Once A Bad Girl

by Jane O'Reilly

  And more terrifyingly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to get out of it. Letting that secret go had changed something inside him. He could still feel his mind trying to adjust, after so many years of fighting to keep the words in. My mother is a drunk. Lottie hadn’t argued, or refused to believe it. She hadn’t tried to defend Marlene.

  But she had pushed him away and told him that he didn’t really want to be with her. So all he had to do now was convince her that he did. But even as he thought it, a cold blade of fear sliced through him.

  He’d told her his darkest secret. And he didn’t know if he could trust her with it.

  Josh dropped Lottie off at work 38 minutes later. She knew it was 38 minutes, because she’d kept her eye fixed tight on her watch, wondering how long a person could actually go without breathing before they fell down dead. A lot longer than she’d realised. Could be a new world record.

  Pulling the edges of her denim jacket closer together, Lottie trotted along the narrow corridor that led to her office. Her hangover had returned with a vengeance, her head felt like it was being attacked by an industrial drill, her stomach flipping between a sick burning sensation and ravenous hunger. Last night, things had got…weird.

  She’d wanted to sleep with him again, hadn’t slept for wanting it, had got herself drunk for wanting it. And it had made things worse. He’d barely said a word to her in the car. He’d seen her to the front door of the auction house, dutifully paused for the two photographers sitting on the wall opposite, then left.

  They’d made more plans, and she found that oddly painful, knowing that none of it was real. Now she knew the truth of the matter—everything he did was about protecting his alcoholic mother from the wrath of the media. She hurt for him, but at the same time, she wanted to scream what about me? Adjusting the position of the folded-up newspaper under her arm, Lottie took a slurp from the bottle of water he’d pressed into her hand and decided not to think about any of it.

  All she had to do was get through today without screwing up. She could do that, couldn’t she? Hidden down here in her basement office, if she turned the ringer on her phone down low and concentrated on emptying her email inbox, the time would fly, and no-one would notice that she was wearing last night’s clothes and no makeup, and at some point she might be able to figure out how to deal with the new, lead weight of a secret Josh had hung around her neck.

  Marlene Blakemore was an alcoholic, and she couldn’t tell a soul.

  She froze when she saw that her office door was open. Leaning forwards, she stuck her head round the door, thinking the worst. ‘Mum! Dad! What are you doing down here?’

  ‘Waiting for you, darling.’ Helen propped her glasses on top of her head. ‘It’s not like you to be late.’

  ‘Slept in,’ she offered by way of explanation. Please don’t ask me where I’ve been, Lottie pleaded silently, darting a glance at her father. He’d squeezed his bulk into her chair, and was doing something with her computer. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Your mum and I wanted to have a talk with you.’

  Oh, god, not A Talk. Lottie hadn’t felt so uncomfortable since the pair of them had sat her down for the sex talk when she’d been 11. ‘Is it important?’ She opened her filing cabinet and grabbed a handful of papers. ‘Because I’ve got a lot to do today. Marlene Blakemore’s costumes are due to arrive at 10. And then I’ve got to log it all, and get the catalogue entries written.’ She smiled hopefully.

  ‘It won’t take long.’ Her mum reached out and took her dad’s hand. ‘We just wanted to let you know how happy we are to see you enjoying yourself. And how much we like Josh. He’s exactly what you need, Charlotte. Someone who doesn’t take anything too seriously. Someone fun.’

  Lottie dropped the files back into the drawer and eased it closed, though every part of her being wanted to slam it. Josh wasn’t what she needed. He made her make a fool of herself, do things she shouldn’t do, made her lose her self-control. Why couldn’t they see how weak she was? It didn’t do anyone any good. But arguing with them was pointless. ‘Thanks, mum.’

  ‘You spend far too long cooped up down here.’ Frederick slapped one big thigh. ‘A young girl like you should be out there living her life, rolling in late five days a week. It’s what I was doing at your age.’

  She could feel their expectant gazes heavy on her shoulders. She wished Josh was here, to distract them with his easy charm and comfortable chatter, so she wouldn’t have to feel the guilt breeding in her gut. They might find it acceptable, but it wasn’t. David hadn’t died so she could carry on doing whatever she wanted, and to hell with the consequences.

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ she said, leaning against the cabinet and trying to figure out the magic words that would make them leave. She knew they meant well. She knew she should be grateful that they were so reasonable, so understanding. But her head hurt like hell, and her emotions were already too close to the surface, and she didn’t have the strength to pretend. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said, closing her eyes for a second, ‘but I’m horribly hungover and I just want to sit at my desk and die for a bit, if you don’t mind.’

  Her desk chair creaked, then she felt a firm kiss being pressed to the top of her head, smelled her dad’s familiar spicy cologne. ‘That’s my girl. Come on, love, let’s leave her to suffer in peace.’

  There was plenty of suffering, but not a lot of peace. Fuelled by gallons of overly sweet tea and the assortment of greasy sandwiches that her dad delivered at regular intervals, Lottie managed to deal with the arrival of Marlene’s costumes, which turned up in a truck. She counted 27 in total, including eight couture red-carpet gowns that made her acid-yellow number seem dull in comparison. Delicious silks in rainbow colours, with beadwork that had to be seen to be believed, all with matching clutch bags and delicate shoes.

  She called in a professional photographer for the catalogue photos, her skills too limited to do the gowns any real justice, and by lunchtime she was starting to feel better.

  And then her mind turned to Josh and stuck there. Carefully positioning the train of an emerald-green gown so that the Chinese dragons embroidered on it could swoop and soar freely, she felt a sudden heave of distaste. The dress was gorgeous, yes, but it was a facade. Behind the glitz, the glamour and the fame had lurked something dark and unpleasant. She wondered what Josh had been like as a little boy, what his life had been like living with parents who, by the sounds of it, had been a complete nightmare.

  Her own childhood had been picture-perfect in comparison. A stable, loving family, living together in a gorgeous, cluttered semi in Richmond. Parents who had the strongest relationship she’d ever witnessed. David, her annoying older brother whom she’d hated and adored in equal measure. She’d been spoilt, she realised suddenly. She was spoilt. Possibly even spoilt rotten.

  By half two she’d measured enough of the dresses to confirm that she’d never fit into any of them and read 217 emails. She’d tidied her desk, watered the spider plant and slicked on a little makeup from the stash she kept in her desk drawer.

  The sky hadn’t fallen in. The business hadn’t fallen apart because she hadn’t been at her desk by nine, and her parents weren’t mad at her. There was clearly something very wrong with the world.

  The walls of her office were too close today, too near, and the air smelled old. She had to get out of here. A few hours on her own, away from everything that reminded her of this place would help clear her head. She grabbed her bag and jacket, switched off her computer and headed upstairs before she could change her mind. She skidded to a halt when she saw Rachel behind the desk. How could she have forgotten that the receptionist didn’t work afternoons anymore?

  ‘Skiving off?’ Rachel asked, opening the sign-out book and handing her a pen. She was about as subtle as a brick.

  Lottie scribbled her name. ‘I’m ill.’

  ‘You do look a bit rough,’ Rachel agreed, as the front door opened and someone walked in. ‘Well, well. What have
we here?’

  Lottie felt her skin tingle. ‘Nothing for you,’ she warned Rachel, shouldering her bag. She turned to face him. ‘Josh. Hi.’

  He tucked his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. ‘Hi.’

  ‘The dresses arrived. They’re downstairs. I’ve catalogued everything, and a photographer came in to do the pictures. Do you want to take a look?’ The urge to get him away from Rachel gripped her hard and fast. For some reason, she didn’t want the two of them to talk.

  ‘If he wants to go downstairs, he’ll have to sign in,’ Rachel pointed out, rummaging in her desk drawer. ‘And you’ll have to sign back in too.’ She slapped the book back on her desk, and made a big show of searching for a pen.

  ‘Fine,’ Lottie snapped. ‘Rachel, this is Josh Blakemore. Josh, this is Rachel. She’s our valuer, also known as Madam Nosey Knickers.’

  ‘Guilty as charged,’ Rachel said. She cast a thoughtful eye over him. ‘You’ll do.’

  Josh looked taken aback. ‘Do what?’

  She smiled mysteriously. ‘Don’t worry about it. So, where are you two lovebirds going tonight?’

  ‘We’re going to a fashion show,’ Lottie informed her tightly, shooting Josh a desperate look. ‘And we’re not lovebirds. It’s just for the publicity.’ Her heart gave an odd little bump. None of this was real, she reminded herself, so it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thought of him, or the idea of the two of them together.

  ‘Actually, that’s tomorrow,’ Josh said. ‘We haven’t got anything planned for tonight.’

  ‘So you’re staying in?’ Rachel flicked her eyebrows up suggestively. She set her elbows on the desk and leaned forward, a satisfied grin on her face. ‘Good plan. You should know, Josh, Lottie likes to watch action films. The more explosions the better. And she pretends to be healthy, but she can’t resist mint-choc-chip ice cream with those little coloured sprinkles you get on cakes at kids’ parties.’

  He grinned. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  Rachel leaned back in her chair, her face suddenly serious. ‘You know, I’ve known Lottie a long time, Josh. She’ll probably kill me for saying this, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen her let her hair down, and I like it. I like it a lot.’

  ‘I aim to please,’ he replied, but his voice was tight, and the air twanged with awkwardness.

  Fidgeting with the strap of her bag, Lottie tried not to be annoyed. She was tired, the mere mention of ice cream had her salivating, and watching Josh and Rachel together was making her twitch. Stopping the flicker of her right eye with her index finger, she thought about a warm, sandy beach with palm trees and azure water and not another person around for a million miles. She tried to steady her breathing, and to stop the nervous sweat under her arms using the power of thought.

  Then Josh came strolling into her imagination wearing nothing but a smile and beckoning her with a come-hither finger, and her hormones went into overdrive. Stupid self-help books and their stupid suggestions.

  Lottie opened her eyes. She knew defeat when she saw it. ‘Well, I’m going now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rachel.’

  She stomped to the door, seized the handle and pulled it open, desperate for some fresh air. She felt more than a little overwhelmed, and a whole lot teary. What Rachel had said, it wasn’t true, was it? She hadn’t been unhappy. Okay, so her life hadn’t been fun, exactly. It had been predictable and peaceful, and those things were good, right?

  Right, she told herself firmly, but she couldn’t stop tears from stinging the back of her eyes as she opened the door and stepped outside. Yes, Josh had brought excitement into her life, and yes, she was enjoying it far more than she wanted to admit. But the whole thing was temporary, and Lottie already knew she was getting far more involved than was wise.

  But she couldn’t walk away. Couldn’t get her legs into motion. It was as if Josh had some sort of magnetic quality that pulled her in even when she didn’t want it to. Instead, she gritted her teeth and walked back into the building, straight into chaos. Loud, cheery chaos. ’Charlotte, darling, Josh was about to run out and get you.’ Helen beamed. ‘We’ve decided we should all call it a day and go to the pub.’

  She saw Rachel busy shutting down her computer as her dad worked his way through a huge bunch of keys and set the alarm. Josh in the middle of them all, his blue eyes thoughtful and fixed completely on her. She felt the heat of it, of him, hit her toes and zoom all the way back up again, and completely forgot what she’d been about to say. A strange sense of calm overtook her as he held out his hand and she took it without even hesitating. It didn’t feel awkward, or uncomfortable. It felt right.

  And she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Chapter Nine

  Two weeks later, she still hadn’t figured it out. They’d fallen into a routine of sorts, and it was both comfortable and scary. She hadn’t spent a single night in her flat. She hadn’t eaten a single meal at home. And she’d eaten way, way too much mint-choc-chip ice cream, which had become a staple item in Josh’s freezer. Her makeup sat in his bathroom next to his razor, her shoes were kicked off under the kitchen table next to his, and her clothes tangled with his in the laundry basket. There had been a perfume launch, meals out at exotic restaurants, an amazing opening night for a West End show. They’d had to up the public appearances once the news of the auction had broken, but afterwards they would always rush straight home and tumble into bed, unable to get enough of each other. And through it all, she’d kept his secret buried.

  She told herself to think of it as a holiday, a few weeks away from home. The club was due to open that night, the auction was being held the day after tomorrow, and they both knew once that was done their time would be up. They’d stop playing house and go back to normal. Josh had mentioned that his club in Barcelona was long overdue a makeover, talked about his plans for the refurb. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he would be there within a week, strolling past La Sagrada Familia with a leggy senorita on his arm. And she’d go back to her normal existence at the auction house.

  Lottie flopped back on the bed, grabbed a pillow and pressed it over her head. Her hair caught like a soggy sheet underneath her, cooling her back. She loved this bed. She loved this room, with its pale-blue walls, high white cornicing, defiant bareness and scent of Josh. She wanted to stay tangled in the sheets with him forever, not just for a few more days, but she couldn’t see a way to make that anything more that a dream.

  The really sad thing was that she hadn’t realised she wanted it until now. She’d spent so long on her own, and it had been fine. She’d been fine. But suddenly the thought of going back to that terrified her, bringing a sick fear into her stomach, her throat. She squashed it down fast and hard.

  The club was opening tonight, and though Josh hadn’t said, she knew he was tense. He’d been there most of the day, checking and rechecking everything, sending her sweet and sexy text messages that had alternately made her smile and blush. This was his day, his moment, and she wasn’t going to turn into a clingy, blubbering wreck. She was going to give him a night to remember.

  The bass bounced deep, the dance floor already packed with hot, writhing bodies. Lights swooped across the walls, the floor, pulsing like a heartbeat in shades of bright white and electric blue. On the four raised podiums, dancers wearing little more than silver body paint pumped up the crowd with moves that screamed sex. The DJ booth looked like something from a spaceship, jetting smoke and sparkling, crackling stars at regular intervals.

  Lottie had never seen anything like it. ‘It’s amazing,’ she shouted, starting to shimmy as the beat took hold of her.

  Josh bent down, his mouth close to her ear. ‘You haven’t seen anything yet.’ He lifted one hand, signalled to someone she couldn’t see. A second, nothing more, and then the crowd went crazy.

  ‘It’s raining!’

  He slid his hands around her waist. ‘Dance with me.’

  She turned in his arms, saw the wicked intent in
his eyes. He walked her back onto the dance floor. Droplets spattered the top of her head, tickled their way down her neck, goose-bumping her skin. Within minutes her dress had started to cling, but it felt cool and wonderful and with so much hot man to wrap herself around, who cared?

  The music pounded through her, as all around them the other clubbers bounced and writhed.

  Lottie pushed up onto her tiptoes. ‘I’m wet!’

  He fitted her against him, her breasts pushed up hard and tight against his chest. ‘Good thing I like you that way.’ He leaned in so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck, feel the bass vibrate through him and into her, sparking up a gorgeous throb between her legs.

  She ground herself against him, and he groaned, tipping his head back so she could lick the trails of water from his throat then find his mouth. He let her plunder, let her taste as they wrapped around each other, as close as they could get to having sex in a public place with their clothes on.

  ‘You’re a bad girl, Lottie Spencer,’ he growled, gripping her hips. She could feel him starting to stir, loved how much she was getting to him.

  Right at that moment, being a bad girl felt so good. She didn’t want to stop. It was as if the water had washed away her good-girl shell, and she felt cleaner somehow, as if a weight had been lifted. All the drama of the past few weeks evaporated, and there was only here, and now, and Josh.

  ‘Take me to your office,’ she shouted, lifting her arms over her head to let the spray batter her palms. ‘Take me to your office and make love to me until I can’t walk straight.’

  One dark eyebrow quirked up. ‘You already can’t dance straight.’

  Turning round, Lottie ground the curve of her bottom against his groin, teasing, tempting. She’d never felt so free, or so alive, and she wanted all of it, and more. All of him and more.

  ‘Fine,’ he yelled back at her. ‘But I won’t be held responsible for any workplace injuries you sustain.’