Getting Dirty

by Rachael Stewart

  That’s why I can’t fight her.

  Because I get it.

  But I want to live my life too. I want to be happy.

  Why can’t I have it all?

  I smile at Sue as she brings in the laden tray and my mind is catapulted back to another tray, another person offering it up, and my body warms. My heart swells.

  I’m an old romantic, Granny’s right, and now that I’ve found a man worthy of loving, have had a glimpse of happiness with him, a glimpse of what the future might look like, I’m going after it.

  I just need to make him realise he wants it too and then we can work out the rest together—his job, the public, all of it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  COCO’S BEEN GONE an hour, tops, and I’ve been staring at my computer screen, revisiting everything I know of her...of the Laurens. The Duchess’s illness, guesstimates of the estate value, including their private wealth, and the business Philip continues to run. Facts, figures—tangible things that I can work with.

  But none of it eases the weird angst inside me. I’m edgy beyond reason, and if I stop focusing for a second Coco fills my vision, taking over and making it personal—too personal.

  I open up an article I have bookmarked and there she is, looking exquisite in a slinky silver number, attending a red-carpet event. Just beneath is a picture of her parents, Robert and Elizabeth Lauren, taken when they were a similar age to what Coco is now.

  I keep on reading, even though I’ve read it multiple times before. It feels more important now—more crucial to my understanding of her and what Philip can hope to gain.

  It makes for tragic reading. The sullied reputation of her mother, the open disapproval of her parents’ marriage as a result and the sudden death of Elizabeth in a car crash. And her father’s second marriage was reputed to have been fiery at best.

  I imagine what Coco’s life has been like—trying to avoid censure, the kind of slander her mother suffered, coping with the derogatory press coverage of her father’s second marriage. Hell, it even makes me feel sorry for Philip, who grew up through it all.

  It doesn’t excuse his behaviour now, though. Or his mission to ruin her.

  And I can say that because I’ve been there. I lived through it when my father was arrested. It was the biggest case of fraud the country had seen in years and my father was splashed through the media—us too, for a time.

  I still don’t understand why her brother wants to taint their family name with more scandal. Maybe it’s for blackmail purposes or maybe it’s something far simpler. I know I said it outright to Coco, but does her brother hope that by ruining her reputation he can somehow get her pushed out, disinherited, cut off? That would explain the timescale pressures, with the Duchess so sick.

  My eyes fall from the screen as I shake my head. I can’t get my head around it.

  She’s gone through enough already. Losing her parents. Soon to lose her grandmother. How can her brother be seeking to ruin her too?

  I press my fist to my mouth and breathe through the rage clouding my brain; rage doesn’t get me any closer to finding answers.

  I look at my phone. How long has it been since I instructed my researchers to dig up everything they could on Philip? Thirteen hours at most. Hardly long enough. But a quick chase-up won’t hurt.

  I snatch it up, but it illuminates before I can do anything, ringing through the quiet.

  Philip.

  I fight the urge to throw the damn thing down and take another controlled breath before putting it to my ear.

  ‘Philip.’

  ‘Where did she go last night?’

  ‘Hello to you too.’ I sit back in my seat, my eyes on the screen, on her. ‘She was already under the radar by the time I left you.’ That was no lie.

  ‘Have you checked out that club?’

  ‘I swung by.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And you can’t just walk into a club like that and get details—it’s going to take time.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Livingston, I’ve paid you a fortune already and you’ve got me sod all.’

  ‘Like I said last night, I can walk away from this and you can find yourself some other—’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. Just watch her. She has a charity gig tonight at the Savoy. Why don’t you follow her after? She’ll have had a few drinks... She’ll be looking for a good time.’

  I clench the phone tighter, my hand pulsing around it. I hate the way he says it. But is he right? Would she go to Blacks? Or would she come to me?

  The latter was the safest option...for her.

  Yeah, you’re only thinking of her.

  I ignore the mental gibe and focus on my next move. I have her number. I could text, arrange to meet...

  ‘Livingston? You there?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  I go to cut the line, not wanting to listen to his plummy, irritating-as-fuck tone any more, but then I stop.

  ‘And, Philip?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Get off my back or you’ll definitely be finding yourself someone else.’

  I hear his blustering down the line and my smile is cold as I hang up. People like Philip Lauren respond to a firm hand. The firmer I am, the more he will listen. The second I look weak, he will pounce.

  Then I launch Coco’s contact details and send a text.

  Why don’t I pick you up from the event tonight...bring you back to mine? Ash

  Her response is swift.

  Midnight. Savoy. Don’t be late. My dress will turn to rags.

  I smile at her Cinderella reference.

  You could be in a bin liner and I’d still want you. No need to worry about the pumpkin. I’ll bring my big, strong, safe car around the back. Tradesman’s entrance. ;-)

  I can’t believe I’ve just added a wink to a text. I’m still questioning it when her response pops up.

  Great. See you then. PS did you get my number from my fairy godmother?

  Shit. I think fast.

  I won’t tell Jackson you called him that. He might bar you.

  I’m rewarded with a laughing emoji and an X.

  I fire an X in response and lean back in my chair, realising I’m grinning like a bloody idiot.

  But I don’t care.

  She’s safe from Philip for another night and that’s what matters.

  * * *

  I’ve never been more glad to leave an event in my life. I’m like a kid on Christmas morning, giddy and hyper as I sweep through the remaining guests and make for the doors. I’ve already had a text from Ash saying he’s here and I can’t wait to see him.

  I know how I look. I’m wearing my favourite silver dress—low at the back, high at the front, but with a daring split to the thigh to make up for it. I feel sexy, and I know that’s because of him, the way he makes me feel, the things he says, the way he looks at me.

  And he listens. Really listens. He’s not just eyeing me, pondering what he can get. Christ, part of me wishes he was—then I could coax him into something public, something more certain. But I’m not going to debate that now. I’m going to enjoy what I can have: him, naked and beneath me.

  I have to ask a passing waiter for directions to the tradesman’s entrance and I expect his brow to hit the roof. I mean, I’m giggling like a schoolgirl as I ask. I could blame the champagne but it’s not that. I’m drunk on Ash and what the night has in store.

  He points me in the right direction and I’m off, as fast as a person can travel on heels as high as mine. Even the weight of ‘will we or won’t we have a future together’ has left me. All I care about is the here and now—and he is definitely here.

  I thrust at the bar that’s holding the double doors shut and burst out onto the street. His car is there, neon headlamps shining, and my heart soars into my throat.

&
nbsp; Yes.

  I shove the doors back into place and the car door opens. He steps out and I lift the skirt of my dress as I walk faster than the front slit will allow.

  He’s a silhouette against the lights, his tall, imposing frame so him. It’s starting to rain, but I barely notice as I come to a stop in front of him and tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

  ‘Hi,’ I say—and his lips are on mine, feverish, urgent.

  The rain starts to pick up, its patter as rapid as my pulse, ruining my hair, my make-up, but I couldn’t care less. All I think about is him, his hands hot on the bare skin of my back, his heat mixing with the wet specks of rain as I kiss him harder. He’s all minty fresh and delicious and I want more. I want it all. He’s missed me. I can feel it. Just as I’ve missed him.

  The rain starts to pound, pelting the car, the ground, us. He wraps me tighter against him and breaks his mouth away.

  ‘Come on—before we get caught doing something we shouldn’t.’

  I laugh, delirious on the rush he’s kicked up within me, and hurry in step with him to the passenger door. He pulls it open and helps me in, before closing it and racing around to his side. I get a brief glimpse of him in the headlamps: rakish stubble, shorn hair, strong jaw, glinting gaze, rain running down his face and dressed all in black... I smile.

  The second he jumps in, I lean across and kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  He catches my face in his palm, holding me there, his eyes ablaze and all the more intense with the rain beading on his lashes.

  ‘Any time.’

  He strokes away the dampness on my cheeks as I inhale his words. If only it could be.

  He sweeps over my lips with his thumb, his lips, then settles back into his seat, running a hand over his face and hair to dry it off before buckling himself in.

  I do the same. ‘You think you could do this every night?’ I’m only half joking.

  He grins as he puts the car in Reverse. ‘For as long as you want me to.’

  I give a soft smile. I can’t imagine never wanting this—him at my beck and call.

  Ten minutes into the journey and neither of us has spoken further. The rain is lashing down, the wipers are beating it back, making him frown with concentration. I haven’t wanted to distract him and, to be honest, I’m enjoying the view.

  ‘What?’ he suddenly says, flicking me a look.

  ‘Hmm...?’

  ‘You’ve been smiling like the cat that got the cream ever since you got in.’

  I reach out and place my hand on his thigh, squeezing softly. ‘It kind of feels that way.’

  His leg tenses beneath me and I see his jaw pulse. ‘You need to move your hand before I have to pull over.’

  I laugh, the sound husky and loaded with the imaginings that have been keeping me company so far, and he looks at me briefly, shaking his head.

  ‘How was the ball?’

  ‘Are you trying to distract me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I pout and pull my hand away. ‘It was good. I think we stand a chance of raising more than we anticipated.’

  ‘That’s good.’ His eyes are fixed ahead now, as he drives. ‘Did your brother go?’

  My laugh is harsh this time. ‘My brother would see it as a waste of his time. If there’s nothing in it for him, he doesn’t see the point.’

  He nods, his fists flexing around the wheel. ‘You’re very different?’

  ‘We share our father’s DNA—that’s as close as it gets.’

  He has successfully managed to kill my mood. Especially since I have no intention of returning home tonight, and that will lead to further questions from Philip tomorrow. In front of Granny, of course.

  ‘If he had his way he’d see me out of his life for good.’

  I expect him to scoff. Instead he frowns at me, serious, concerned. ‘That’s a bit extreme.’

  ‘Not for him. He’d probably have me dead if it wouldn’t dirty his hands too much.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous—you can’t mean that.’

  Did she? No, she guessed not. But... ‘He’d see me thrown out of the family without a penny—I know that much.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  I shift in the seat and smooth out my dress. I feel his eyes flick to my exposed thigh, to the slit that won’t be tamed now I’m seated, and he swallows as he looks back to the windscreen. His obvious desire warms me, helps to beat back the chill of our conversation. Cait is the only one with whom I’ve ever really discussed Philip and his obvious dislike of me.

  ‘He puts a lot of effort into picking apart my flaws for Granny’s benefit. Take this morning, for example. The fact I hadn’t returned home last night was his topic of conversation when I arrived to visit her.’

  ‘You’re a grown woman.’ His fists flex around the steering wheel again as he presses himself back in the seat. ‘What business is it of his?’

  ‘It’s not my lack of homecoming that bothers him. It’s what he thinks I’ve been up to with my time. He’ll do anything to have my reputation pulled apart in Granny’s eyes.’

  ‘But why?’

  I shrug. ‘To get me written out of her will, pushed out of the family, named and shamed... Take your pick.’

  ‘But your grandmother loves you,’ he says softly, clearly finding my reasoning hard to believe. ‘Surely she wouldn’t take his snide remarks as a reason to cut you off?’

  I look out of the passenger window as I consider his question. ‘She loves me in so much as she can, but she’ll always put the Lauren name first. The family heritage.’ I blow out a breath as I turn back to him. ‘It sounds crazy, but it’s true. “A Lauren must be above reproach.”’

  I mimic her voice as I quote her and smile. He doesn’t return it.

  ‘Sounds cold to me.’

  My smile fades. ‘It’s not her fault. She’s a product of her time. It’s not Philip’s either—not really. He grew up in my shadow; our father always sided with me...doted on me. I was his last connection to my mother and... Well, Philip’s mother also struggled with the same inferiority. She was never good enough either. But that was made worse by her nature.’

  ‘Her nature?’

  ‘She’s always out for what she can get—Clara too.’

  ‘Clara?’

  ‘Philip’s wife.’ I grimace as I say it. I can’t help it. Her callous, money-grabbing ways are so obvious to everyone but Philip. ‘I think he’d grant her anything to keep her happy, to keep her love, if you can call it that.’

  ‘And you really excuse Philip’s behaviour because of them?’

  I shrug. I know it’s hard for him to accept—for anyone to accept, really—but we grew up together. I saw my brother’s suffering first-hand and I see his continued suffering now.

  He meets my eye briefly. ‘So what will you tell them when they ask where you’ve been tonight?’

  ‘Same as this morning. I stayed at a friend’s... And I’ll tell them that every night this week if you’ll have me.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  WHEN COCO SAID every night, I didn’t believe her. I took it as some sort of ploy to get the conversation off Philip and onto us.

  But it’s now Thursday, five days since the charity ball, and it’s the seventh night we’ve spent together in a row.

  I trail my hands along her bare side as she curls into me and presses a kiss to my chest.

  ‘I think you know my every sweet spot,’ she murmurs sleepily, and my lips find her hair, breathing in her familiar scent as I kiss the ruffled mass.

  ‘I should hope so.’

  It’s one thirty in the morning. She’ll be up again in five hours. Just like she has been every weekday morning, so that she can get back home, hit the gym and visit her grandmother before she starts another rammed day.

  She d
oesn’t rest unless she’s sleeping—a fact I’ve ribbed her about—but she simply shrugs it off.

  ‘Now, sleep,’ I say, stretching out my free arm to tap off the bedside lamp.

  She’s gone in seconds. There’s a telltale twitch to her body, a steady rhythm to her breathing. I’m not, though. The longer this goes on for, the bigger my lie—no, my omission—gets.

  I tell myself I’m looking after her, putting her best interests first. But the more I care, the more I know my reasoning is twisted. Because, yes, I’m doing this for her, but I can’t deny how much it works for me too. How much I’m enjoying our time together. No matter how borrowed that time is.

  And I know it is. Philip is getting twitchier by the day. There’s only so long I can keep stringing him along. But I’m getting closer to understanding him. I have enough information to understand the poor state of his finances now, and to know that his wife’s spending habits are exacerbating the situation.

  I know the family business is struggling too, and that he’s under pressure to resign. It appears that Philip has a loose tongue, and the information his golf buddies have been privy to over the years has benefitted them greatly—his company not so much.

  How he didn’t see the pattern, I don’t know, but it’s enough to see that pressure to resign becoming an insistence. And Philip won’t want that. To be forced out of the company his father left to him would be the ultimate humiliation. And it’s the kind of ammunition I need to ensure he stays the hell away from Coco.

  And the guy doesn’t need her money, surely. Yes, it doesn’t come cheap managing the estate he stands to inherit with his title, but there’s the Lauren money too. The private wealth, investments, property, including the London residence in which they spend the majority of their time alongside their ailing grandmother. That house alone is worth a fortune even by today’s standards. But it truly begs the question: Why sink so low as to go after his sister’s money anyway? If that truly is his aim as Coco seems to surmise.