Falling for Grace

by Kate O'Keeffe

  I run through the whole story again with Mum. Then it turns out Brooke and Logan are there for a cup of coffee, so I tell them, and of course Dylan wanted to hear what was going on too. He grunted down the phone at me a few times, though I could tell he was impressed.

  It’s now pretty safe to say half my hometown knows I’m going to be on television tomorrow.

  Finally getting off the phone I look at my watch. Cripes, I need to get ready. I unpack, shower, and take some more tablets for my head. I get myself dressed up in one of my favourite dresses, a pretty green dress I made myself. I do a twirl, loving the way the dress makes me feel like I’m a ballerina.

  I whip my hair up into a low bun and check my reflection in the mirror before I walk out the door. Not bad for a hung-over stylist’s assistant about to hob nob with New Zealand’s A-list.

  Twenty-five minutes later, after chatting with my driver while sitting in traffic, we arrive. I peer out the window at the house. Cheryl Greenacre sure has one plush pad, housed behind massive wrought-iron gates on an impeccable, tree-lined avenue.

  “I could have walked this,” I comment to the driver as he opens my door for me to slip out.

  “In those heels, miss?” He smiles at me.

  “Fair point. Thanks for the ride.”

  “You’re most welcome.” He hands me a card. “Please call this number when you are ready to leave and I will be happy to drive you.”

  I glance at the card. “Thank you, Hafeez. I will do just that.”

  The house is about the size of my local mall, although much more expensive looking, surrounded by perfectly manicured gardens.

  It sure looks like it pays to be New Zealand’s television darling.

  I walk up the steps to the house. I’m greeted by a hefty man with no neck, dressed in a tux. It’s straining over his large gut, looking as though it might blow open at any moment.

  I smile at him. He glares back. Friendly guy.

  “Name,” he grunts without preamble.

  “Jessica Banks.” I look beyond him and spy a group sipping champagne, elegant in haute couture, dripping in jewels.

  I glance down at my own homemade dress. Smooth the skirt.

  Friendly Guy searches the list with his huge sausage fingers. “Welcome, Ms Banks.” He stands back for me to enter.

  “Thank you.” I smile at him as I walk into the house. I’m immediately struck by the scent of lilies from the oversized vase on a table in the centre of the hallway, the buzz of conversation and jazz.

  I smile at groups of people as I walk through into the living room. Recognising her from television, I spot the hostess in a black sequined dress, laughing at something a television newsreader I also recognise is saying.

  I make my way to her through the crowd.

  A waiter pushes a tray in front of me. “Champagne?”

  “Yes, please.” I take a glass and have a sip, calming my nerves.

  I reach Cheryl’s group and wait for her to finish her story. Something about the charity work she does in Africa.

  “So you see, every story has its silver lining.”

  Mr Newsreader nods, his head on a tilt. “Absolutely, Cheryl. It’s so typical of you to see the positive in such a dire situation.”

  Cheryl smiles sweetly at him, nodding in agreement.

  “And what a lovely tan you have, too,” comments a woman who also looks familiar, although I can’t pinpoint where from.

  By the looks of her perfectly coiffed hair, inch-thick makeup and ‘look at my assets’ low cut top I would hazard a guess she’s an actress.

  “Where did you say you were, Cheryl? Zambia, or is it Zimbia?” She laughs, quite possibly at her own stupidity. “Is that a country?”

  Cheryl smiles benignly. “It was Zambia.”

  “Zambia, got it.” The actress air kisses Cheryl. “Darling, it’s so wonderful to see you. I’ve just spotted Jeremy. Catch up with you later.”

  The geographically challenged actress leaves, providing me my entrée.

  “Hi, Cheryl. I’m Grace Mortimer from Estil. Jessica Banks sent me?”

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Grace. Jessica told me you would be here, and I thought, why not? I’m sure you’re divine. And you are. Just look at you.” She turns to Mr Newsreader. “Don’t you think she’s divine?”

  “Yes,” he replies noncommittally, barely glancing at me.

  I hand over my rather tatty looking gift, hoping she likes coasters. I’m guessing by the look of her house she has more than enough. “Happy birthday.”

  “Oh, thank you. That’s very sweet of you.” She takes the gift. “Now what’s exactly wrong with Jessica?”

  “She’s unwell with a tummy bug. I’m sure she’ll be better soon, in time to do the next fashion slot.”

  “I do hope so. Send her best, won’t you?” She turns to Mr Newsreader. “Do you know Jessica, darling? I do so love my chats with her. She always has such good fashion advice. I need it, I’m a total ignoramus when it comes to dressing myself.”

  “You? Never,” he simpers.

  “Oh, you,” she coos, clearly loving the compliment.

  She turns back to me. “We’ll have fun on the show, you and I, won’t we, darling?”

  I feel a shot of nerves. “Yes. I’m sure we will.”

  She winks at me. “There’s nothing to worry about. Just pretend there are no cameras there.”

  “Jessica said to pretend I’m sitting at home, chatting to a friend.”

  “Exactly. She’s a wise woman, that one.”

  I chuckle, at ease with her, every bit the lovely person the media portrays her to be—even if she overuses the word ‘darling’.

  A middle aged, balding man with dubious fashion sense and a ponytail approaches our group. Mr Newsreader looks happy to see him and they shake hands.

  “Kristof. Darling.” Cheryl greets him with a double air kiss, squeezing one of his arms. “You’re back? How was LA?”

  “Oh, you know, parties, parties and more parties.”

  Cheryl rolls her eyes. “I bet you loved it.” She turns to Mr Newsreader. “You were over there recently, weren’t you, Ted?”

  “No, that was New York. The other side of the country.”

  Cheryl laughs. “Well I know that, of course . . .”

  Kristof leans in towards me. “You don’t know many people here, do you?”

  I look at Kristof and smile sheepishly. “Is it that obvious?”

  He smiles back at me. “Yes. You have the look of a lost lamb about you. But don’t fret, I know virtually everyone in this incestuous little town.” He points. “I worked with him, her, her,” he pulls a face, “him, slept with him, ooh, and him.”

  I laugh. “You do know a lot of people here. I haven’t worked with or slept with anyone in this room.”

  He roars with laughter. “Well, we need to fix that, then. Pronto.” He looks me up and down. “By the looks of you you’re straight?

  I nod.

  “Well I have some rather gorgeous boys to introduce you to, then. Come with me.” He takes me by the arm.

  Casual sex with ‘gorgeous boys’ isn’t top of my agenda. “No, I’m fine. Really.”

  “No, you’re not. Why not live a little? Have some fun?”

  I look at Cheryl and Ted who are deep in conversation about something. I guess it can’t hurt to meet some more people at this party. Jessica asked me to network for Estil after all. “Okay,” I reply dubiously.

  Kristof leads me to a group of three men, propping up the bar. One I recognise from a soap opera, the others have that slick, slightly overdone look suggesting to me they’re industry types too.

  Kristof greets them all with kisses and hugs. “This is Grace. Everyone, say hello.”

  The men murmur their greetings.

  “She’s single and in need of the love of a good man,” he announces with a flourish.

  I look at Kristof in shock. Who does he think he is, my pimp? And what makes him think I’m s
ingle? I mean, I know I’m single, but he’s just met me.

  “Actually, I’m here for a fashion segment, that’s all, not for, ah—”

  “Sex?” one of the men offers, looking me directly in the eyes. He peels himself off the bar and sidles up to me, sweeping his eyes over my body. “I’m Gary. Can I freshen your drink?”

  I swallow. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  “It’s Gary,” he breathes.

  Kristof claps his hands together in glee. “You two are gorgeous together, simply gorgeous! Go, go have fun!”

  My eyes dart from Gary to Kristof and back again.

  Gary runs a finger up my bare arm. “You have beautiful . . . eyes.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

  I might have just thrown up a little in my mouth.

  “If you’ll all excuse me,” I mutter, recoiling. “I have to . . . I have to be somewhere else.”

  Anywhere else.

  I turn and walk away from Gary and my self-appointed pimp, heading for the door. I think I’ve had just about enough of this party.

  As I make my way through the throngs of guests I feel a hand on my arm. I turn abruptly as my anger flares. “Look, Gar—” I stop myself. “Sam,” I say in surprise.

  My heart thuds at the sight of him. He’s wearing a white shirt and blue pants, his sandy blonde hair messy, like’s he’s been at the beach all day.

  “What . . . what are you doing here?”

  A smile spreads across his face. “I could ask the same.”

  “I’m here for work. I’m going to be on TV tomorrow.”

  Why did I tell him that?

  “You are?” he asks, interested.

  “Yes, I—”

  “Sam!” It’s the assets-on-show actress, tugging on Sam’s arm. “Come with me.”

  When he doesn’t move, she pouts, adding, “You promised.”

  I roll my eyes. Really, it’s beyond ridiculous.

  Sam looks at me apologetically. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Okay,” I reply, breathless.

  Sam Montgomery. Here. The acrobats in my belly do a new little routine.

  In a flash, Kristof is back at my side. “You know Sam Montgomery?”

  “Kind of. A little. Not really.”

  I glance at Sam across the room. Assets has her arm draped around him, chatting to another pretty woman, caked in equal quantities of makeup. They’re laughing and preening, basking in his presence.

  Man, he’s a total babe magnet. What does he want with the likes of me?

  Kristof raises his eyebrows. I suspect my currency just went up. “Oh, do tell. Uncle Kristof won’t say a word.” He puts his finger over his lips.

  Uncle Kristof? Euugh.

  Deciding it can’t do any harm now that it was yesterday’s news, I tell him how I was the model who fell off the catwalk and into Sam’s arms at the Wearable Arts.

  “Really. That was you?” His eyes are wide.

  “Really,” I confirm.

  “My, my. You are a dark horse, aren’t you?”

  I let out a laugh. “Me? A dark horse? I’m about as vanilla as they come. Sorry to disappoint.”

  After peppering me with further questions and meeting brick walls on all of them, Kristof peels off in search of excitement elsewhere, realising there’s no further juicy gossip to be had.

  I spend the next half an hour meandering around the room, trying to worm my way into people’s conversations to advertise Estil, all the while thinking about Sam. I hand out about thirty of Jessica’s business cards, some of which I notice have been left behind on tables.

  It’s exhausting, and quite frankly I would prefer to be at home, eating ice cream in my pyjamas, curled up with a good book.

  I spot Vanessa Hudson in the crowd. Sam’s here, so it’s only logical his girlfriend is too. She catches my eye and indicates for me to come over. A wave of nerves rolls through me.

  “Grace, how lovely to see you.” She gives me a double kiss, more air than skin, holding my hands as she does so.

  “Hi.” Still nervous. I go for a compliment “You look amazing in that dress.”

  It’s no lie. She’s wearing the oyster pink cocktail dress Jessica styled her in. She looks almost other-worldly, she’s so beautiful in it.

  But then I imagine Vanessa Hudson would look incredible in a grubby old potato sack.

  And no, I’m not the least bit jealous. Okay, maybe a teensy bit.

  She does a surprisingly girly twirl, the sort of thing I do in front of my mirror at home all the time. My heart softens.

  “I love it. I feel so pretty in it. Oh, I hope that doesn’t sound conceited.”

  Humble too? Geez.

  I smile. “Not at all. Are you having a good time?”

  Her smile slips a fraction, not so anyone else would notice. “Yes, just wonderful.”

  Warming to her by the second, I ask, “Prefer to be back in your hotel room, snacking on popcorn in front of a movie?”

  Her eyes widen. “I hope it’s not obvious,” she says in a hushed tone.

  “No, not at all. I only said it because that’s where I want to be right now. I’m beat.”

  “I know the feeling.” She looks suddenly weary.

  My heart goes out to her. Like me, she’s in a room full of strangers with a job to do. Unlike me, everyone wants a piece of her.

  “Excuse me, Vanessa Hudson?”

  We turn to see a woman about my age—and Vanessa’s, for that matter—gazing adoringly at Vanessa, clutching a pad and pen to her chest.

  “Hi there,” Vanessa replies brightly, shrugging off her exhaustion.

  “I’m a huge, huge fan.” She gives a nervous giggle. “I loved you in Romance Isn’t Dead. I’m an actress too and want to be just like you. I want to be Vanessa Hudson.”

  I watch as Vanessa smiles kindly at the girl. “That’s very sweet of you.”

  And creepy.

  “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions? Only it’s not every day I get to meet one of my idols. The Vanessa Hudson.” She’s really gushing now.

  I’m entirely invisible to this woman—and I’m more than happy about it.

  I place my hand on Vanessa’s arm. “I’ll see you later.”

  I spy Sam a few people away from me. Assets is still hanging onto him. I wonder what Vanessa thinks of that?

  He glances at me, mouths “help”.

  I hesitate. Part of me wants to push past all of these people, grab him and take him back to my hotel room. But he’s here with Vanessa, and she’s his girlfriend. A nicer person would grab her, instead.

  I look back at him. He mouths “help me” again, a mildly distressed look on his face.

  What could it hurt if I merely help him escape Assets’ clutches? It’s not like I’m agreeing to go on a date with him or anything. Simply help him and then go back to my hotel room—without Sam.

  My mind made up I make my way through the partygoers. “Excuse me. Coming through.”

  Moments later I reach his side.

  “Mr Montgomery. You’re needed,” I say, using a firm, official sounding voice.

  “Can’t it wait? I’m in the middle of something here.”

  I shoot him a look that says ‘you asked for my help now quit messing around’.

  He responds with a discreet wink.

  I glare at him. “Yes, Mr Montgomery. There’s an emergency situation with your . . . your production company, requiring your immediate assistance.”

  “My production company you say? Of course.” He turns to Assets. “I’m so sorry. It was such a pleasure meeting you and hearing all about your career. I wish you the very best of luck with your future endeavours.”

  Before she has the chance to respond, he places his hand on my back and steers me through the party revellers, out of the room, across the terrace and down to the bottom of the lawn. We stop when we reach a large oak tree.

  “Production company? I’m an actor you know, not a producer.” He smiles at me
.

  “Give me a break, will you? It was all I could think of at the time. I could hardly say there was an acting emergency, could I?”

  “Fair point. I wonder what that would look like?” He grins. “Thank you. I needed that.”

  My heart flutters. “No problem. You looked like you might be eaten alive by—what was her name again?”

  He shrugs. “Who knows?”

  I laugh. “You should. You talked with her long enough.”

  “To be fair I didn’t do much of the talking. And you know, after a while women like her just . . . merge.”

  The soap star’s name pops into my head. “I’m sure Matilda will be very pleased to hear that.”

  He shakes his head in good humour.

  We stand together, alone at the bottom of the garden, smiling at one another like a couple of idiots, enjoying the comfortable silence between us. I can’t deny it feels pretty darn amazing to be here with him, despite my misgivings.

  Not that I should be here with him at all. Hell, I’ve only just spoken to his incredibly nice girlfriend. I feel a prickle of guilt.

  “I… ah… I should go,” I say quietly, popping the bubble.

  “Don’t,” he says simply.

  “Sam, we’ve been over this.”

  A smile spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling. “Ah, yes, the panties conversation. I remember.”

  I suppress a grin. My resolve hardens. “I’m not the kind of girl you want.”

  He moves in closer to me, takes my hand in his. “I think you’re exactly the kind of girl I want.” He looks into my eyes as though he can see right into me, into my very soul.

  A shiver runs down my spine. “I am?” My voice is breathless, my heart hammering so hard I half expect he can hear it.

  “Grace.” He puts his hands on my waist and pulls me in towards him, our bodies aligning with the lightest of touches.

  My breath shortens as my body hums with lust.

  He leans in and kisses me. It’s so soft, so tender I could cry.

  Wow wow wow wow wow wow!

  The intensity begins to build as his tongue teases my lips, pushing them open, sliding in against mine. His kiss liquefies my limbs, turning down the volume on the voice telling me this is so, so wrong.

  My erogenous zones heat up, not listening to my rational mind for one second. They’ve got other things on their mind, things that will certainly result in disaster—disaster for me.