Marbella Beauty

by Oster, Camille

  Well, this left quite a dilemma. He now had this section he wanted for his new office. It would lose money if it didn’t go ahead. Mercy to opponents wasn’t something that had made his business the success it was. No one could accuse him of not going all the way—he’d gone to prison, for God’s sake.

  He should go ahead and do whatever it took to get what he wanted, and he wasn’t entirely sure what was holding him back. In some ways, judging by her household, this woman was flailing.

  Then again, he couldn’t be righteous about it. His own children were a mess. Felix was a drunk and Esme was utterly, he hated to say it, vacant and superficial. As his father before him, he’d always believed that children had to forge their own way—had to find the ambition and drive to create a path for themselves. Ambition was something you couldn’t instil—it was either there or not.

  The Cartright boy, who was Felix’s best friend, seemed to have found his feet. Dominic had hoped this would serve to ignite Felix’s drive, but it hadn’t borne fruit yet. Felix sulked with whatever slight the world had served him. When it came down to it, advantages in life only really served those who sought to capitalise on them.

  With a sigh, he returned his thoughts to his own dilemma: what to do about the Waters woman. He should forget about her and ram ahead the plan of action. Collateral damage fell by the wayside. Arnie was only a phone call away—hell, he could even yell and Arnie would come running, ready to lodge the legal work required, but somehow Dominic couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone.

  Instead, the called the architects to come see him. There were some amendments he wanted to discuss.

  Chapter 24

  Cheyenne was bored and she didn’t quite know how to entertain herself. It was all a matter of waiting for her plans to unfold, particularly the Curring party later in the week, where she’d been assured Dominic Dunbury would be in attendance.

  The next step in his seduction was imminent, and she couldn’t wait, imagining the contours under those suits he always wore. Good suits always got her hot and bothered, as did the men in them. There was no aphrodisiac quite like power.

  Her insides throbbed for a bit of attention, but she had no one within arm’s reach at the moment, except for old Roger. His clinginess had grown boring, as was his expectation that their little dalliance meant more than a quick revenge fuck.

  She’d had to turn the ring-tone on her phone down for all his calling. He wasn’t giving up, or getting the message that he’d been passed over.

  Walking out of her house, the car waited to take her to lunch. She’d gotten invited, after insisting, to a lunch with some of the girls. But these girls were difficult. Their jealousy made them resentful, but Marsha Woolencraft, an American socialite, who didn’t seem to get the traction she wanted in New York, had decided that Cheyenne might have useful connections. That she did, but she wasn’t about to share them with a farm animal like Marsha. Money simply couldn’t create what wasn’t there.

  The restaurant was nice, one of the newer ones, with custom Italian furniture and decorated in grey and white. This one was new to Cheyenne, but looking around at the patronage, she could consider coming here again. Flowing swags of white cloth kept the sun off their heads, and the open walls provided a nice breeze to complement the view.

  “Hello, darlings,” she said as she lightly kissed each of the four ladies on the cheek. These women were older—well, in their forties, but they had the right connections, and that was everything in a place like this. Cheyenne didn’t have an objective as such for this lunch, but to establish herself more with the women. “You all look lovely.”

  “As do you. How do you keep your figure like that?” Marsha asked, her voice sounding brash in its loudness.

  “I don’t eat.”

  Marsha put down the piece of bread she had been chewing and smiled. Her eyes travelled over Cheyenne’s face, taking stock, and she didn’t like what she saw. Yes, sweetie, plain out of your league, any way you cut it. “I’m so glad you could come.”

  “It is my pleasure. Such lovely company, on a lovely day.”

  “How is your husband?”

  “He’s working, poor thing,” Cheyenne said. If fact, it had been quite a while since she’d seen him. It might be time to return for a while and grease the wheels. “He’s been thinking of coming down for a while when his schedule allows.” Which she strictly didn’t want, as she did not want Dominic to be put off by a husband trailing behind her.

  “I ran into Roger Cavandish the other day,” Tilly said, crossing her bone skinny legs. Now that was something else the ladies did wrong—they starved themselves thin, but it wasn’t an ideal thin. Working out was needed, muscle tone was necessary, and some didn’t understand that.

  Cheyenne knew full well the mention of Roger wasn’t a coincidence. Tilly was hoping mentioning him would be embarrassing. Really? Was she an amateur? Cheyenne smiled. Who did they think she was? Men apologised to her if she cheated on them.

  “You two know each other, don’t you?” Marsha said. Cheyenne could see the viciousness on her face.

  “We’re friends,” Cheyenne said, twirling the Bulgari ring on her forefinger, showing no indication of rising to the jibe.

  “I ran into him the other day. Distraught, poor thing,” Tilly continued.

  Oh, had dear Roger been blabbing about her not taking his calls?

  “Seems his ex-wife was seen going out to dinner with a man, some professor from the business school. Handsome man—probably not worth a lot, but Alice can afford to be picky. Not that Roger approves. That’s just like men; he divorced her, but then falls apart when she starts sleeping with someone else.”

  “Did you say a professor?” Cheyenne said, a frown marring her perfect features. “Went out to dinner with Alice Cavandish?” Surely, it couldn’t be her professor. There were more than one at the school. Her professor was enthralled, too caught up to even consider asking someone out to dinner.

  “Yes. And apparently, it is said Alice was sleeping with some beefcake boy down at the Athletic Club. Who would have thought little, old Alice would have had it in her?”

  “I never trusted her. Too nice. There’s always something not right when they come across all starry-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Judith said, having been silent so far.

  Cheyenne tried to smile at the catty unkindness, but it kept on slipping from her face. Her professor could not be seeing someone else, someone like Alice Cavandish. The woman was the definition of clueless. Had Alexi done this, set them up just to thwart her—forced Paul to go on a date with this woman? She wondered what Alexi had threatened the guy with. She wouldn’t put it past him to act against her, but this seemed too bitchy for someone like Alexi. Alexi was too blunt for a tactic like that.

  But something was definitely amiss. Her men didn’t stray—ever. This had to be a misunderstanding, and these bitches were talking about someone else from that school.

  Chapter 25

  Sitting on the sofa, overlooking the sea, Alistair couldn’t bring himself to care about the markets, the movements in the exchange rates, or the interest rates. This stuff used to be his life, a change signified something, and they would all scramble to respond. Now it was just meaningless. It actually had no impact on life at all.

  Nothing around here mattered. They tore down and rebuilt all around him, but still, nothing changed—just ants running around building new ant hills. Why had he come here? Oh yes, he couldn’t breathe in London.

  Running his fingers through his hair, he put his laptop to side and sat forwards. There were no answers in there. Where the hell was everyone? The house was utterly silent, and it had been for a few days.

  He should be doing something—running, working out, eating, showering—something. The crowd was meeting at Aggie’s house for lunch—something about Argentinian barbeque. In all honesty, he couldn’t be fucked. Zero enthusiasm could be mustered.

  Terence was off on his fucking honeymoon. He could well imagi
ne the resort Rashida had booked them into and Alistair couldn’t help wondering if Terence felt a soul-sucking empty and terrifying hole threatening when he knew he had to hang out alone with Rashida for a while. There was nothing wrong with the girl; Rashida was nice enough, but there’s the rest of your life, stuck in this little room with one other person, day in and day out.

  The wedding had been okay. As over-the-top as he’d expect from Rashida, but his mood darkened and prickling anger suffused his mind. He let it pervade, let it fill his entire being. That girl, the look she’d given him—utter dismissal, when really, what exactly did she have to get haughty about? He’d apologised for heaven’s sake and she’d savaged him.

  Initially, he’d been shocked that she’d been so vicious over a piddly incident when they were kids. At the time, he’d just dismissed her as one of those mental, bitter bitches, but now, later, in the after burn, it was starting to bother him. That was a pretty poor way of accepting an apology. He didn’t do it often, but he expected more graciousness than that.

  Finally, he felt motivated, rising from the sofa to get ready to go out. He took the Maserati to Aggie’s party at her house, which had a more tropical theme than most houses. Large, green leaves overflowed from the numerous garden patios which were scattered around the house. The green colour scheme continued and the furniture was rustic in the most expensive way possible.

  The pool was a deep green, surrounded by palms and plants, massive vases studded around it. The view broke through the gardens and along the infinity pool, the sea glittering blue and hazy in the distance. All the plants and the white gravel kept the area cool.

  “Hello, darling,” Aggie said, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek. She wore a flowing dress and her arms were tanned. She looked good. It was a shame she was firmly out of bounds. Anyone would be interested in Aggie, but he wasn’t sure she was seeing anyone at the moment. “Come sit down. Do you want a drink? We’re having cocktails and Stavos will make you anything you want.”

  The waiter stood off to the side. “Black Russian,” he said and watched as the man retreated back into the house.

  The usual crowd was milling around the pool. A few of the girls were swimming, while others sat around a table. There were plates of food everywhere—catered by the looks of it. Alistair wasn’t hungry.

  “Aggie,” he said as he sat down and Aggie looked over at him. “Do you know that girl Terese? She was at the wedding. She was in my year at school.”

  “I don’t really know her. I vaguely remember her, but she hadn’t been around in years. Wasn’t there some scandal with her? Turned into a bit of a slag or something?”

  Alistair ignored the comment. “Do you know where she’s been?”

  Aggie shrugged. “No clue. I would assume back in the UK, but I have no idea.”

  “Never saw hide nor hair of her. She hasn’t been hanging out with anyone. Do you know that girl she was with?”

  “Parmi? Everyone knows Parmi. A bit flighty, but she’s alright. They were best friends at school. I do remember that. Inseparable. Rashida knows both of them well.”

  He hadn’t readily noticed at the time. Terese, he’d viewed as so beneath him that he hadn’t really cared. It might have been immature, but he’d apologised and she’d refused to accept it. That wasn’t on. Fair enough, he’d been a bit of a shit, but that had been a decade ago. To get all vicious now was just bad form.

  The anger burned in his limbs, urging him to move, urging him to do something. It was a damn sight better than feeling nothing.

  “You got her number?”

  “Who? Parmi?”

  “Yeah.”

  Aggie picked up her phone and flicked through screens. “There you go,” she said, putting it down again and his phone beeped.

  He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted it for, but he wanted to do something—something destructive. If she was going to attack him, so far as to attack his very manhood, which was completely uncalled for, he was going to bite back.

  Chapter 26

  It was awful waiting for the fallout. Cheryl knew there would be some, but she just didn’t know what form it would take. Dominic Dunbury was a powerful man and he could probably do all sorts of things. Each day, she expected a call from her solicitor, but nothing came. At points, she couldn’t do anything but chide herself for being so foolish and stubborn, but she couldn’t make herself back down.

  She was a little embarrassed at how messy her house had been when he’d come. Not messy, as such, just the crazy life they led. They really weren’t good at behaving in front of visitors. At least, Grace should have shown more decorum, but no one had hidden the madness within. And then she’d kicked him out of the house to top it all off.

  At work, however, things ticked on like normal. Cheryl waited for the other shoe to drop, going about restocking shelves, ordering supplies and even taking on clients when they were busy.

  The woman she was working on insisted on a style that didn’t suit her face, but other than a light suggestion to the contrary, it wasn’t her place to deny a client what they wanted, even if the woman wanted a style that drew attention down to her double chin.

  Dean walked in, reeking of smoke. She wished he wouldn’t smoke, but she couldn’t very well forbid him. “The neighbours are moving out.”

  “What?”

  “Packing up—lock, stock and barrel.”

  “All of them?”

  “Looks like. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Cheryl said with a deep frown. If she didn’t have a client in front of her, she would have gone to have a look. “Are you sure?”

  “There’s a moving van.”

  Cheryl smiled to reassure the client that her atrocious choice of haircut would be delivered to the best of her ability. Finishing the cutting, Cheryl brought out the hairdryer and started on the left side.

  Why were the neighbours moving out? Nothing had been resolved, as far as she knew. Or did they know something she didn’t? What was going on? Worry bit into her stomach.

  Finishing with the client, she showed off her work to the client in a mirror, who was happy with the outcome. And as soon as Cheryl had bid the lady goodbye, she walked outside, being greeted by the heat. She still wasn’t used to it being cooler inside than out.

  The tenant at the end of the row was already gone. The glass doors were locked and there was nothing but bare walls and blue carpet. The next one over was packing up, dumping stacks of documents in the centre of the space. And the one of the other side of her was doing the same. She didn’t know any of them well enough to ask.

  Bringing out her phone, she dialled her solicitor’s number and got the receptionist, who promised her a call-back as soon as Mr. Gatana was back in the office.

  Cheryl stood by, watching as moving men carried furniture out of the buildings. She tried to think through the worst that could happen. How could this be happening? Was he moving ahead without consent or had he gotten it despite the laws?

  The ringing of her phone caught her by surprise and she jumped.

  “Has there been any news?” she asked when she heard Escoban Gatana greeting her. “There is something going on. All the neighbours are moving out.”

  “We have not been informed of any development. Nothing. Not even anything related to a deposition. It’s been completely silent.”

  “How can they be moving ahead without informing us?”

  “Technically, no. I’ll try to see what I can find out.”

  “Okay, thank you. I’ll appreciate anything you can find out. This has me worried.”

  Her worry grew even more as a few hours later, when through her office window, she started seeing trucks coming down the street and turning in. Dropping her crystal-studded pen on her desk, she went downstairs and walked outside. The trucks were bringing heavy machinery, diggers, bulldozers, and other things she couldn’t name.

  Dean joined her to watch them drive past the row of shops onto the lot behind t
hem. “Get the feeling there’s a party and no one invited you? Could it have something to do with that rather dashing man that turned up a week back?”

  Cheryl didn’t answer. What could she say? She had no idea what was going on. “My solicitor is looking into it.”

  “He looked like a man who gets his way with the pile driving,” Dean said nonchalantly.

  “Dean!” Cheryl chided, but she couldn’t help chuckling. Dean had a way with words. No, it wasn’t funny. That was the man that was going to ruin her. If nothing else, she was at least moving up to a better class of bastard intent on wrecking her life, she thought bitterly. Men like him didn’t care who they ruined. She was just a nuisance he swiped out of his way to pursue what he intended.

  Chapter 27

  Terese drove her mum’s car up the hills to the bar Parmi wanted to meet at. She didn’t actually drive in Berlin, so she took the opportunity to give their driver, Raúl, a break from his duties. One of the things she had insisted on when earning enough was to live within walking distance of work. She hated sitting in traffic. And although the public transportation was quite good in Berlin, she preferred to walk. It gave her a chance to get her thoughts together in the morning and to decompress after work.

  A valet took her key, and yes, it was lovely to have people who parked your car for you, she had to admit. It was the one luxury she couldn’t readily snub her nose at.

  An elegantly dressed woman with highly arched eyebrows led her out to the table where Parmi was sitting by the floor to ceiling window in the nicely chilled restaurant. Parmi wore her typical kind of dress with wrap top with a sweetheart neckline. It was utterly dull, but that was Parmi’s style.

  “Hey, you,” Terese said as she sat down.

  “Hi,” Parmi said, shifting in her seat and looking out the window. The waiter was already there, waiting for her drinks order.