it from space.

  Against my better judgment, I pull my phone out and google ‘Vanessa and Sam’. Oodles of images of the happy couple invade my screen. They even have a Wikipedia page.

  I reach for my brownie, realise I’ve eaten the whole thing. Sigh.

  “How did it go?” Jessica sits down at the table opposite me, looking like she just walked through a tornado.

  “Umm, you have—” I point to her hair. There are a couple of leaves caught up in it. I half expect a nest of baby birds to pop their heads out at the top to say hello.

  “Oh,” she exclaims. “That darn wind.” She removes the leaves and smooths her hair down. It looks marginally better. Well, less like she’s been dragged through a bush backwards, anyway.

  “It is pretty windy today. Classic Wellington,” I comment.

  Wellington is known for its wind. It blows and blows and blows from one direction and then the next, until suddenly it stops and no one can quite believe it. And then it starts back up again.

  “You’re telling me. I love this city but the wind drives me insane. Now, tell me all about it. Did Mr Deckard and his lady friend like the clothes?”

  “Yes. And I know who they are now. Sam Montgomery and Vanessa Hudson.”

  She grins. “They like to keep their anonymity wherever possible.”

  “Well, Vanessa wants both dresses, and she looks wonderful in them.”

  “I bet she does. That’s one stunning woman. And how about the suits? Did Sam like them? I bet he looked great in that tux.”

  I try not to blush at the thought of Sam and that tux.

  “Yes, he did. I, ah . . . had to take his measurements. The pants were a little baggy.” My blush deepens.

  She raises her eyebrows. “All right. Good. He was nice?”

  I swallow. “Yes, very nice. And Vanessa is too. Really lovely, and she looked so great in the clothes.”

  Deflect. Good.

  “Yes, so you said.” She barely suppresses a smile. “Remember, the most important thing about styling someone is that they’re happy. You can only guide them through what suits their body type, hair, and complexion. Ultimately, it’s up to them to decide what they like. Especially if they’re famous.”

  “Got it. Keep the client happy.”

  She shrugs. “Sometimes they need to hear some home truths, of course. I had one client when I was first starting out who insisted on wearing micro minis, despite the fact she was very bottom-heavy with short, chubby legs and the worst ‘cankles’ I think I’ve ever seen.”

  I laugh. “Poor woman.”

  “I know. I showed her what styles would make her look good, and she really did look great in them. You see, everyone has something they don’t like about their body. Our job is to show them what makes them look better than they could ever have imagined, but they have to be happy at the end of the process. Oh—” She turns pale.

  “Are you okay, Jess?”

  “Just a bit ill. Sorry, I… I think I need to go.” She leaps out of her chair, hand over her mouth, bolting as fast as her heels will take her towards the ladies’.

  A few moments—and more than a little brooding over Sam Montgomery—later, she’s back, glass of water in hand.

  “Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me. I hope I haven’t got that tummy bug that’s been going around.”

  “I hope not too. Are you okay now?”

  She takes a sip of water. “I think so. Tell me what’s happening with the suits.”

  “Well, I’m collecting them after this and taking them to Mr Montgomery this afternoon.”

  Mr Montgomery. Nice. That distances me from him.

  “It sounds like you have it all in hand. You’ll have to look out for them in the media. The tux and evening dresses are for that big movie premiere at The Embassy tomorrow. I wonder which dress Vanessa will choose? Now, I have a couple of other deliveries I need you to make. I’ll email you the details. No one quite so famous this time.” She winks at me.

  “I’m happy to do whatever.” I take a sip of my coffee, thankful my blush is receding.

  “Good. I’ll need you to hold the reins next week while I’m in Auckland.”

  “No problem. The Wearable Arts is almost done so I’m all yours by then. What are you doing up there?”

  “I’m doing my regular fashion slot on Wake Up New Zealand. I always get a bit nervous about it, but it’s lots of fun.”

  “That sounds great. I have to admit I’ve never seen the show. I don’t watch much regular-person TV.”

  She quirks an eyebrow. “Regular-person TV?” she questions.

  I give her a self-deprecating smile. “I like my documentaries. You know, Discovery? History Channel? That sort of thing.” I clear my throat, embarrassed. “When are you going to be on? I’ll be sure to watch it.”

  “My slot usually airs just after ten in the morning. I’m doing men’s fashion this time. Lots of cute male models.” She grins at me, her eyes sparkling.

  “Hey, you’re a married woman.”

  She gets a contented, glaz
ed look in her eyes. “I know. I am, aren’t I? I can hardly believe it myself.” Her grin stretches from ear to ear.

  Oh, to be that in love.

  “Anyway,” she says, bringing us both back to the present. “The show is live—I know, live TV, right? What could possibly go wrong?” She laughs.

  “Well, you’re a braver woman than me.”

  “Not really. I just try to forget the cameras and pretend I’m sitting on my sofa at home, chatting to a friend. It seems to work. There’s a party on Sunday night at Cheryl Greenacre’s place. You know, the presenter?”

  I nod, picturing the bubbly, pint-sized brunette: New Zealand’s television darling.

  “It’s a big birthday bash. Her thirty-fifth. Or at least, that’s what she’s telling everyone.” She flashes me a grin.

  I laugh. “A little flexible with her birthdate, do you think?”

  “Undoubtedly. Since I started doing the fashion slot on her show we’ve become friends in that air-kissing-darling-you-look-gorgeous-who-are-you-wearing kind of way.”

  I arch my eyebrows.

  She chuckles. “I think it’s going to be an epic party, knowing her.”

  “It sounds fun.” I watch as she turns green again. “Do you think you need to—?”

  She nods at me before dashing from the table again.

  I finish my coffee while I wait.

  Jessica arrives back at the table. This time she doesn’t sit down. “Look, Grace, I think I’d better head home. I’d hate to give you this thing. I’ll email you with the details for Monday. Oh, and those stylist appointments.”

  “Of course. Take care.”

  “Ah-oh.” She heads to the ladies’ once more.

  Once she returns I walk her out of the café and down the street to her car. I hand her a plastic bowl I borrowed from the café to ensure she gets home without destroying her upholstery.

  Jessica safely en route home I head back to collect the newly tailored suit pants.

  “Now, you need to hold this suit bag just so,” Eduardo instructs.

  “Thanks, Ed. I’ve got it.” I take the suit bag from him, flashing him a grin.

  He is not amused.

  Walking back to my car I get the distinct impression I’m being followed again. I glance around. No one. Must be my imagination.

  I pull out of my parallel car park and catch a glimpse of the woman I saw last time, dressed in the same black outfit. I jam on the breaks and reverse back into the parking space to angry hoots from oncoming traffic.

  Who is this woman?

  I jump out of the car. The woman is now a good forty feet away. She turns around and runs away down the street, knocking into a man as she goes.

  “Hey,” I call out, chasing after her.

  She turns a corner, into an alleyway. I follow. Man, this woman is quick! I enter the alleyway but there’s no sign of her. She’s vanished.

  That was no tourist. I’ve got myself a bona fide stalker.

  * * *

  I arrive at Sam and Vanessa’s hotel room door right on time at three in the afternoon. I take a deep breath before I knock. I need to be prepared to see him again.

  Satisfied my nerves are as steady as they’re going to get right now, I knock. This time there’s no Trent. Instead, Sam answers the door, a smile on his handsome face, his eyes that intense, icy blue.

  An electric shock courses through me as my eyes skip over him. Damn. Why does he have to be so darn hot?

  “It’s good to see you again, Grace. Come in.”

  “Thank you, Mr Montgomery.”

  He chuckles. “Call me Sam.” He closes the door behind me.

  I scan the room. “No Trent today?”

  “No. He and Vanessa are out.” He pauses before adding, “It’s just you and me.”

  My heart beats faster. Alone? No problem. I can handle this. I’m here to deliver the suits, and then I’m gone.

  I hold the suit bag in front of my body like a shield, protecting me from his Mr Sexy Knight hotness. “I have your tailored suits. Where would you like them?”

  He’s watching me closely. “In the bedroom.”

  The three-word sentence seems loaded with innuendo. Or is it just my imagination?

  I turn on my heel, head to the bedroom. “Righty-ho.”

  Excellent, Grace, you okey-dokeyed last time and now you’re righty-hoing? Geez.

  Outwardly I’m efficiency itself. I’m professional and in control. So what if he makes my legs turn to jelly?

  He stands back for me.

  I walk past him and place the bag on the bed. I unzip it and pull out the first suit. “All ready for you.”

  “Thanks.” Without warning he pulls his T-shirt over his head.

  I take a sharp intake of breath as I drink him in. His chest is broad and tanned, his muscles sculpted, defined. My eyes trail down his torso to his taut belly, to the line of hair under his belly button, running down below the top of his jeans.

  My body betrays me with a desire-laden sigh.

  He turns sharply to face me. “I’ll be right out. Unless you want to stay?” He smiles.

  Flustered, I reply, “Yes, yes, of course. Pardon me. I’ll go.”

  I scamper out of the room as fast as my wobbly legs will take me, closing the door firmly behind myself.

  I lean against the wall with my eyes closed. He caught me checking him out. How humiliating.

  After a few moments, he walks into the living room, wearing the tux again.

  I let out a breath of air.

  Professional, Grace. Professional and in control.

  He surveys himself in the mirror. “I think it works, now. Don’t you?”

  My eyes skip over his body. Work? Yeah, it definitely works.

  “The suit looks fantastic on you.”

  He takes the jacket off and I notice this time the pants mould to his body perfectly.

  I take a deep breath.

  “So far so good.” He flashes me a grin as he returns to the bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s fresh orange juice in the fridge if you fancy some.”

  “Great. Okay.” I look at my watch. Check my phone. Fidget.

  Finally, after he’s modelled all three suits—looking good enough to eat, I might add—he invites me to sit down.

  “Oh, I really have to get going. I’ve got a… a thing.”

  “A thing?” He quirks an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a thing.”

  Why can’t I think of anything plausible?

  A smile teases the edges of his mouth. “How about that juice?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, instead grabs a couple of glasses, pours some out and hands me one.

  Remember to keep the client happy. That’s what Jess said.

  He sits down and I take a seat opposite him.

  “So this is what you do when you’re not falling off catwalks and into men’s arms?”

  I flush. “Yes. Although I don’t make a habit of that.”

  He laughs. It sends gorgeous, warm curls of desire through me.

  “I’m just glad I was there to catch you.” He smiles, his eyes sparkling.

  I clear my throat. “So, you’re an actor? I hear you’re in Portal 51 but sorry, I have no idea what that is.”

  He laughs, shrugs. “It’s a TV show. I’d much prefer to talk about you instead.”

  I laugh out of sheer nervousness. “Oh, I… me?” I push my hair behind my ears. “I’m not very interesting.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” Again with that devastating smile.

  My tummy does a flip, my body tingling all over.

  “Okay. I live here in Wellington, have done so all my life. I was a fashion buyer, and now I’m a personal stylist’s assistant. See? Boring.”

  “That’s not so boring.”

  “Well, it is in comparison with you. You’re from Scotland, right?”

  “I am indeed. Born and raised in Glasgow. Ever been?”

  “Actually, yes.
My mother’s family is from Scotland, way back when. I went there when I was a teenager. The lochs are beautiful, but it’s frigging cold.”

  He chuckles. It sends vibrations through my chest. “I know. We think it’s an unnecessarily balmy day if it reaches sixty-five. I tell you, half the country wilts. You’d think we were having a heatwave in the hundreds.”

  I laugh. He’s funny and easy to talk to. This isn’t so bad.

  Now if only I could untie the knots in my belly and ignore the way he makes my body buzz.

  Talk turns to the media, and the paparazzi in particular.

  “I tell you, they’re the plague of my life.”

  “Do you get followed a lot?”

  He sighs. “Since Portal 51 took off, yeah, I do. I hate it, it’s such an invasion of my privacy.”

  “I can imagine.” My mind turns to the woman who’s been following me. “I think I’ve got a stalker.”

  “You do?” Concern’s etched on his handsome face.

  It makes me want to hug him.

  “Yeah. A woman. I’ve caught her following me a couple of times now. I chased her today, but she got away.”

  He shakes his head at me. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that, Grace. You should be careful, though. Some of those paps can be really aggressive.”

  I think about the woman, wearing head-to-toe black. She doesn’t seem in the least bit threatening to me. “I don’t think she’s aggressive. She freaked me out, though.”

  He thinks for a moment. “I hope it’s not because of me. You know, with me catching you when you fell.”

  “I thought about that, but they didn’t have my name, so how could it be?”

  “These people have ways.” He raises his eyebrows at me, smiles that sexy smile once more. “You should be careful.”

  Warmth creeps up from my belly as I look into his eyes. “I will.”

  After some time—in which I learn he loves a soccer team in Glasgow called The Rangers, he could care less about fashion, he has a dog called Digger—I glance at my watch and get a fright. Although I could happily stay here all day, basking in Sam’s attention, I know I need to leave.

  I get to my feet. “I’m so sorry. I have to go. I’m due on stage tonight for the final WOW performance. They will kill me if I’m late.”