Terese ordered a wine for herself. Parmi already had a drink, a rosé of some variety. “How long are you staying for?”
“A month or so. I have so much leave, they’re forcing me to take time off. Thought I might do some travelling. Had to come see my parents.”
“I bet they’ve been asking you for ages.”
“How is everyone?”
“Good, great. You know, the same, mostly. Terence and Rashida are getting married. I’m sure they’ll invite you when they find out you’re back.”
“I didn’t know they were a couple.”
“Well, you don’t know these things if you ignore us for years and years,” Parmi chided, and Terese felt admonished. She had turned her back on Marbella and hadn’t looked back.
“It’s strange to be back.”
“Rashida would love to see you at the wedding.”
“Of course.” She wanted to prequalify that with saying if she could, but knew exactly the look Parmi would give her if she refused to commit.
“So interestingly, you’re not the only alumni returning.”
“Really, who else?”
Parmi looked uncomfortable and Terese started frowning. “Alistair Cartright?” Parmi said, finishing on a tentative note.
Terese’s eyes widened and goose bumps rose along her arms. She’d agreed to come specifically because he wasn’t here. “He works in London.”
“Not anymore, it seems. From what I hear, he’s quit. Obviously, I’m not privy to his plans, but he’s here at the moment. Apparently, Lucy saw him the other day.” Parmi grabbed her hand. “Hey, don’t look so shocked. There’s no reason you should run into him. Well, maybe at Rashida’s wedding. He was always close with Terence.”
Terese blinked, trying to absorb the shock. He was here. She wouldn’t have come if she’d know, but then she chided herself. Alistair had already had enough impact on her life; she refused to give him more.
“I’m sure he doesn’t even remember you,” Parmi said, a crooked smile on her lips.
“It doesn’t matter,” Terese said dismissively, but Parmi knew exactly how much that arsehole had hurt her. He’d made her life hell and he’d smirked doing it, thinking her such an idiot. She had been an idiot, had believed everything he’d told her—every single lie. He’d made her believe she was special, that he’d cared about her, but all he’d wanted was to get in her pants. They had been sixteen at the time. He’d been the hottest guy on the coast and he’d chosen her. In her sixteen-year-old mind, her fairy-tale dreams of the perfect boyfriend had been coming true. Until after, when he’d gotten up from the bed and said, ‘Cheers.’ And that had been it. He’d got what he’d come for and then had zero interest in her beyond telling everyone she’d given it up to him.
It didn’t sound like much, but she’d been utterly horrified at the time. Everyone had known.
Everyone had treated her like a slag. If she’d been capable of being cool about it, it wouldn’t have mattered so much, but she’d been unable to hide how devastated she’d been, react to every cheap jibe volleyed at her.
If fact, she’d taken the first opportunity to leave town and had gone somewhere where no one had known her.
Obviously, she wasn’t sixteen anymore, but Alistair had been her nemesis for so long, it was hard to let that go. She certainly wasn’t able to forgive him. What he’d done had been shitty and she’d been angry about it too long. “I’m sure you’re right. No doubt he’s screwed over lots of girls since. Let’s face it, he’s Alistair Cartright, arsehole extraordinaire.”
No, it really was time she put her big girl pants on and get on with it. She’d spent too many of her teenage years obsessed about the embarrassment and hurt he’d caused. That wasn’t her anymore; she’d left that girl behind the moment she’d packed her bags and headed off to New York, where she’d been able to completely reinvent herself. Alistair Cartright be fucking damned. She was not going to reorganise her life around him. If she should happen to run into him, he wouldn’t exist and what he’d done had been stupid teenage hijinks.
She dreaded to think what kind of man he was. He’d been an awful, arrogant boy, who’d used and abused anyone he wanted to, using her to prove his immature manliness to his stupid friends. It was pathetic really.
Chapter 14
Cheryl’s week went from bad to worse. Another letter arrived, stating the contract she had with the landowner had changed in light of the new owner, Dunbury Industries. Without a doubt, it was that man who’d come to her salon. Normally, he was the kind of man women melted over, even her if he’d been some passing man, but he was now the man who was trying to take everything away from her.
She’d defied him, having no idea if she could carry it through. She wasn’t green enough to know that being in the right didn’t always mean anything. Apparently, he had endless resources, and she barely had any. There was a good chance that yet again, she would be completely bulldozed by a man who didn’t care a bit about what she wanted.
It still wasn’t in her to give up without a fight. If this took absolutely everything from her, she would simply start again, as she’d done before. But she was no man’s doormat—even tall, dark and handsome ones.
Cheryl worried her lip as she reread the letter.
“What’s the matter? You look worried,” Dean said, carrying a tube of dye.
“It’s nothing,” Cheryl said with a smile. “Just business issues.”
“You should come for a drink later.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t hide at home all the time. You have to get out there and start dating.”
“Really, Dean, I have enough on my plate without bringing another man into the equation.”
“There are nice men out there.”
“Well, if you find one, let me know.” Granted, it would be nice to have someone to share an evening with, but too much could go wrong and she really didn’t have the time or heart to devote to it at the moment. Dating would have to wait. And now it looked as if another significant problem had landed in her lap.
Dominic Dunbury didn’t look like a man who was denied, and she expected he fully expected he would succeed. He probably would, damn him, but she refused to roll over and simply allow herself to be screwed. If he was going to take it, he would have to pry it out of her cold, stiff fingers. It was time to go see her solicitor.
Cheryl walked into the solicitor’s office on the second floor in a building a short drive from the salon. Her heels clicked as she walked up the stairs. A gorgeous, Spanish receptionist told her to take a seat and wait. The problem with the Spanish was that they were more fluid on time. That would never be acceptable in the beauty industry. She’d had to shake a few clients who were simply incapable of keeping an appointment.
“Miss Waters,” Escoban said, holding the door open for her. “Please come in.” Escoban had terrible fashion sense, but when she’d first met him, she’d concluded he had competence and that was all that mattered. “Now this is interesting,” he said, looking at a copy of the letter she had received. “Dunbury Industries is a multinational and my understanding is that they wish to build a new office on the land.”
“I have a tenancy on the land.”
“Which means he cannot without you relinquishing the tenancy. He is offering compensation.”
“The location is perfect and I would lose business if I moved.”
“We can, of course, fight this.”
“My worry is for how long. Mr. Dunbury said he has infinite resources.”
“You have seen him?”
“He came to the salon and offered me an additional twenty thousand euro.”
“We can get more.”
“I don’t want to get more. I want my salon and I want to be left alone.”
“Then we fight him,” Escobar said with a shrug.
It sounded so easy when Escobar said it. “But how much will that cost me? I don’t have unlimited resources.”
“
But you do have the resource a man like Dominic Dunbury hasn’t—time. How long can he delay building this office? The gossips say he is in temporary offices on a short lease. We may not have to fight that long, and maybe seeing that you will fight may force him to make other plans. You have to keep in mind this is Spanish courts we are dealing with; they are slow and corporations do not necessarily get preferential treatment. You don’t have to fight now. We can lodge a supposition to indicate that you will fight and see what he does.”
Cheryl chewed her lip again. She would never forgive herself if she didn’t at least make a stand. “Fine, do it.”
“The law is completely on your side, Miss Waters. No matter what Mr. Dunbury wants.”
Finally, she nodded and said goodbye. They would just have to wait until Dunbury made his next move. She had no idea what that would be. Mr. Escobar might, but she could be better off not knowing. Legally, she was in the right. That had to mean something. She wanted to live in a world where that meant something.
Hopping into her Mini, she drove back towards the salon, stopping in a café on the way to pick up a salad. She sat down at an aluminium table and picked at the salad. This new complication was the last thing she needed, but what she did need was find some way of dealing with this, some way of ensuring this didn’t drive her mental.
Chapter 15
Throwing back a tequila shot, Alistair sat back in the comfy seat and watched the girls dancing. They’d ended up at this new club he hadn’t been to before. It was nice. Hefty cover charge meant it wasn’t overly crowded and it wasn’t full of drunk hens.
The skirt on Aggie’s dress jiggled as she danced. Aggie was perfect. She had lovely eyes and nice, curly hair. Her skin was tanned with long, slim arms. But she was also out of bounds. As his brother’s ex, she was the one place he couldn’t go. Shame, though, because she looked excellent shaking it on the dance floor.
On some level, he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea coming here, but it hadn’t been an option staying either. It was so easy to slip into a completely drunken existence here. He looked over at Felix, who was downing another shot of tequila, leaning back and lighting a cigarette. “So what was this thing with that girl you were doing?”
“Nothing,” Felix said, running his tongue over his teeth. “Just some slag. Came, got what she wanted and left.”
“And what did she want?”
“A step up the ladder. She fucked my father.”
Alistair chuckled. “You do tend to find the more interesting ones. Really, Dominic fucked some slag?”
“She caught him in a vulnerable moment.”
“Where is she now?”
“Mexico.”
Alistair checked out the other girls on the floor. There was some potential there, but nothing he felt particularly urgent about. Quentin shacking up with some girl was a development he hadn’t expected. Going from the quintessential playboy to loved-up couple was quite a stretch. Quentin had always been the screw-up, one of the Marbella kids who had nothing better to do than hang out and waste time. Now, he’d escaped.
Being older, Alistair had always expected to be perfect, and he had been. He’d had the perfect career, had learnt to be utterly ruthless and how to get things done. But a question of why had crept in and he hadn’t had an answer. Now the roles were reversed. He was the one floating around, trying to find direction, and Quentin had settled—well, for now. From the sounds of it, this girl couldn’t last. It sounded too… mismatched.
Actually, it took a bit of time to unwind. He was so used to getting up in the morning and pulling on a suit. Lunch with the boys; dinner with the crowd; home late; sleep, and start all over again. Things were different in Marbella. Or maybe it was him that felt as if he’d ripped the carpet from out underneath himself.
There was still the idea of setting up his own shop in the back of his mind. He’d have to find investors, which wouldn’t be too difficult. It would be hard work and it did carry risk. He’d be working without the bank’s extensive security net. Part of him knew he had to get over this little crisis—a quarter-life crisis, his mother had called it.
Felix laughed looking at one of the boys trying to pick up a Spanish girl and getting utterly rejected. Alistair smiled. The crap they used to get up to. It had been brilliant growing up here. They’d done everything, experienced everything. Obviously, secondary schooling had been back in England, but all holidays and most weekends were spent back here, hanging out with these guys.
Looking around, he saw some young girls. And they really were getting younger every year. A fresh batch of lovelies. It wasn’t the lack of talent that stopped him from picking one up and carrying her home for a night’s rigorous exercise. Maybe it was the fact that he knew exactly what would happen. Every nuance of that game, he knew. He didn’t want to play and he didn’t want to settle. Araminth returned to his mind. He hadn’t called her since he’d arrived, and he had to consider if he’d actually split up with her. The amount of time he spent thinking about her suggested he should.
Her uncle worked at the Bank of England, which was a very useful connection. For his career, he should probably marry her, but the thought of her actually living in the same place as him left him cold. Dating her was fine when they lived apart—particularly as he’d never been particularly loyal. Respectful was perhaps a better word. He’d been respectful to her, and that was perhaps something he couldn’t always be accused of having been to girls.
He’d be the first to acknowledge that he was a bit of an arsehole. It had never done him any harm. In fact, being an arsehole got you respect in many circles. Maybe he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to live his entire life in that mould. It was the restrictive inevitability of it all that had chased him out of London. And now Quentin was gone, carving his own path. He half respected his brother for it.
“Let’s get out of here,” Felix said. “You’ll come to Terence’s bachelor party?”
Alistair groaned. “What sleazy bullshit is he planning on pulling?” Terence had the propensity to revel in the seedier side of things.
“I don’t know. Coke and whores, probably,” Felix said.
“Still into that, huh?”
“The coke’s gotten cheaper and the whores more expensive.”
Alistair chuckled and they walked out. He was actually too drunk to drive so they paid the valet to take them to the next club. Bit more on the burlesque side—upmarket though. There had been many nights in his youth where he’d hung out at this place.
Maybe he’d pick up a dancer, but he’d been there and done that. Sometimes it was just easier to pay someone; saved the hassle of having to deal with the crap before and after.
Chapter 16
It was still fairly cool outside by the time Paul arrived at work on Monday. The weekend had been spent at home and had gone much too quickly. He still couldn’t quite believe how the dinner party he’d been invited to had ended up. His mind swung between pride and dire warnings. The pride was immature, but it was still there. He’d bagged what was effectively a supermodel. And the warning urged him to consider how that was even possible. His dreams weren’t even that exciting.
It did no good analysing it. It made no sense in his head anyway he turned it, so he dismissed it as something strange that had happened—the probability on par with being abducted by aliens.
The boys would never believe him if he told them. He wasn’t exactly known for exaggeration regarding to his sexual conquests, but this one would be unbelievable. No doubt, at some point in the future, when back in the UK, and drunk beyond comprehension, he would confess—probably to disbelieving laughter.
Shaking his head, he unlocked his office and walked inside. The air was a little stifled, a little stale, so he opened the window, even as the air conditioning ran. His grandmother had still held firmly to the belief in miasma causing health issues. He put his briefcase down and considered his tasks that day. He was lecturing in fifteen minutes, but the early Mond
ay lectures tended to be sparsely attended. Academic ambition wasn’t high amongst this particular student population. He missed Oxford, at times.
The lecture was near empty, as expected. The killer girls weren’t there, only the strays and the unpopular kids. Even amongst the privileged, some kids just didn’t make the cut. That never changed, no matter what strata of society in question. Perhaps it was even a little more cruel for these rich kids—they had no excuse for their failure other than the force of their own personalities.
Packing up his things after an uneventful lecture, he returned to his office. His door was open when he returned, which wasn’t how he’d left it.
“Hello?” he said as he reached the door.
The goddess was sitting in the armchair in the corner, her long, lean legs crossed. The legs stretched for miles, in their almost shiny perfection. Paul froze. Again the world made no sense. She was here—why? Why was a model sitting his office, in a red dress that hugged every one of her taut planes and curves? “There you are,” she said. “I was starting to wonder where you’d gotten to.”
“How did you get in?”
“A man with a key let me in.”
Technically, strangers weren’t supposed to be given entrance to their offices, but he could well imagine the janitor brainlessly doing anything she wanted.
Paul cleared his throat. “How can I be of assistance?”
She smiled and then rose. That dress draped off her curves, showing the swell of her breasts, the tiny waist, and frankly, erotic sway of her hips. Without wanting to, he felt himself tighten.
“I thought I’d come see you,” she purred. “We had such an interesting time at the party.”
Paul looked away from her, but her eyes seemed to call him back. He fought it. “Yes, it was… unexpected.” He was mumbling, his brain not quite working.
“Unexpected?” she said, amused at his apparent incomprehension. She stepped a bit closer. The desk was behind him so he was more or less trapped. That warning signal in his brain was screaming. There was danger here, because he wasn’t stupid enough not to know she was well out of his league.
Marbella Beauty Page 5