‘No.’ His reaction came straight from his gut. Using Olivia as a barrier against the flow of gold-diggers with her knowledge was one thing. Garnering her help to salvage his reputation and the charity event—he had no problem with that. But no way did he want her to feel that he had exploited her; the thought turned his insides over with distaste. ‘Everything I said to Helen was true. I am happy for Charlotte—she has found a great guy and I wish them both a very happy future.’
And all Adam’s research had indicated that Ian Mainwaring should provide Charlotte with exactly that. Ian was worth a hundred of him—would look after Charlotte, give her love, a family... Everything Adam had promised her and failed to provide.
Memory echoed in his ears: her tears, her pleading. Her voice. ‘You’ve broken my heart, Adam. I trusted you and now you’ve broken my heart.’
Aware of Olivia’s direct glance, Adam commanded his expression to be neutral. ‘Bottom line is I am not trying to make Charlotte jealous. That’s the truth.’ The words sounded too serious; her gaze caused him a thread of discomfort at the sensitive subject at hand. ‘Scout’s honour,’ he added, turning his lips up in a smile as he glanced at his watch. ‘And now that’s settled we’d better get a shake on. We need to be at Somerset House at five o’clock for the show.’
As anticipated, the information deflected her from any further questions. ‘Five o’clock? But I haven’t got a proper dress or...’
‘Just buy whatever you need. The hotel has a boutique, or if you want to hit the shops I can get someone to go with you.’ For an insane moment he nearly offered himself up on the shopping altar. Almost. He didn’t shop. Full stop. He had no intention of starting now.
‘I’m a personal shopper. I’m quite capable of shopping by myself.’
‘Nope. You’ll take one of Nate’s men with you.’
Hurt lanced her eyes, along with a healthy dollop of anger. ‘What do you think I’m going to do? A runner?’
‘No. I’m worried a reporter will make you uncomfortable, and I’m worried Candice may try and get to you. That’s why I want someone with you.’
‘Oh.’ Her lips curved up into a wide smile. ‘That told me. In that case, bring him on.’
* * *
Olivia surveyed her reflection. It didn’t matter what she looked like. It didn’t. Because she wasn’t bothered by what Adam thought. She definitely did not want a repeat of that hot, predatory gaze that turned her insides squishy and sent heat shooting south. Definitely not.
There was some other explanation for the ripple of anticipation in her stomach. Perhaps it was horror that the purchase of the stunningly gorgeous, shimmering creation she wore had been chalked up to Adam.
But there was nothing else she could have done; she’d been standing at the till of an exclusive London boutique that she’d always wanted to visit and Jonny, aka her minder, had handed over a rectangle of plastic: the Masterson Hotels company credit card.
Outrage had clenched her rigid even as mortification had coloured her face. Olivia had tried to protest. But all her objections had fallen on deaf ears and stony ground. Jonny had been obdurate; he’d been given an order direct from Adam and as far as he was concerned it was more than his job was worth not to follow it to the letter.
So Olivia had capitulated, salving her conscience with the determination to repay Adam at the earliest given opportunity.
An almost savage swipe of glossy pink lipstick and she was done. And she still couldn’t help but imagine Adam’s face when he saw her.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She’d chosen the dress for its suitability and nothing else. Her reflection stared back at her—the perfect trophy girlfriend that any respectable businessman could be proud of. The spitting image of her mother, chosen for her looks. Adam himself had admitted it, and the article had been clear. Only the beautiful should apply.
And she qualified.
The dress screamed elegance and discreetly whispered class. The simple column cut skimmed her curves and the shimmering silver fabric swooped to just touch the floor, allowing her red-painted toenails to be glimpsed in the folds. The lacy top of the dress scooped around her neck and the short sleeves showed off the toned slenderness of her arms. Her hair was held back at the neck, leaving a side fringe to fall across her forehead, and she’d opted for the fresh-faced look with her make-up.
It was perfect, and worth every one of Adam’s pennies.
Yet her soul felt tainted, further polluted by the fact that she actually wanted Adam’s approval—wanted those brown eyes to darken and smoulder when he looked at her.
Olivia clenched her nails into her palms. This was plain wrong—for a variety of reasons that all bunched together around her chest, squeezing her tight with panic.
The knock on the door set her heart pounding. She had to get a grip. Had to gain control and squash all these feelings pancake-flat.
‘Coming,’ she called, and walked to the door, pulling it open. Her throat dried as she drank in Adam’s appearance; if he’d looked gorgeous the night before, he looked positively sinful now. The dark suit was simple and fitted perfectly around the breadth of his shoulders. White shirt and silver tie, and that woodsy scent that made her dizzy.
Adam looked as shell-shocked as she did. His arms rose as if to touch her and then dropped to his sides. A slow smile touched his lips. ‘You look superb, Ms Evans. You will outshine the entire catwalk and I will be the envy of every man there.’
His words were the equivalent of an iceberg’s worth of cold water, cementing what she had already known. Confirmation that Adam wanted her on display to ensure his image hadn’t been too tarnished by the exploits of billionaire-baggers and supermodels. As far as he was concerned that was what his credit card had bought and that was what he was entitled to expect.
A frown slashed his brows together. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I’m glad I’ve come up to expectations.’
‘What does that mean? I’ve told you—you look sensational. What’s the problem?’
‘There is no problem and don’t worry. I won’t disgrace you. I know the drill.’ She’d grown up watching it, after all. How to dazzle with a smile, how to make the man you were with think he was the bee’s knees, wings and stripes.
‘Then let’s go.’
Adam held his hand out and Olivia stared at it.
‘Save it for the cameras,’ she said, and saw the flash of something that looked perilously like hurt cross his features. Steeling herself to ignore it, she swept past him and headed for the front door and the waiting limo.
Once inside the car Olivia slid into the furthermost corner and listened as Adam pulled out his phone. His conversations all concerned the forthcoming event and amply demonstrated just how involved Adam had been in the organisational details.
Dropping the phone onto the leather seat, he reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a sheaf of paper.
‘Is that your speech?’ she asked.
‘Yup.’ He looked down, his lips moving as he ran his eyes down the sprawling handwriting.
Olivia leant her forehead against the cool of the window and silently castigated herself as shame wormed a warm trail through her body. Adam cared about this event because it raised money for a charity that tried to combat the disease that had taken his mother from him. And she was sitting here cavilling over the fact that through no fault of his own he needed a girlfriend on his arm to demonstrate his respectability.
Yuck. She was so busy worrying about what people would think of her, so caught up in her own emotional baggage, that she’d shoved her head straight up her own backside.
The limo glided to a stop and Adam placed the papers next to him and hauled in a breath.
‘Adam?’
He turned to her and her tummy dipped.
‘This event is going to be great,’ she said. ‘You’ll wow them.’
Without letting herself think she slid across the seat, her dress skimming the smoothness of the leather, until they were thigh to thigh. Twisting her upper body, she smiled at him before cupping his jaw in the chalice of her palms. She leant forward and brushed her lips against his cheek. Her heart gave a pang at the realisation he must have shaved specially. Not a trace of the stubble that had grazed her face the previous day remained.
‘Your mum would be proud of you. I know it.’
Before he could react, before she could throw caution to the winds and kiss him properly, she rubbed his cheek to get rid of the light gloss of pink she’d left behind, then shimmied back along towards the limo door, which Jonny had pulled open.
Olivia stretched out her hand to Adam. ‘Let’s go,’ she said.
They emerged from the sleek black car into the swarm of fashionistas who thronged the environs of Somerset House, home to London’s Fashion Week. The crowd of assorted styles and bursts of colour had Olivia swivelling and turning, feeling ideas sparking from the incredible array of combinations and patterns.
But through it all—down the red carpet that led to the enormous domed marquee, even as she smiled the smile and walked the walk for the camera—the thought of Adam filled her mind. His ripple of nerves as he’d practised his speech had moved her, shifted something deep within her.
As they left the crisp cold of the February evening to enter the marquee Olivia caught her breath. ‘It’s spectacular,’ she murmured.
The canvas walls were lit by the bounce and eddy of multi-coloured lights in all different shades of blue that created a magical aquamarine display reminiscent of a fairyland. Garlands looped the ceiling and the ticket-holding guests were being shown to seats that held a complimentary goody bag.
‘I’d better go and make sure everything is going to plan behind the scenes,’ Adam said.
Olivia nodded. ‘I’ll stay here. I don’t want to cause Candice to have a last-minute meltdown.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure. Truly, Adam. Please don’t worry about me.’ She smoothed her hands down the soft lapels of his jacket, allowed her hands to linger on the muscular wall of his chest. ‘You’ve got this.’
‘Thank you, Olivia. I appreciate it. Truly.’
For a breathless heartbeat she thought he’d kiss her. Instead he squeezed her hands before releasing her. Turning, he headed backstage.
Heart still thumping, mind whirling, Olivia headed for her seat, picked up the goody bag and looked inside. An ornate card gave her a free stay in any Masterson Hotel, inclusive of travel, complimentary spa time, meals and drinks. A mini bottle of champagne stood alongside an expensive designer body spray.
And there in the corner nestled a tissue-wrapped package with her name scrawled on it—surely in Adam’s handwriting? Olivia unwrapped the light blue folds and pulled out a delicate silver charm bracelet. A surreptitious glance around showed that no one else sported anything similar on their wrist.
Surprise and appreciation lodged deep in her chest as she saw the shape of the charm dangling from the chain. It was a wardrobe: an exact copy of her company’s logo. A miniature wardrobe, complete with arms and legs.
Who knew how he’d got one made so fast? She’d only told him about Working Wardrobes that morning.
She clasped the silver chain around her wrist as the lights changed to illuminate the stand at the head of the catwalk. Conversation slowly cascaded away into an expectant silence as Adam and his co-host, Fenella Jowinski, a famous model of yesteryear, emerged from the shadows into the spotlight.
Following a short, pithy speech from Fenella, Adam stepped up to the microphone and Olivia clenched her hands together as she willed him good luck vibes. Not that it would be possible for anyone to guess he was nervous, the slight whitening of his knuckles as they clasped the edge of the podium the only clue. Otherwise his body was relaxed, his voice even and melodious without a hitch or a hint of edge.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone else in the audience, I’d like to thank you all for being here today to support a cause that is very dear to me.’
Here Adam paused, his eyes scanning the crowded chairs and resting for a moment on Olivia.
‘I had a speech all prepared—a speech full of statistics and stories and leaps in medical advances. It was a great speech, and I spent a very long time writing it. However, thanks to some words said to me just moments before my arrival here I’ve changed my mind. Someone said to me that my mother would be proud of me. I hope with all my heart that that is true. So, before we get down to the business of fashion and let loose the wonderful, dedicated women who will model some amazing creations, I would like to tell you about my mother—the wonderful woman who shaped my life for eight years.’
Olivia stilled. Only eight years? That meant Adam would have been just a child when his mother died.
Pressing her lips together to hold back a gasp of empathetic pain, she leant forward, wanting to hear every word.
‘Maria Jonson was truly beautiful, inside and out. She had the capability of bringing joy and light to a room with the power of her smile. A single mother who gifted me a carefree childhood, she loved life and lived every precious second of hers to the full. She didn’t have a glamorous job—she worked in an accounts department—but she had an imagination that soared.’
Olivia’s heart twisted with pain as Adam painted a picture of a brave, wonderful, ordinary woman. A woman who’d sung and danced and read him stories. One who’d loved movies and spending time curled up under a duvet with her son and a bowl of popcorn. A woman who had collected so many knick-knacks and souvenirs of her life that their small house had overflowed.
A woman who had suddenly contracted myeloma and three months later passed away.
‘I watched her get weaker, I watched her suffer, but right to the very end she gave me love. And that is why I am standing here today—because I want this disease to be stopped. So that it no longer can claim any more wonderful, ordinary, beautiful women like Maria Jonson. My mother. A woman who deserves to be remembered. I hope wherever she is now she is proud of me, as I am still proud of her.’
You could have heard the proverbial pin drop as Adam stepped down, and Olivia marvelled at what he had done. He had brought his mother’s memory to life and he’d done so without being maudlin or displaying an ounce of self-pity.
Compassion and grief cloaked her at the thought of an eight-year-old Adam whose whole life had been wrenched topsy-turvy, desolated by the loss of the person who had meant everything to him. And for it to have happened so fast... He must have been terrified, alone, hurt and angry at fate.
Questions swirled around her mind—where had Zeb been? Not once in his speech had Adam even mentioned his father.
‘Well, hell. I never knew any of that.’
Olivia jumped at the deep American drawl coming at her from her left. The large, craggy-featured blond man who must have seated himself whilst she had been deep in reverie gave her a warm smile, his dark blue eyes creasing.
There was no mistaking who it was: Noah Braithwaite—star of a string of box office hits. Amazing that she hadn’t even noticed his arrival—the man was all about charisma—but her focus, her entire body and mind, had been tuned to Adam.
‘You must be Olivia.’
‘Yes.’ Olivia forced herself to smile and shoved her feet firmly down on the smooth canvas floor of the marquee.
Racing across the catwalk towards Adam was not an option, however hard her body ached to hold him. He wouldn’t thank her for it. The last thing he needed was for her to make some sort of public display when he had refrained from anything of the sort.
‘I’m Noah. The man your enterprising boyfriend has sacrificed to Candice.’
>
‘You got your yacht back,’ Olivia pointed out a touch tartly.
‘True. But never fear. Adam’ll skin me of it again next poker night.’ As if seeing her bristle, Noah grinned. ‘Relax, Olivia. I’m teasing you. Adam knows damn well I’d have done it for nothing but the sake of friendship. I’m just hoping Candice isn’t as big a diva as she’s made out to be.’ He winked. ‘Speaking of whom, I’d better go to my allocated seat, where I can best see my three-date woman, or she’ll throw a hissy fit.’
Olivia watched the show in a daze as models shimmied, sashayed and glided down the catwalk. Silks and satins and tweeds all interweaved in a dazzling display of talent and outrageous ingenuity. But even as she exclaimed in appreciation of the outlandish and the exquisite her gaze kept flickering back to Adam, pulled by a magnetic need to make sure he was all right.
It was a yearning that she had to hold in check until the end of the show when finally, finally, she wended her way through the crowd towards him.
EIGHT
‘Thank goodness that’s over.’ Adam slid into the glossy limousine after Olivia and expelled a huge sigh. Unaccustomed weariness rolled over him and he flexed his shoulders before leaning back against the padded leather and tugging his tie off.
Two hours of mingling, of accepting condolences and congratulations, and he felt raw. Exposed, even. He’d managed to field the more personal questions, had tried to speak simply of his mother and the woman he remembered her to have been. Or maybe didn’t remember enough.
‘Do you regret your speech?’
He turned to look at Olivia, her profile silhouetted in the muted light of the car, shadows playing on her beautiful features.
Unease threaded him as he realised how good it had felt to have her by his side. His disquiet was almost enhanced by his feeling of gratitude when he remembered how she had shielded him where she could, her touch on his arm a balm.
And here he was, waxing lyrical.
The emotional impact of the whole event had quite simply temporarily knocked his perspective off course.
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