His Girl Friday

by Ellen March

  “What are you talking about?” she asked irritably as she stacked a pile of files simply because it gave her something to do.

  “You want Roman, don’t you?” With a knowing nod, he continued without waiting for her reply. “Well, you’ve got two choices. Either go out there and show him what he’s missing or …” he paused for effect, “stay hiding behind those bloody horrible glasses and braces, and clothes until you’re a lonely, bitter old woman.”

  Sally slowly turned to stare at him. “Have you lost your mind?” She dropped the files with a bang. “He knows what he’s missing. I’ve seen myself enough to realize he’s well rid of me!” She was shouting, tears of frustration coating her eyes. She still refused to believe she had anything to recommend her. All she saw when she looked in the mirror was her complete lack of style, beauty, and grace.

  Paul ignored her outburst and rose to his feet. “Oh ye of little faith. Trust me, will you, Sal? I can make you so attractive he won’t know what’s hit him.”

  “This isn’t a fairy tale and you’re no fairy godmother.” The tears and hurt consumed her as she stared down at her tatty trainers.

  Taking her firmly by the shoulders, he gave her a gentle shake. “Will you just trust me? What have you got to lose?”

  Eventually she spoke up. “Guess you’re right. I’ve not got anything left. So my dignity had just as well follow the rest of my personality—into the great gutter in the sky.”

  “Don’t be so bloody melodramatic! When you see what I’ve arranged, you’ll believe in yourself.” He gave her a mysterious wink. “Now, come on, our first trip is to see Daniel. He’s a really handsome dentist, by the way.”

  Sally rolled her eyes and made the sign of the cross, then followed Paul downstairs.

  * * *

  By the end of the week Sally didn’t know who she was. Paul had ridden roughshod over her. He took his task of transforming her so seriously she would have laughed if it wasn’t for the fact she’d been primped and preened to within an inch of her life. Her braces had been removed, teeth whitened and polished. Next they visited the optician, where her contacts were ordered. Then the beautician and manicurist.

  Each day, Marilyn smiled her approval, watching the transformation and praying that Roman would come to his senses. Anyone could see he was mad about the girl and vice versa.

  “So where are you two going today?” she asked as she peeled potatoes for the pie she was making.

  “To pick up the contacts, a stint at the hairdresser’s, and finally,” Paul waved his hands dramatically, “shopping.”

  “Great, but how? I haven’t got any money.” Sally sipped her milky coffee. Paul had forbidden her regular favourite—strong and black. He didn’t want it to stain her teeth. The red wine she’d recently acquired a taste for was also on his hit list.

  He waved a card in front of her. “But I have this.”

  “You can’t go paying for me.”

  “No, but Roman can. He’s got so much money he won’t miss a little bit, and who do you think has paid for everything so far?” He slid the card snugly back into his wallet. “Come on, shift your backside. We’ve got lots to do today.”

  * * *

  Sally sat in the chair, arguing with the hairdresser. “I don’t want it cut. I like it long.”

  “Well, what about layering it? Feathering it slightly around your face?” She held up the ends for Sally to see. “And maybe the merest suggestion of a trim? This is all dead hair.”

  “But not too much,” Sally warned.

  Eventually the hairdresser finished and twirled the chair around so Sally could see herself in the mirror again. She stared in disbelief at the stranger gazing back at her before being whisked off to the shops. Sally shook her head and blinked. Gone were her trademark thick glasses—consigned forever to the bin—and her braids strapped tightly around her head. Her eyes glittered a vivid green, dancing beneath a fringe of long lashes. Her hair rippled in a golden veil and swished around her shoulders.

  She grinned and was practically blinded by the flash of white teeth.

  * * *

  Paul seated himself in a large chair near the trendy clothing boutique’s fitting room and pointed to Sally, who stood before him in her baggy, misshapen clothes. “Myra, as you can see, this child needs to be taken in hand.” He gave a dramatic sweep of his arm. “No expense is to be spared. She needs everything you can think of, from underwear and bikinis to every conceivable item of clothing.” With a sinful grin, he pulled out Roman’s card. “And it’s all to go on this account.”

  The tall woman clasped the platinum card in a pincer grip with her brightly polished nails. “Any preference on style?” She spoke directly to Paul, ignoring Sally, who stood tapping her foot with her arms folded in front of her. She was unaware of how her ample breasts rested on her forearms.

  “Sexy, maybe classy ….” Paul hesitated, furrowing his brow as he wrestled with his decision. “No, forget classy. Just make sure she oozes sex appeal.” He crossed his legs, looking forward to the show.

  Sally glared at him before finding herself dragged off to the changing rooms.

  Paul was making a pretence of examining his nails while scrutinising the various men that paraded past the shop window when Myra walked up to him and clapped her hands dramatically.

  Sally hesitantly pulled the curtain aside and walked out.

  “Holy shit!” cried Paul. “Myra, you’re a miracle worker!”

  “Thanks!” Sally spat. She didn’t appreciate the reminder that she wasn’t exactly a looker. She hadn’t even had a chance to sneak a glance in the mirror before being cannoned outside.

  She stood still, carefully watching Paul as he circled her, his finger on his chin and an ecstatic smile on his face. A man on the street looked admiringly through the window before receiving a slap from an irate partner. Sally craned her neck, curious to see what attracted his attention, but saw only Myra. She shrugged her shoulders.

  “So how do I scrub up?” she asked, pulling at the short, tight-fitting skirt and low-cut top.

  “You look absolutely divine,” he said, unable to believe it was the same girl. Her breasts spilled out over a fitted, blue shirt. The black skirt clung snugly to slim hips, revealing long, shapely legs that appeared to go on forever. “What else have you come up with?” He turned to look at Myra, who was standing with her arms crossed and her head tilted, wearing a thoughtful expression.

  Two hours later Sally was exhausted. She was fed up with the strutting and endless walks over to Paul, awaiting his approval before the next outfit was pushed at her. But when she saw the last outfit she shook her head and refused to put it on.

  “Come on. No way can I wear that.” She held her hands up and eyed the scrap of material warily.

  “Yes you can. Now stop acting so childish. It’s only a bikini,” Myra ordered. The woman had the tenacity of a pit bull. There was no point resisting her.

  Standing before the mirror, Sally thought she might as well be naked for all the covering the beige scrap gave her. “I’m not going out there. Paul can come in here,” she said adamantly.

  Paul walked in and stumbled to a halt. “If I wasn’t gay, I would shag you myself, love,” he stated, giving her his ultimate compliment. His gaze swept over her svelte figure, admiring the beige triangle of material that barely covered her assets. Her huge breasts were thrust out enticingly. “Roman will definitely approve of that outfit.”

  “Can I get dressed now?” Sally asked, trying not to cross her hands over her chest in a defensive gesture.

  “Come on, then. Let’s go home.” Paul was pleased with the way the day had gone, and more than pleased with how stunning she appeared when you put her in well-cut, stylish clothing.

  * * *

  The plane landed in the late afternoon sunshine and Roman rose from his seat, anxious to feel terra firma. He hated flying. He considered it a boring necessity that had to be endured, despite having first-class accommodations.
Impatiently he turned away the variety of drinks and snacks offered by effusive air hostesses trying to impress him.

  All he could think about was Sally and how she’d act if she were on the plane. A wry smile tugged at his lips. An air hostess she was not. She’d end up spilling drink in people’s laps or falling on top of them.

  He shook himself, determined to put her out of his mind, and strode through customs and into the hot sun.

  Casually slipping on his sunglasses, he searched for Tariq, who wouldn’t be hard to find. He was usually surrounded by his minders, toweringly large men who hovered close to the sheik. They were prepared to die for him if necessary—a basic requirement for anyone employed at Tariq’s house.

  Roman spotted his friend and waved. He ignored the admiring looks sent both his way and at Tariq, a typical “tall, dark, and handsome” type of the Saudi Arabian variety. Seemingly oblivious to how appealing he was to the opposite sex, Tariq expected total subservience.

  “Nice to meet you again, my friend,” said Tariq, clasping Roman close in an embrace.

  Roman gave him a wicked grin. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long. I’m looking forward to the next few weeks.” Tariq strolled beside him, followed by his entourage. “Also, I’ll be needing a favour from you.” As usual, he came directly to the point.

  “Yes?” Roman asked without any concern.

  “I’d like to return with you and stay at your house. I need to conduct some, er, business over in the UK. So I thought I could mix it with a bit of pleasure.” His dark eyes twinkled mischievously.

  “Not buying another race horse, are you?” asked Roman, shaking his head in despair. He was only too aware of how many horses Tariq already owned.

  “Possibly,” hedged Tariq with a grin. “I’ve got a bet with my brother, and you know what Hussein is like.”

  “Yep.” Roman remembered the sibling rivalry between the two and slapped him on his back. “Just glad it’s horses this time and not women.”

  “Ah, women, don’t you just love them,” he sighed, sparing a quick glance for a tall blonde, blatantly eyeing them up.

  Roman shook his head. Tariq’s love life was almost as hectic as his own. When he decided he wanted a woman he never gave up. Not that he needed to try hard. So many women threw themselves at him that he had never had to work at it, much like Roman himself.

  Roman had never had to chase after anyone. Sex was always predictably there for him, served up on a plate. Even with Sally, he couldn’t help but think.

  * * *

  Paul sat in the kitchen, chewing on the end of the pen while he tried to work out the crossword in front of him.

  “Will you stop doing that?” snapped Sally irritably, hating the rattle of the pen against his teeth. She missed Roman like hell and was wondering where he was, or more to the point, who he was doing it with. Because he would be with someone, she knew instinctively. He’d be at it like a bloody rabbit.

  “Calm down, hun. Bit testy, aren’t we?” Paul knew why she was annoyed and didn’t take it to heart.

  “I’m bored.” She stared out at the fields. “Think I’ll go and take Facet out.”

  Paul almost choked. “Are you serious? You can’t ride.” His attention broken from his crossword, he dropped his pen, praying she was joking.

  “What are you talking about? I rode that mare,” she argued as she stood and walked to the door, subtly ignoring the fact that she’d only ambled around a paddock.

  “But not the stallion. Roman would kill me if you tried to take him out,” Paul said, suddenly realizing he was talking to the air. Sally was already gone. When his mobile rang ten minutes later, he glanced down at it and gave a loud groan.

  “Hi Roman.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, everything is fine. Er, no, she’s not here at the moment.”

  * * *

  Roman frowned. He’d known Paul a long time, and he was definitely hiding something. “So, where is she?”

  “Not too sure.” He walked around the kitchen, scratching a hand through his spiky hair and praying Roman wouldn’t push.

  “Paul, I asked a simple question. Now answer me!” Roman snapped. He stood looking out at the panoramic view from the apartment window.

  Swallowing, Paul wondered if he should tell him, then reasoned he was too far away to do anything. “She’s gone out riding.”

  “What are you talking about? She can’t ride!” he shouted and began pacing around the spacious apartment he shared with Tariq. “Which mare?”

  “Er, n-neither,” stuttered Paul, nervously closing his eyes. He was thankful Roman was miles away. “She’s taking Facet.” He held the phone from his ear as the expletives exploded through the earpiece.

  Roman stopped in his tracks. “She’s what!” he yelled, already envisioning her trampled to death by his huge hooves. “Paul, as God is my witness, if anything happens to her I’ll kill you!”

  “I thought you’d be more worried about the horse,” he couldn’t resist adding with a grin.

  “Paul, stop being such an idiot and listen to me. Facet is dangerous. Now get your fucking ass up there and make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid!” He ran a shaking hand through his dark hair, terrified at the thought of her astride the stallion. “And ring me when you get back!”

  Paul hung up the phone. “And he reckons he can’t stand her.” With a smile, he wandered up the hill to find Sally.

  He came across her quicker than he thought. She was stomping back down the incline, her expression thunderous.

  “What’s up, hun?” He was curious as to why she wore the cold, dark look that was usually reserved for Roman.

  “I couldn’t catch him. He took off as soon as he saw the bridle,” she muttered. “He even turned round and chased me out of the field.” She glanced down at her scraped knees. “A typical male—bloody psychotic. I only just made it over the gate.”

  “So you’re not riding today?”

  “No, I’m going to have a soak in the bath instead.” Head held high, she marched past him.

  Paul felt the phone vibrate and debated whether or not to keep Roman waiting, then thought better of it. He was so volatile he’d probably fly straight back.

  “Well?” snapped Roman, unable to wait any longer. His nerves were in shreds and a fist clawed at his intestines. Damn fool woman!

  “She’s having a bath instead. Seems like Facet chased her out of the field, and she fell over the fence.”

  “Is she all right? She’s not hurt?” Roman asked worriedly, threading a trembling hand through his hair.

  “Calm down. She only took a tumble. That’s usual for her.” He tried not to laugh at Roman’s paranoid panic. He’d never seen this side of him before.

  “Hmmm, guess so.” He thanked God for the stallion’s erratic temperament and the fact that he chose today to deny Sally. “Anyway, we’ll be home soon. Ask Antonia to ring me. I want to arrange a themed evening for Tariq when we arrive.”

  “Will do. See you soon.” He flicked the phone shut and smiled. Roman could say what he liked, but he was well and truly hooked. Paul just hoped he wouldn’t kill Sally’s affection while trying to deny his own.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Antonia breezed into the kitchen, still limping slightly and relying on an embellished cane for support. Self-importance oozed from her perfectly dressed body.

  “Coffee please, Marilyn,” she ordered and took a seat at the kitchen table. She pulled out an array of paperwork from her briefcase.

  “It’s over there. Help yourself.” Marilyn pointed to the percolator, determined not to serve her. She was paid as a cook, not a waitress.

  Antonia glared at her. “Paul, be an angel and pour me one?” Her pale eyes glinted, daring him to refuse.

  Sighing, he rose and did as she asked. Anything for a peaceful life, he thought, then wondered what her reaction would be when she saw Sally. Revenge really was a dish best served cold.

  “Anyway.” She sucked in
a breath for effect. “I’ve just heard from Roman and he’s returning on Saturday night with Tariq.” She glanced at the two of them expectantly. “You know that Arab sheik he’s friendly with?”

  “So?” Paul examined his nails. If the man wasn’t gay he didn’t care about him.

  “So, he’s asked me to put on an Arabian evening, complete with belly dancers. Apparently it’s to be totally authentic.” Antonia lit a cigarette and inhaled. She watched in detached fascination as the smoke curled towards the ceiling, unconcerned that she was polluting their air. She ignored Marilyn’s heated glare as the cook threw the windows open dramatically.

  “That should be interesting,” said Marilyn, standing by the open door. “So, how many people and who is to be invited?”

  “Just a few close friends, all male by the sounds of it. I’ll check with him later on today.” She turned, her gaze searching. “Where’s Sally? Shouldn’t she be working?”

  “I have been.” Sally walked into the kitchen. “Think even donkeys deserve a rest, don’t you?”

  Antonia stared at her in amazement. Gone was the ugly frump of a girl, replaced with a stunning tall, blonde Amazon of a woman. And she didn’t like it one bit.

  “What happened?” Antonia continued to stare at her in disbelief, convinced it couldn’t be the same woman. Her gaze travelled over a pair of long, bare legs, a tight skirt that skimmed shapely hips, and a huge chest, which soared out of cotton so thin it appeared it had been melted onto her body.

  “I had a makeover, courtesy of Paul.” She grinned at him, bereft of braces. “Why, do you like what you see?” Her long hair floated as she spun around for Antonia.

  “Not really my style,” she spat dismissively.

  “No, I didn’t think it would be. It’s called class.” Sally winked at an open-mouthed Paul, who was struggling not to laugh. “Did I hear you mention belly dancing?”

  “Yes. I need to organise an event for this weekend. Don’t suppose you can belly dance?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Yes I can, actually.” Sally confidently smiled back at her. A plan formed in Antonia’s mind. “Well, then you can be the star,” she eventually said. She hoped Sally’s clumsiness and inept dancing would be enough to turn off Roman, because she was acutely worried about the transformation.