by Lee, Corri
The voice that spoke back to me was cool and cajoling, and had an almost tranquilising effect. Almost. “You didn’t look overly impressed by that audacious display of romance.” I withered in my court shoes, not realising that Mr Alexander had still been in the bistro at the time.
“I wasn’t,” I spat, “I thought you were with your brother.”
“I am, Miss Douglas. We both saw the distaste in your eyes. My brother wants to know if he needs to speak to Mr Fiore and urge him to curb his enthusiasm.” I paused slightly in my stride and cleared my throat with impatience.
“How do you know his name?”
“We eat here regularly, Miss Douglas. His family own the restaurant.” I knew it. “Are you alright?” I was caught off guard by what sounded like genuine concern in his voice and the memory of his eyes snuck up on me.
“Yes.” My response was terse but said enough.
I heard the clatter of cutlery before he spoke again. “Say no more. I’ll call again later, Miss Douglas. Ciao.” I stared at my phone for a moment before I realised that I’d reached the doors of the bar, and pulled them open to find myself bathed in the stench of stale lager and the rumble of folk music from the jukebox. Ah, there’s no place like home.
Chapter Four
Bethany smoothed my hair down and pushed a glass of Kraken with ice and lime toward me as I gave her a blow by blow account of the evening. The rum stung my throat but relaxed the knot that had been in my stomach since my collision with Mr Alexander outside the bathroom.
She nodded as I spoke, as though absorbing my words and processing them with due care and deliberation. “Cole came on way too strong with that kiss. Have you entertained the idea that it may have been territorial?”
I held my glass up into the light to admire the way the colours glowed and frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean maybe he felt the same intensity between you and Mr Alexander that you did, and he wanted him to know that he’d staked a claim over you.”
“I hope not, for his sake.” I set my glass back down on the bar and picked the seeds from the lime. “If I was the prize to be obtained from some sort of adolescent pissing contest, we both know that there’d be no winner. Besides, Cole would be pissing alone. Mr Alexander doesn’t take lovers.”
“Ah, you’ve heard.” Bethany pursed her lips with an expression of utmost woe. “Such a shame, for that man to go to bed at night with nobody to keep him warm. What does a girl have to do to snag a billionaire?” I tutted at her comment and slowly nursed the bar’s supply of rum until the memories of my diabolical evening melted away into a warm and fuzzy haze.
My phone buzzed violently next to my head and made the bar vibrate. “Ow.” Bethany guided my hand to my phone and I answered the call with a slur. “… -h’lo?”
“Miss Douglas,” oh, it’s you, “I’m outside your bar.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled uncomfortably. “Pardon me?”
“I’m outside. Let’s talk business.” How the hell do you know where I work?
“We talked business earlier today, Mr Alexander. I’m far too drunk to endure another onslaught of insults regarding my values and ethics.”
I heard him breathe a low growling laugh. “Why, even while inebriated, you’re remarkably articulate and catty. Come outside, Miss Douglas. As I said before, I have a proposal.” I looked sideways at Bethany and she slid down from the stool to advance towards me. She had that look in her eye again, the one that told me to follow the billionaire’s orders or I’d soon witness the consequences by her hand.
“Alright,” I sighed. “I’m coming.” She pushed me outside onto the street while my phone was still at my ear and I was confronted with a large sleek black Chrysler Grand Voyager with blacked out windows. The door slid open and I saw him inside, lounged across the back seat looking immensely powerful and influential.
“Come in, Miss Douglas.” That knot I’d only recently banished leapt back into my stomach and twisted unpleasantly. The very sight of him had sobered me. A sly smile crept across his face as I climbed into the vehicle, and when I closed the door behind me, I suddenly felt vehemently claustrophobic. I sat in the position that any other woman would kill to be in, but I desperately sought an escape route. He made me uneasy, but for all the wrong reasons, the most prominent of which was those eyes- my eyes.
When the engine juddered to life and the vehicle started to purr along the streets of London, I panicked. “Where the hell are you taking me?”
He stretched his arm out across the back of the seats and his hand settled just slightly too close to my shoulder. “I thought you might like to join my sack of puppies in their survival swimming lesson.” He laughed when he saw the horror hit my face. “We’re just doing a short circuit of the city, Miss Douglas. Don’t worry, I’m not kidnapping you.” I didn’t entirely trust that he wasn’t, and I didn’t appreciate jokes at my expense. Usually people knew to avoid them. There was still something very Patrick Bateman about him, even more so in his ocular splendour- something of which I shouldn’t have feared. But I did.
My fingers dug into the leather upholstery on either side of my knees and I shifted myself to be as far away from him as possible. “You said you had a proposal, Mr Alexander.”
“Do I have a time limit?” He teased me, tipping me from nervousness into petulance.
“Clearly not. If this afternoon was anything to go by, you have abysmal time keeping for someone who claims to be a business mogul.” The air between us thawed slightly and his face softened.
“I’ve read your novel, Miss Douglas.”
“How could you have possibly read a thirty-six chapter novel in a few hours?” I scoffed at him and crossed my legs at the knees.
“I skimmed. Also, Eleanor pointed out areas of interest.” His fingertips ran back and forth over the spot of leather closest to my head and the sound prickled at my senses. “You’re a very capable writer, Miss Douglas- I was pleasantly surprised.”
“But?” There was a ‘but’- I could feel it lingering in the ether.
“But I have a couple of concerns.” My white grey eyes met his and I nodded. A small part of me was sick of being told how talented I was and craved criticism.
“Go on.”
“You have a very strong storyline and it’s impeccably written. But my doubts that you could write aptly about deviance and luxury were confirmed.” His hand splayed out across the leather and he shifted an inch closer to me. “Also, as much as you say you don’t yearn for it, your novel could be huge, Miss Douglas. Hollywood huge. You could be signing a film deal within months of it reaching shelves.” My insides flipped and swelled at the idea.
“So how is that a concern?” He eyed me wearily for a moment before passing his gaze across my figure. Wow, put your tongue back in, creep.
“Why do you not dress like this during the day, Miss Douglas?”
“Pardon me?” He didn’t strike me as a fashion critic.
“The elegant wrap dress and court shoe look, hair sleek and sophisticated. Why did you stumble into my building in jeans and beat up trainers?” My mouth dropped open an inch or so and I glanced down at myself.
“I dress for comfort, Mr Alexander. Bethany set me like this for my date. I’m style inept.” Mr Alexander’s eyes narrowed for a moment before a sardonic grin spread across his face. It was the first genuine smile of his I’d seen, and I was dazzled by how blindingly white and straight his teeth were.
“Did you concoct this image to show Mr Fiore that you’re too good for him?” I turned away in embarrassment as his smile projected onto me.
“Possibly.” Or almost certainly. I shook myself to my senses and turned back to his burning gaze. “But you’re deviating from the point. What is your concern?”
“My concern,” his arm swept back across the leather and settled at his side, “is that while your novel may be almost ready for the red carpet, you are not.” His notion wounded me slightly and
I recoiled in my seat. I was by no means a supermodel, but I didn’t believe that I was overly scruffy.
“So what is your proposal?” My voice was small and quietly infuriated. He pulled a business card from his jacket pocket and began to scrawl across it with a lavish fountain pen.
“My proposal is this-…” He didn’t pause or look up as he wrote, “I would like to mentor you- work through your novel with you and provide you with the experiences and insight to be able to adjust it to be factually accurate whilst honing your skills and appearance to suit fame and fortune. A woman talking about the rush of being photographed with a notorious womaniser is like a virgin talking about the emotional connection of sex.”
I sucked on my lower lip, knowing full well what some of those experiences entailed. My novel was emotionally charged and incredibly raunchy in places. I had no interest in engaging in some sort of tryst with Mr Alexander. “I’m not sure that you’ve really considered your proposal properly. That or you haven’t read enough of my novel.” He shuffled in his seat almost uncomfortably and passed me the business card.
“I’ve read it, Miss Douglas. I do not intend on causing you any kind of physical or emotional harm. I know how to simulate the emotions behind some of your scenarios through other means. I’m eager to help you achieve the utmost success from your novel.” I flipped the card over and my eyes widened at the sight of his office, home and mobile phone numbers along with his email address. If I were any other woman, it would have been the highlight of my life.
“Why would you do this? Do you think I’m your newest cash cow?” I spat my worlds, clawing at my mind and urging it to detect his ulterior motive.
He smiled at me coolly as the Chrysler stopped outside the bar. “Something like that. I’m very resourceful, Miss Douglas. I’ll be waiting for your call.” I yanked the door open and looked back over my shoulder at him.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“He wants to do what?” Bethany gaped at me as I returned to my stool at the bar.
“He wants to ‘mentor’ me, whatever that means. Something about working through the unconvincing scenarios in the novel and bestowing upon me the knowledge to rewrite them accurately. Oh, and apparently I’m too unkempt for fame so he wants to pretty me up.” I waved a hand to dismiss the subject and set to tending to a new glass of Kraken. Bethany groaned suggestively and lewdly next to me and wiggled her eyebrows.
“Your novel is hot, Cici. I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to recreate some of your love scenes with him.”
I faked a dry heave and shook my head. “I don’t think that’s what he meant. I doubt he’s going to betray his vow of celibacy over a woman who makes it perfectly clear that she doesn’t want him.” And even if he wanted to, I wouldn’t give him half a chance.
Bethany pouted at me prettily and stared at me with incessantly patronising aquamarine eyes. “Oh come on, Cici. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You’ve seen American Psycho.” Her eyes glazed over for a moment and her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip.
“Mmm, Christian Bale’s backside.” She grabbed her coat and pulled me from my stool. “Quick, let’s go and reacquaint ourselves with those peachy cheeks before we’re roped into helping with closing.”
I saw in Saturday morning with a raging hangover. Every muscle in my body throbbed after blacking out in a drunken stupor on the kitchen floor. I had found myself back in bed around five in the morning but had no clue how I’d gotten there.
I awoke face down and groaning in disapproval at the amount of noise Bethany was making while she played tennis on Wii Sports directly below me. That was the closest thing she did in the name of ‘exercise’, not that the hateful bitch needed it. I slunk out of my bedroom and down the stairs, glaring as I passed through our lounge into the kitchen.
“Self-inflicted,” she grunted at me without taking her eyes off the television, “you have admirers.”
“What?” She nodded towards two large extravagant bouquets stood on our coffee table and a large neatly wrapped box in between them. “Cole?”
“Et al.” I wrinkled my nose and sat down on the couch next to her to examine the flowers.
The first was a beautiful collaboration of white and pink roses and came with a card.
To beautiful grey eyed ladies with ‘needs’
Thank you for dinner
Cole.
I blew a raspberry when I read the card and threw it down on the table, convinced that my hasty retreat had driven my message of disinterest home.
The second bouquet was twice as full and wildly extravagant- fully bloomed white orchids tied with a thick navy blue satin ribbon. The card read-
Too good for roses
I groaned in disbelief and turned my attention to the box. It was silver and was, like the bouquet, bound with a navy blue ribbon. Bethany raised an eyebrow at me as I hesitated to open it and threw her Wii controller down on the arm chair next to her.
“The suspense is killing me, Cici.” I rolled my eyes and tugged at the ribbon slowly until it fell away, then pulled off the lid. A small white hand written card lay atop a thick coating of dark blue tissue paper.
Sloth.
I peeked below the paper and laughed. “Do you remember in my novel, the agent seduced her with a gift for each of the seven deadly sins?” Bethany eyed me speculatively.
“Yes, how could I forget?” She glanced down at the box and scoffed. “Please don’t tell me there’s a pure silk chemise underwear set and a bottle of champagne in there.” I pulled back the paper and there was indeed a pure white silk chemise with a pair of fine slightly frilled underwear and a bottle of champagne within. “He’s seducing you with your own ideas. At least he can’t go wrong.”
“He is not seducing me.” I pulled my phone out of my clutch purse and found a text message from Nathaniel Alexander himself.
A taste of things to come if you accept my proposal. Enjoy a day of sloth, Cecelia.
I threw my phone down on the cushion next to me. “Bah. The man won’t be told.” I rubbed my gritty eyes with the backs of my hands then cradled my throbbing head in my palms. “I’m too hung over to deal with this today.”
“You are joking?” Bethany reached into the box and pulled the chemise out of the paper, holding it into the light. “You have two men crawling over you. Don’t you see what you have to gain?” I obviously didn’t. “Cole is obviously eager to win you over, and Mr Alexander wants to preen you to make as much money out of you as possible. You could end up with a best seller and a dream boat boyfriend.”
“I don’t wan-…”
“Shut up.” She raised a hand to halt me. “Stop talking and call Mr Alexander to agree to his offer. Let him lavish his many pounds of currency on you and watch Cole fall over himself to compete with his grand gestures.”
She made a compelling point, but I wasn’t in the slightest bit manipulative. She knew that I didn’t want the fame and fortune, and I certainly didn’t want to be committed to a relationship with a man who was less than perfect. There was no instant connection and the atmosphere didn’t shift like it did with-… Oh no, I wasn’t going to let my mind stray down that path. Nathaniel Alexander was nothing but my fast track to success, and I desperately wanted to walk through the streets of London and see my name in the windows of book shops. I would literally do anything to encourage the realisation of that fantasy. I might even die for it.
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll call him.”
Bethany picked up my phone and shoved it at me insistently. “You’ll call him now, and then we can work on this day of sloth you’ve had stamped into your itinerary.”
I retreated to the privacy of my room to call him- I had no desire to involve Bethany in my business arrangements. I took my clutch purse and a sorely needed cup of coffee as company and fished out the business card I’d been given in the Chrysler. It would have been far easier to text or email him. But for some reason, maybe morbid curi
osity, I had to hear that voice. I crawled onto my bed and hugged my knees as I dialled his mobile number and hit the call button.
He answered almost immediately. “Miss Douglas.” My ears pricked as I heard the shuffling of papers. “How do you feel this morning?”
“Like I got obscenely drunk after being propositioned by a billionaire. Why did you start with sloth?” My mouth ran away with me before I could control it. I cringed at my outburst and waited nervously for his reply.
“There is method in my madness, Miss Douglas, I can assure you of that.” Again, I heard the shifting of paper along with the movement of fabric. “I’m enjoying a day of sloth myself. Do you like the chemise set?" I certainly wasn’t going to tell him that I was wearing in that moment and it clung to me perfectly like a second skin.
“It’s lovely. Thank you.”
“Did it evoke some emotions you can apply to that particular passage of your book?” I bristled slightly and shifted onto my shins to sit. It had. I could relate to the feeling of contrition for wearing the underwear purchased for me by a man with whom I had no intimate connection.
“Is this how you work?” I whispered. “Do you guide all of your authors this way?”
“Certainly not, Miss Douglas,” there was a vague tone in his voice that suggested to me that he may have been smiling, “many of our authors are male.” What about the women? That was not a question I felt comfortable asking, not only for its risk factor of annoyance, but for its lack of validity. So what if he did?
“How would this arrangement work, Mr Alexander? That’s if I agree.” The sound of a kettle boiling and the opening and closing of a cupboard set me strangely at ease. Small mortal tasks such as those confirmed that he was human, just far richer and successful than I was.
“I will work through the book with you from start to finish until I feel that it is fit to print. Beyond that, I will make arrangements for you to be primped and preened by the best to make you red carpet worthy. All I ask is that you make yourself available. This wouldn’t interfere with your avid career in beverage dispensing.” I stifled a laugh and shook my head. How could I really argue with a few free manicures at the cost of sacrificing an afternoon or two? It’s not like he was asking for my soul.