Flawless

by Tilly Bagshawe

  “Do you have anything smaller, but in a better area?” she asked hopefully.

  “Like where?” Carla looked nonplussed.

  “Well, that’s the whole point, I don’t know,” said Scarlett. “I was hoping you might be able to show me some of the options. Perhaps if we drove by some of the better-known jewelers? Neil Lane, maybe, or some of the up-and-coming designers? Jenna Halliday has a store in Los Feliz, I believe. Is that far from here?”

  It turned out that everywhere was far from here. Carla tried rat run after rat run, but traffic choked every available street, and it seemed to take an age to drive a few short miles. In the end they’d headed back to the freeway and Beverly Hills, with Scarlett feeling exhausted and utterly disoriented, staring out the window and thinking longingly of her dear little shop on Westbourne Grove.

  Carla’s cell phone rang, and an irritating cacophony of Latin beats filled the stifling car.

  “Carla Berenger,”

  “Hey, Carla.” Jake’s low, distinctive voice rumbled over the speakerphone like thunder. “It’s Jake Meyer. Is Scarlett still with you?”

  “She sure is,” said Carla, smiling for the first time all morning and automatically checking her hair in the driver’s mirror. Even on the other end of a phone line, women wanted to look their best for Jake. “You’re on speaker, honey.”

  “How’s it going?” he asked cheerfully. He certainly sounded full of the joys of spring this morning. “Seen anything promising?”

  “Not yet,” said Scarlett grimly. She didn’t want to let rip about how ghastly everything had been until she was out of Carla’s earshot. She was also mildly pissed off with Jake for not calling yesterday to welcome her to LA, or at least to check she’d arrived safely, and was not in the mood for chitchat.

  “Where are you now?”

  “Almost at Beverly Hills,” said Carla, when Scarlett didn’t answer. “The traffic’s been a nightmare; we’re a little behind on our schedule.”

  “Great,” said Jake. “Would you drop Scarlett off at Newsroom Café on Robertson? I’ll take her to lunch, and then I’ve got somewhere I’d like to show her.”

  Carla’s lips puckered into a tight line of disappointment that she was not to be included in their lunch and afternoon plans. Having sat through an excruciating morning with this stuck-up, whining British stick insect, the least she deserved was a little face time with Gorgeous Jake.

  “Remember, we signed an exclusive,” she said petulantly. “Who found you this new site?”

  “Friend of a friend,” said Jake, not losing any of his chipperness. “Don’t worry, Carla, you’ll get your commission, whatever we take. A deal is a deal.”

  “I’m really not hungry,” said Scarlett, who would happily have traded places with Carla and lunched alone. “Why don’t we go straight to the—”

  But Jake wasn’t about to be put off. “See you there,” he said briskly, and hung up.

  Newsroom Café was a bustling, sceney restaurant, popular with the wealthy shoppers of Robertson Boulevard, and when Scarlett walked in there was a line.

  “Hello, stranger.” A beaming Jake kissed her on both cheeks, earning her dagger looks of envy from the bimbos waiting for tables, who’d been enjoying his attention until Scarlett arrived. In bright-yellow Bermuda shorts and a white Ralph Lauren shirt with yellow piping, he looked like a catalog model for the new season’s cruise wear, and she noticed that he failed to remove his Oliver Peoples wraparound sunglasses when he kissed her. “Expecting snow, were we?”

  He laughed teasingly at Scarlett’s corduroy trousers, Ugg boots, and fleece combination, the latter borrowed from Nancy’s wardrobe and several sizes too small for her, its sleeves stopping midway between her elbows and wrists.

  “It was cold when I arrived,” said Scarlett, feeling stupid, her cheeks flushing from heat and embarrassment. “It must be fifteen degrees warmer today.”

  “Well, take your fleece off, then,” said Jake, ignoring the glares from the other waiting customers as the smitten hostess showed him straight to a table.

  “I’m fine,” snapped Scarlett, pulling it more tightly around her. Underneath she was wearing only the skimpiest of tank tops, and she was paranoid she might have sweated right through it so he’d be able to see her nipples. “Let’s just order, OK?”

  “All right, Little Miss Sunshine. What’s eating you?” said Jake, at last removing his shades and fixing her with his intense, violet-blue eyes.

  “Nothing,” grumbled Scarlett. “It was a frustrating morning, that’s all.”

  Jake, whose own morning had been anything but frustrating (he’d spent most of it in bed with the new Grey’s Anatomy actress, with whose anatomy he was now intimately familiar), watched her as she studied the menu. Still pale from yesterday’s flight, and with deep shadows under her eyes belying her jet lag, she wasn’t looking her best. As for that ridiculous child’s sweater she was wearing, it made her look as though she’d climbed into the dryer herself and shrunk her entire torso. But the cute smattering of freckles across her nose, the huge eyes like pools of liquid amber, and the endless legs that, even hidden beneath those awful gardening trousers and folded under the table, managed to attract admiring glances from men around the room, all set her apart from the other women here. If there was such a thing as an X-factor—something that caught the attention without discernible effort—then Scarlett had it in bucket loads.

  “Well, cheer up,” he said, signaling to a passing waitress, who shot over to their table like a big-breasted meteor. “I’m taking you somewhere this afternoon that’s bound to put a smile on your face.”

  “The airport?” said Scarlett wryly. “Do I have time to go home and pack?”

  Jake grinned. “Now, now, less of the sarcasm. Not even you can be ready to throw in the towel after one morning.”

  He ordered a smoked turkey salad for himself and a mixed sashimi plate for Scarlett (“Trust me, you’ll love it”) and spent the five minutes while they waited for it to arrive filling her in on the latest with Danny and Diana. He’d given her a heads-up about the affair over Christmas, but it was hardly necessary. By New Year’s Eve, the breakup of the O’Donnell marriage was the hot story among the diamond fraternity from London to Cape Town, with Danny alternately painted as a knight in shining armor, albeit with a kamikaze streak, or a malicious home-wrecker, depending on whom you talked to. Rather to Jake’s surprise, Scarlett hadn’t appeared to be nearly as concerned about developments as he’d expected. Whether she was underestimating Brogan’s talent for revenge or whether she felt that as she was already on his hit list, it didn’t much matter if Danny and Jake were too, he couldn’t tell. Either way, he was grateful that it hadn’t crossed her mind to pull out of their partnership. He needed her now more than ever.

  “D and D are coming into town this afternoon, as it happens,” he said, pouring her an ice-cold glass of Pellegrino. “The press are camped outside Danny’s apartment in New York day and night. He wanted a bit of a breather.”

  “Won’t they just camp outside your house now?” asked Scarlett, tentatively trying a mouthful of sashimi. He was right; it was delicious.

  “I’ve got the highest hedges in Hollywood,” said Jake proudly. “Had ’em grown specially to keep all the angry husbands out. Oh, lighten up,” he added, clocking her frown of disapproval. “I’m only kidding. If you don’t have plans tonight, you should join the three of us for dinner. We’ve got a table at Mastro’s. There’ll be more diamonds in that restaurant than in the whole of Rodeo Drive, trust me. You can hang out with your future customers.”

  Scarlett’s only plan had been a hot bath and bed—Nancy had a date tonight and wouldn’t be back until late—but despite her exhaustion she was hugely curious to see Danny and Diana together in the flesh.

  “All right,” she said, finally allowing herself to smile. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

  Her smile broadened when they left the restaurant in Jake’s Maserati and began flyi
ng through the alleys of downtown Beverly Hills like a blue-and-silver bullet.

  “Where’d you learn to drive?” she asked, impressed. “Brands Hatch?”

  “Nah. Running away from the cops,” said Jake. “That was a joke too, by the way.”

  A few minutes later they pulled up outside a tall, slim store on Canon. Leaving the car right outside, Jake hopped onto the sidewalk, opening the passenger door for Scarlett.

  “Here we are,” he said, smiling. “What do you think?”

  Scarlett stepped inside. The space had most recently been used as a clothes store, a designer sample place if the few plus-sized Armani pantsuits and odd pairs of last season’s Prada boots were anything to go by. It was narrow, not more than fifteen feet across at the front, but it stretched back for what looked like miles, opening out at the rear through French doors onto a charming paved patio, complete with a moss-covered stone fountain and tubs full of early-blooming spring flowers. Right now the walls were painted a drab gray, and the floor inside was covered with a hideous, sticky-brown linoleum. But with some pots of white paint and a little of Scarlett’s natural flair, it could be something really special. It was also on one of the prime retail streets in Beverly Hills, sandwiched between Louis Vuitton and a day spa that looked like the world’s most expensive spaceship.

  “I think either you won the lottery or you’re pulling my leg,” she said. “We can’t possibly afford this. Can we?”

  Jake shrugged. “It’ll be a stretch,” he said. “But I reckon they’ve seriously undervalued the rent. Take a look at this.”

  Whipping his BlackBerry out of the pocket of his Bermuda shorts, he opened a spreadsheet attachment and took Scarlett through a simple set of figures. “I think we can do it, if neither of us eats anything but baked beans on toast for the rest of the year.”

  “Why on earth is it so cheap?” asked Scarlett, trying to keep a lid on her excitement.

  “Dunno,” said Jake. “Not much frontage? Plus the last two businesses here folded within a year.”

  “They must have been pretty badly run then,” said Scarlett, looking around again, imagining the possibilities. “I never dreamed we could get anything so prime. Where did you find it?”

  Jake tapped his nose knowingly. “Little bird. So what do you reckon? Should we make the guy an offer?”

  “Are you crazy?” said Scarlett. “Of course we should. Get him on the phone right now!”

  Jake laughed. He loved the way that Scarlett only seemed to have two gears—stop or full speed ahead.

  “Half an hour ago you wanted to go back ’ome,” he said.

  “Yes, well, that was half an hour ago,” she beamed. “I’m serious. Call him! Oh, and I hope you didn’t mean it about giving that horrendous woman Carla a commission. She was completely useless, and we can’t afford it.”

  Jake gave her a look of renewed respect.

  “You know, for a tree-hugging hippie, you’re not as naive as you look.”

  “Thanks,” said Scarlett drily. “I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I?”

  When she told Nancy about dinner with the twins and Diana, her friend’s anti-Jake radar shot up.

  “He’s up to something. He has an agenda,” she announced cryptically, while rubbing scented body lotion into her inner thighs. “Tell him you changed your mind.”

  “But I haven’t changed my mind,” said Scarlett, holding up two dresses against herself, one red and one white. She was determined, for once, not to look like something the cat puked up when Jake saw her, if only for the sake of her pride. “I’m really curious to see those two together. I’m hoping Diana might be able to shed some light on her evil ex-husband and what he did to Bijoux. After all, if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “In that case I might write and thank him,” said Nancy, unselfconsciously spritzing her newly trimmed bush with Penhaligon’s Victorian Posey. “Boxie, drop!” She pulled a pair of bright-red satin panties out of Boxford’s jaws and put them on, admiring the fit in the mirror. “God, I hope Jason has a big dick,” she muttered to herself. “He looks like he does, but so many of these ball players are a big disappointment when it comes to the shorts department.”

  “Nancy!” Scarlett giggled. “You’re terrible. I thought this was a first date.”

  “It is,” said Nancy, grinning wickedly before returning abruptly to their original conversation about Diana. “Remember, Brogan isn’t her ex-husband yet. She’s only been with Danny Meyer five minutes. She could still go back to him, so be careful what you say tonight. Loose lips and all that.”

  “I don’t think she’s going back to him,” said Scarlett, opting for the red dress. The white one would have to wait until she got a tan. “According to Jake, he beat her up pretty badly when he found out about her and Danny. No woman would go back to that.”

  “You’d be surprised,” said Nancy. “Wow,” she added, turning around and seeing Scarlett in the dress. A floor-length halter-neck, it fit her beautifully and showed off a good amount of creamy, white cleavage, as well as a tempting expanse of bare back. “Very sexy. That’ll get Meyer’s attention for sure.”

  “I’m not trying to get his attention,” insisted Scarlett crossly. “For the last time, Nance, he’s my business partner, and that’s all he’ll ever be. I felt like making a tiny bit of an effort, that’s all. Is it too much?”

  “Of course not,” said Nancy, stepping into her own dress for the evening, a crotch-skimming little black number that looked fit to split the moment she sat down. “You look lovely, as always. Just watch your back with that guy, OK? He’s bad news; you heard it here first.”

  “Actually, I’ve heard it everywhere,” said Scarlett under her breath. But Jake had come out on top today—it looked like they were going to get that store space. And if she couldn’t enjoy a simple social dinner with the man, it didn’t say much for their future as business partners.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “He absolutely, categorically won’t try anything. But if he does”—she did her best Charlie’s Angel karate chop, complete with “hi-yah” noises—“I’ll be ready for him.”

  It was a beautiful LA evening. The palm trees lining Rodeo and Canon Drives swayed gently in the breeze beneath a riotous sunset of pinks, oranges, purples, and blues that no jewel on earth could hope to imitate. All across town, automatic sprinklers began springing to life, watering the immaculately trimmed lawns and clipped box hedges that had spent the day bathed in sunshine, as pampered and spoiled as the people who owned them.

  No wonder everything’s such a vivid emerald green, thought Scarlett. This city must be plant heaven.

  Unfortunately, it definitely wasn’t traffic heaven. Having wasted a good twenty minutes getting siphoned the wrong way around the Beverly Hills one-way system and having used some very unladylike language abusing the makers of her Thomas Guide City Map, Scarlett finally arrived at Mastro’s half an hour late.

  “Sorry,” she said earnestly, weaving her way through the dimly lit tables and past the piano player toward Jake and Danny’s table. Jake had changed into a suit and tie, much to Scarlett’s relief, as Danny and Diana were both casually dressed in chinos and T-shirts, and only a handful of women in the restaurant appeared to have dressed up for the evening. “I got a bit lost.”

  “Not to worry,” said Danny, smiling broadly and offering her his hand. “We only just got here ourselves. What can I get you?”

  “A vodka and tonic please,” said Scarlett.

  “Got any ID, miss?” the penguin-suited waiter gave her the once over.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Do you have any proof that you’re over twenty-one?”

  Scarlett flushed with pleasure. “I’m afraid not. But how marvelous that you think I might not be.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t serve you alcohol without a valid ID,” said the waiter pompously. Scarlett insisted she was fine with water, but Jake kicked up a stink, and eventually a vodka and tonic, lo
ng, cool, and chock-full of ice and lemon, was brought to the table.

  “So, how are you liking La La so far?” asked Danny. Scarlett noticed the way his left hand lay possessively over Diana’s right on top of the table when he spoke. She’d only glimpsed him once before, in New York a year ago, also the only night that she’d seen Diana. Danny looked the same, a rougher-around-the-edges version of Jake, though somehow more approachable than his brother. But Diana was different. Scarlett remembered her from the Tiffany party as projecting an air of such sadness and vulnerability. Tonight, however, she looked positively radiant, glowing with love for Danny, whom she glanced at and touched constantly, her face beaming with happiness despite the still-healing bruises around her eye and the gash on her lower lip, which she hadn’t bothered to try and disguise with makeup. She wore the ring that Danny had given her the first night they met. Other than that she wore no jewelry, Scarlett noticed, although a white band of skin clearly marked the spot covered, until recently, by her wedding ring.

  “I’m not sure,” said Scarlett. “It’s too early to say, I suppose. The house I’m staying in is divine, and it looks like Jake has found me a wonderful space for the new store. If we get it,” she added, cautiously.

  “We’ll get it,” said Jake. No one would know the effort of will it took for him to keep his eyes away from Scarlett’s bosom, edibly gift-wrapped as they were in that unforgivably sexy dress. “I’m telling you, it’s a done deal.”

  “And what about you guys?” asked Scarlett. “How have you been coping with…everything?”

  No one spoke for a moment, and she worried she might have pried too far and somehow put her foot in it.

  “We’re fine,” said Diana, squeezing Danny’s hand tighter.

  The truth was, it had been a hellish few weeks. To say that Brogan had taken her departure badly would be a major understatement. After the attack in Telluride, he’d oscillated wildly between violent threats and bouts of pleading that left Diana winded with guilt. So far, Danny seemed to be taking a sanguine view of his “if I can’t have her, no one can” ranting. But Diana knew her husband too well to dismiss his reactions as so much hot air. She hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks.