Well, she could be an utter coward and stay home. Alistair would be disappointed in her if she did. He got the sense it hurt her pride to be so weak before anyone who wished to walk all over her. No one could have misunderstood that was exactly what he’d done, except maybe Parmi, who apparently was in utter denial.
One thing he’d always been curious about, and sensitive to noticing, was how people gave on their own principles, and the lies they told themselves. What led people to betray themselves that way, sell themselves for money, or favour, or whatever it was they sold their ethics and principles for? For her, it was not caving, not being a pussy and running away. Strong was how she portrayed herself; probably something she’d spent years developing. How quickly would that crumble?
He noticed Parmi walking across the grass in high heels. His interest in her had reduced to zero. The girl who had sold her friendship for a ticket into a better crowd. Girls like Parmi were cheap and plentiful—even Araminth would do it with more style.
It must bother Terese that she had tucked tail and run all those years ago, and the fact that she’d stayed this time proved it. Now it was a matter of how far he had to push her to force her to cave again. Probably above all else, he hated weakness, but it was so pervasive.
Taking a seat in a large, plush chair, he surveyed the party. He wasn’t exactly sure whose house this was. It didn’t really matter. This wasn’t his crowd, the young crowd. None of his friends would be here. This was the older crowd—the money. His mother was here, for heaven’s sake, and the only reason he’d come was because Terese was going to be here.
One thing he’d learnt was that older wasn’t wiser, and these people proved it. If anything, they got more shallow as they aged. And that was what really left a bad taste in his mouth. Conviction was replaced by wealth, but that wasn’t what they’d been told growing up. Strength, conviction and courage had meant something. But it was all lip service. These people were so scared of being left off the invite list, they would literally do anything.
Taking a big swig of his whiskey, he gripped the edge of the crystal tumbler with his fingers. This glass was bought to impress, as was the whiskey, which was good quality. All these things accumulated to impress, so please don’t see the vacantness beneath. The liquid went down smoothly and he pursed his lips.
With a sigh, he looked down at his shoes and wondered what was wrong with him. Everything had gone sideways. He’d been more or less content with his life, then suddenly, everything rubbed the wrong way. His job was meaningless, the money was worthless, his girlfriend was shallow and his parents were clueless. Something had to be firm, but he didn’t feel as if could get a grip on it.
Hating feeling this way, he looked up and scanned, seeking a distraction, and his breath held when he saw her walking in, slightly behind her parents. She wore a high-necked dress with sleeves that went to mid arm. It wasn’t a dress to show off her figure, or her shoulders, like almost every other woman here. It was a statement of style, a declaration of belief in what she stood for. Her hair was braided on top of her head. She looked like a milk-maid, again proving how she felt she was different from the people here. And she wore flats.
His eyes followed her progress as she walked across the lawn, following her parents. She wasn’t particularly interested; she was here to please her parents and she would smile every time they looked at her. Parmi gave her an awkward wave and she smiled tightly in return.
“Alistair,” someone said at his side. “Good to see you. You know the markets.”
He turned to see Ed Crench, a guy who’d been around Marbella for a while. Used to own an IT company, but sold it to a telecom back in the nineties. “Haven’t been paying attention for a few weeks,” Alistair said. He certainly wasn’t interested in giving free tips to Ed Crench if he was too tight to get an investment advisor.
“Have you heard about this company called Alstion?”
“Sorry,” Alistair said, rising. “Don’t know much about that one.” That wasn’t true. He knew it was a dog of a company with a ludicrously high PE ratio, based on nothing but vapour. He considered telling Ed he should buy it, but then couldn’t be bothered with the snark when it all went bad.
She was walking across to the bar and Alistair followed, his pulse rising as he drew closer. He set down his glass next to her as she leaned on the bar, waiting for the bartender to take her order. She turned to him with welcoming curiosity before she noticed who it was, then her face sank. “What do you want?”
Alistair shrugged. “Thought we’d have a chat.”
“What could we possibly have to talk about?”
Chapter 37
Terese stared at him, standing there next to her. What the hell did he want? “If you’re looking for Parmi, she’s over there.”
He gave her a disappointed look. “And what would I want to speak to Parmi for?”
“Up to your old tricks?”
“Fucking stupid girls?”
Terese felt her insides clench. “You’re so utterly revolting.”
“How exactly am I revolting? I didn’t force anyone. I never forced you; you were so willing to give.”
“Didn’t mean you had to take?” she said without thinking. She really didn’t want to hash over the past with him. He obviously hadn’t changed. “Just because someone offers doesn’t mean you have to take if you aren’t prepared to offer in return. That’s the point. Being with people isn’t about getting one over on them.”
“It is when you’re sixteen.”
“And what’s your excuse now? Is this what you do, see how you can deceive girls? Are you scoring some kind of points doing this? Do you feel that you are actually achieving something? Because that just makes you an arsehole.”
Alistair made an exaggerated frowning face. “Yes, because I’m just destroying little innocents along the way. Oh, I’m sorry, I just wasn’t complicit with being the means to your objective. Not now, not back then. You try to use me, and run off crying when you don’t necessarily get the result you want.”
“I was sixteen, and yes, I was innocent.”
“Stop making yourself out as a victim. You got played trying to play. Because your objectives weren’t quite as innocent as you tell yourself they were.”
“Oh, please, enlighten me.”
“Because, you didn’t give a shit about me. I represented something for you—a boyfriend, a status, membership. Whatever it was you sought, I was a means to an end. You can tell yourself anything you like, wail how you were such an innocent, duped because you didn’t get what you wanted.”
She couldn’t believe she was hearing this crap. What was he on? “Seriously, are you on drugs?”
“At least I’m honest.”
It hadn’t been like that. Granted, he’d been the most popular boy around; he’d been the centre of everything, and she hadn’t believed her luck when at a party, he’d started paying attention to her. He’d had it all—gorgeous, adored by everyone, good at everything, he had all the coolest gear. His hair had been different then, cut short on the sides and floppy on top. His skin had been the perfect shade of Butterworth caramels. She’d watched as he’d played sports, where he always went for it. He was never the one who slacked; he played hard.
He was different now, a man—larger, broader, but still as gorgeous.
“And you know the worst of it?” he said, stepping closer. The scent of him invaded her nostrils.
“What?” she said, daring herself not to step back, not to back down.
“After all I did, you still want me.”
She managed something half-way between a chuckle and a huff.
“I’m still that ticket to whatever you can’t get on your own and you just about cream your pants over it.” She stared at him, not entirely sure he was joking or not. “That elusive unattainable, that you can’t help throwing yourself at—just like your friend Parmi. What do you think she was after when she so willingly threw you under the bus—without a moment�
��s hesitation? What do you think she was after? Something she wanted bad enough to screw you over for. Let’s face it; it’s not me. Like you say, I’m just an utter arsehole. So you tell me?”
Terese had no idea what to say, only stared at him. The uncomfortable truth was that yes, there was something Parmi had wanted. It was harder to think about herself in those terms. At sixteen, she’d wanted a boyfriend, but he’d been the pinnacle of boyfriends, the one who would make her cool, make her the envy of everyone else.
She could make a statement that he really was overestimating himself, but was he? He was the ultimate catch. The perfect guy on paper. More than on paper. Shame he was so damn jaded. Kind of made her wonder what had made him that way. Even at sixteen, he’d been jaded, wary of what people were using him for.
“Oh, boohoo,” she finally said, picking up the drink the bartender was placing down by her. “Maybe people treat you like a tool because that’s what you set them up for. If that’s what you’re seeking, that’s what you’re going to get.”
“And what exactly is it you’re selling yourself as?” he said, taking a step back and deliberating looking down her. “So keen to show people you’re better than them.”
It was unnerving how close to the bone he was. He was observant; she had to give him that. “Hey, I’ve had my little encounter with you. Go be something unfortunate that happens to other people now. And leave Parmi alone.”
He blinked. “I’m not exactly running after her. Should I fend her off?”
“Pick on someone who can at least fight back,” she said. Parmi was so out of her league with him. Yes, she had tried it on, probably hoping to be the IT girl around here that being Alistair’s girlfriend would make her—a position he guarded with devastating intent, apparently. Terese wasn’t sure what kind of girl would suit Alistair, but he obviously wasn’t putting up with someone who wasn’t on his level, needed someone as used to being in the revered spotlight as he was. “Whatever,” she finally said and walked away. She was done with him. Maybe she even felt a little better for clearing the air. At least, she understood better what he’d done and why. She’d been completely out of her league dealing with him, too, and for once, she wasn’t sorry.
Chapter 38
The problem with Dominic Dunbury was that he was elusive. He didn’t wait with bated breath for invitations; he didn’t come to everything, and he wasn’t easy to just bump into.
Lying on a sun lounger, Cheyenne considered her options for a next step. There was the direct route, calling to meet for drinks, but Dominic would never go for that. It was like declaring your intentions up front—a man’s game. Men did not respond to their own games.
If Alexi invited him, he would come, but Cheyenne wasn’t sure she could manipulate Alexi to make it happen. She could definitely manipulate Paul, which was a way of getting her demands through to Alexi.
Why did everything have to be so complicated? Well, because she’d set her sights high, and it wasn’t worth going for if she didn’t.
Sitting up, she spread some more oil over her legs. Fake tan simply couldn’t get the right quality; it had to be real.
Next to her lay Jacinta Ahern, then Bridget Gulliver and Sonia Gruer, some of the influential ladies on the coast. They were not part of the motherhood set, who were consumed with school entrances, birthday parties and piano lessons. Obviously, she would be part of that set one day, but there was still work to be done, before she hired nannies and set up playdates.
Now, Bridget Gulliver was interesting, for the fact that she was a recent arrival in town and her husband worked for Dunbury Industries. She had that blasé attitude of someone born into money and always expected that it would be there. Their money was not dependent on her husband’s salary, but men had to do something, even when they didn’t have to. Men got into too much trouble when they had nothing to do.
“How is your husband?” Cheyenne asked with a smile. It was the one question from her that made women nervous. But Bridget held her head high, signifying she thought her marriage was secure.
“He is well. Darting around here and there.”
“Dominic must keep him busy.”
“Yes. He’s away half the time. Dominic insists that he accompany him to all sorts of meetings.”
“Oh really? Dominic has that private plane, so it can’t be too onerous.”
“That is true.”
“We should accompany them sometime. I could use a shopping trip.” If she spoke about her relationship with Dominic as a done deal, people tended to believe her. Even if he never said anything to the contrary—which men rarely did—people would assume he was discreet.
“There’s a meeting in Paris next week.”
“Perfect,” Cheyenne purred. She’d known Bridget would be a worthwhile investment. Now she had a good few hours with Dominic next week. With a bit of effort, she’d wrangle a dinner for just the two of them. Hopefully, the return flight would be delayed a day, maybe even two. With a smile, Cheyenne laid back again. That was what she’d been looking for. Opportunity found those that searched for it.
With a sigh, she looked around. Now she had to entertain herself until next week. Her thoughts returned to her professor and the slight he’d given her. Can’t have that. “Excuse me,” she said, grabbing her phone and walking to the edge of her property.
Tapping his number into the phone, she waited for him to pick up.
“Hello?” he said in that brusque English manner. She didn’t understand why English people hated answering the phone.
“Hello, darling,” she said sweetly. “Have you been missing me?”
He stammered something unintelligible.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” she continued. “I think it’s time you took me to dinner. You’re not one of those love them and leave them boys, are you? That would break my heart.”
“I’m not sure—” he started.
“But you must. I will be absolutely crushed otherwise. I believed in you and you’re trampling all over me. Are you denying me now? That’s so cruel.”
“No, of course not,” he said, sounding flustered and defeated. “Certainly not.” She could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
“Good, I’ll expect you to pick me up tomorrow night. That won’t be a problem, will it?”
“Nothing I can’t manage,” he said.
“Good. See you then. I am looking forward to it,” she purred and hung up.
With a sigh, she put the phone away. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to do with the reticent professor, but he had to be punished for his disloyalty. There was also something thrilling in sleeping with someone who technically wasn’t willing, but he was a man and they lost grip of any objections surprisingly quickly.
Chapter 39
Still holding her mug of coffee, Cheryl’s mouth dropped open when she arrived at work following her weekend which went from Sunday through to Tuesday morning. The row of shops was practically gone, except for hers which now stood in its naked glory, pipes and exposed concrete on both the right and left. They’d torn down the other shops, leaving only hers. Even the steps, except the ones that ran in front of her shop. It looked god awful, but the salon was still surrounded by four walls—technically.
What was the meaning of this? Was he literally saving her for last, just to rub it in? There had still not been any kind of notice handed to her solicitor, telling them, or threatening them, that they were tearing the salon down. Surely, he’d give her notice to get her gear out, even if he chose not to follow any kind of law. People like Dominic were often above the law, weren’t they?
Absently, she stepped out and confirmed that it just was as awful-looking without the car window blocking her view. The smell of dust was pervasive. Locking the car, she walked up and unlocked the salon. Someone had even swept the tiled entranceway.
One by one, her staff arrived, looking just as shocked.
“I guess we carry on as usual?” Dean suggested, with a
questioning look on his face. “Or are they going to tear the walls down around us?”
“Seriously, is someone going to tell us something at some point?” Natalie said. “Our first booking is going to be here in ten minutes.”
They all looked at each other and shrugged. “I guess we carry on?”
“The plumbing better still work,” Cheryl said grumpily. She hated not knowing what was going on. Maybe it was time she did something about it.
Making her way to her office, she checked her emails. Nothing. She checked the phone messages. Nothing. Apparently this silence was going to continue.
Opening her browser, she searched Dunbury Industries headquarters and discovered it was a few kilometres away.
She returned downstairs with her handbag. “I’m going out for a bit,” she said to Natalie, and continued out the door and jumped back into her Mini. She drove to where she understood his offices were located and ended up staring up at a huge glass tower.
Finding a park, she made her way to the reception of the fifteenth floor. No, she didn’t have an appointment, but she demanded to see him. The receptionist busied herself and Cheryl walked over to the glass wall, staring out across the town to the water beyond. Everything had a tint through these windows, like a nineteen seventies photo.
“Miss Waters,” a woman said behind her and Cheryl turned. This woman was older. “This way.”
Actually, she’d expected to be turned away, not to be shown in, but apparently she was. Cheryl followed as the woman briskly walked up to a set of glass doors and swiped the card hanging off her waistband.
“He’ll be a few moments, but he’ll see you after he finishes.”
Marbella Beauty Page 13