All Because of You

by Melissa Hill

  “I don’t know what I’ll do without him,” Natalie said sadly, the mention of Steve’s name sending her back into the depths of depression.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Nat – you barely knew him! And you’ll find someone else – you always do.”

  Natalie was taken aback and a little hurt by her friend’s irritable reaction. She’d hoped that Freya might suggest coming over for the night, so the two could stay in and spend the night scoffing chocolates and bawling over Sleepless in Seattle, the way they used to before she met boring old Simon.

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re engaged, and happy and –”

  “Pregnant,” Freya finished dryly.

  “What?”

  “I’m pregnant. And before you ask, no – it wasn’t planned. It very definitely wasn’t planned.”

  “Oh.” Natalie didn’t know what to think. Freya was not the maternal type. She’d even go as far to say that her best friend hated kids, hated being in same room as them, breathing the same air . . .

  So Natalie’s first reaction to this news was amazement. And her second was pure and unadulterated jealousy. Freya was getting married with a baby on the way. She was living Natalie’s dream.

  “I know, I didn’t know what to say either when the doctor confirmed it,” Freya said when Natalie remained silent. “I’ve been on the Pill forever and me and Si aren’t exactly at it like the newlyweds we’re soon supposed to be. But it’s happened and he’s thrilled, and it’s the end of my life as I know it. And of course now we have to postpone the wedding until after it’s born, which is obviously a total bore.”

  She sounded so hard and dismissive about the whole thing that suddenly Natalie wanted to throttle her. How could she be so callous? Did she not realise that she had the perfect house, the perfect man – the perfect life? While Natalie would give anything for a fraction of what Freya had – namely a willing husband-to-be. As it was, she couldn’t even find herself a decent prospect, let alone a boyfriend, and had only lately been reduced to making eyes at homeless men on the bloody tube!

  “Well, congratulations,” she said tentatively, while at the same time bracing herself for an onslaught of abusive outrage from Freya. “What do you mean congratulations?” she could imagine Freya wailing, “This is my worst bloody nightmare!”

  But instead her friend replied simply, “Thanks – I suppose. But sorry, Nat, I really can’t chat for much longer. Si’s parents are coming over for dinner this evening and –”

  “That’s OK. I’d better go too.”Back to my sad, lonely and pathetic existence, she added inwardly. “Talk to you soon.”

  “No problem, darling. And don’t worry too much about that idiot Steve. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that.”

  Natalie smiled tightly. That idiot Steve was the man I was hoping to marry, she told her silently. “Of course. See you soon.”

  Natalie replaced the receiver thinking that she had never felt so lonely in her life. She’d been so sure Freya would understand, had been certain that her friend would be only too happy to help her get over the humiliation of it all – like they’d done for one another all throughout their friendship. And her other close friends, Jodi, Sarah and Rachel, were all either happily married, engaged or long-term attached. No point in phoning them either; no doubt they were just as uninterested as Freya was about the ups and downs of Natalie’s pathetic love life.

  OK, so she had only been with Steve for a few months at the most. That didn’t mean her relationship was any less worthwhile than theirs, did it? Although, evidently, in Happily Married Land, it did. Natalie’s repeatedly disastrous love life was now a million miles away from her friends’ lives of cosy coupledom and happy domesticity.

  At work, Danni had been reasonably sympathetic, although Natalie was loath to go into any detail, other than to let her know that she and Steve had split up. She was Danni’s boss, after all, and it wouldn’t do to have PR Supremo Natalie Webb letting her guard down in front of the staff.

  But now, three weeks on, things were improving, and Natalie was moving on. And as that evening she and Danni grabbed a cab and drove in the direction of Kensington, she found that despite herself she was looking forward to attending the launch of Purple Grapefruit, the newest in a long line of supposedly ultra-trendy London clubs. Although a rival PR firm was handling the account, several invites had been issued to Blue Moon, their rivals evidently hoping that some of the other company’s more prolific clients – England international Michael Sharpe, actress Jennifer Cox or the much-photographed glamour model Cassandra – might make an appearance. Cassandra would be there, Natalie knew; the model never lost an opportunity for her and her humongous breasts to be photographed for the tabloids, earning herself a fat fee in return for their usage. The girl was a nightmare to work with, but despite her trashy image was a very shrewd businesswoman, determined to use her . . . erm . . . assets to the best of her ability.

  Having reached the venue, Natalie got out of the cab, adjusted her brand new blue and green Pucci mini-dress over her thighs and waited for Danni to pay the cab driver.

  Natalie had bristled on hearing that they had to pay their own way there. If the events company were any good they would have sent VIP guests a stretch limo, she thought, rather self-satisfied that their rivals evidently didn’t have Blue Moon’s class. And the red carpet was insane. Didn’t they have any imagination?

  Now, if the company Natalie used to arrange events for a club this size made such a dismal effort she’d have them strung up! Whoever this lot were, they were clearly amateurs, and if the club’s promoters thought they could attract celebrities to Purple Grapefruit on this dismal showing, they really had their work cut out for them.

  Apart from Cassandra Natalie wasn’t sure whether any other Blue Moon clients would show. Michael had received his invite but was still lying low after the whole kicking-the-referee-up-the-arse fiasco, and she was certain Jennifer was away shooting some movie in Toronto.

  But if all else failed, and this launch failed to attract the big stars, the ex-reality TV contestants could always be relied upon to pick up the slack, Natalie thought, spying a well-worn regular standing on the sidelines and gleefully waving at cameras despite the fact that they were pointed the other way. Now, if Natalie had been handling this launch, she wouldn’t have let those bottom-feeders near the place. No, the club needed to start as it meant to go on, and if it wanted to attract exclusive high-profile clientele, it needed to invite London’s finest. At this rate they’d be lucky to attract extras from EastEnders.

  But, she thought, as she and Danni entered the club and accepted a glass of champagne –cheap champagne, she discovered grimacing (she would have insisted on Laurent Perrier at the very least) – this wasn’t her gig, so tonight she could just sit back and relax and if photographs from the event didn’t make the papers the next day, some other poor sod could take the rap.

  Barely an hour into the event, Natalie was bored senseless. There wasn’t a sniff of celebrity, even Cassandra hadn’t bothered showing up, and the atmosphere at a chess convention would have been more exciting.

  Although Danni seemed to be enjoying herself, she thought wryly, seeing her assistant chatting with a group of men at the bar. Then again, Danni rarely got to attend one of these events outside work and she wouldn’t be here at all if Natalie hadn’t strong-armed her into accompanying her. She sighed. She was definitely getting too old for this. A few years ago she would have been the life and soul of the party, flitting from here to there and charming everyone – no matter how tedious the company might be.

  But these days, she just couldn’t be bothered. While she still thrived on the cut and thrust of the day-to-day stuff, dealing with media contacts and managing client accounts, she was beginning to find the social aspect of it all samey and tiring.

  Fourteen-odd years working the London scene did that to you, she supposed, and it was inevitable that she’d eventually tire of it all. And once again she sorely
wished that, like most of her thirty-something friends, she had a warm house and welcoming partner to come home to.

  Realising that lately she seemed worryingly prone to gloominess, Natalie took a large gulp from her glass of cheaper-than-cheap fizz and strode resolutely across the room to Danni and her new friends. She’d better snap out of this and start working the room – otherwise, word would get round that Natalie Webb had lost her edge and she’d be on the scrapheap in more ways than one!

  “Natalie, there you are!” Danni beamed at her, a smile that would have looked warm and welcoming to anyone else, but which Natalie knew meant “please save me!”. “Everyone, this is my boss, Natalie Webb.”

  As Danni didn’t offer any further introductions, Natalie just smiled and said hello to the three men, who all looked to be in their mid-to-late thirties and were dressed in a mixture of Hugo Boss and Paul Smith. The bald one, despite his thick gold wedding ring, seemed to be flirting unashamedly with Danni, while the others alongside him looked on, mildly amused. City types, Natalie decided instantly, thinking that she recognised at least one of them from some other event she’d attended recently. The kind of people who often got invited to these events to make up the numbers.

  “You work in PR too?” One of the men, also sporting a wedding ring, asked Natalie as the bald man renewed his onslaught on Danni.

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds like an exciting job.”

  “It can be.”

  “Bet you get invited to parties like this all the time.”

  “Yes, but to be honest, most of them are a little more exciting than this,” she couldn’t resist saying. So she shouldn’t bitch, but she was in a foul mood, and she’d wasted her first outing in her new Pucci dress on this poor showing!

  “Really?” the third man interjected. “You’re not having a good time?”

  “Not exactly.” Natalie wrinkled her nose. “Are you?”

  “Well, we’ve got excellent food, champagne and a great atmosphere – what more do you want?”

  Deciding instantly that she didn’t like this guy with his haughty eyes, aquiline nose and slightly weird accent, Natalie squared up to him.

  “A little bit of imagination might be nice,” she said, having met his type many times before. “Champagne and foie gras are old news.”

  “I know what you mean,” he agreed to Natalie’s surprise, while one of his companions gave him an odd look. “I suppose they could have tried something different.”

  “Something different – they could have made an effort to start with! This is supposed be a fun, trendy London club, not a reception for the Queen! Now if I were organising a party like this, I’d give it a theme,” she went on, warming to her subject. “A launch for a club like this is crying out for a theme.”

  “Such as?”

  “Purple, of course!” she said grinning. “I’d instruct the organisers to use a purple entrance carpet to start with. What were they thinking using the tried and trusted red? Purple is the obvious choice and something to really get the cameras clicking. And while we’ve got a theme going, why not serve Kir Royale instead of cheap sparkling Cava?”

  “Purple drinks for Purple Grapefruit,” he said, nodding solemnly.

  “I know – and there’s this fab Lebanese lemonade you can get that would be perfect too.” She shrugged. “Of course it’s unbelievably tacky, but tacky’s in these days, and celebs love it.”

  “I see. So tacky’s the way forward, is it?”

  “For a place like this – definitely.”

  “Right, next time we arrange an event of this size I must call on you for advice, Ms . . . what was it again?”

  She stared at him warily, for the first time wondering if she’d drunk and said too much. “Webb, Natalie Webb from Blue Moon PR. And you are?”

  “Jay Murray,” he replied, shaking her hand. “Labyrinth Event Management.”

  Natalie closed her eyes. Oh shit.

  Right at that moment Natalie understood well why Tara, the girl she’d met on holiday, had taken the decision not to drink. If she’d put her foot in it the same way that Natalie just had, then who could blame her!

  She gulped and swallowed hard as she realised she had just insulted the work of one of London’s most prolific event-management companies – a company that Blue Moon had used on numerous occasions, but one with which Natalie had never dealt directly. How could she have been so stupid as to openly criticise the party in front of the very people who’d organised it? Or automatically presume that Jay Murray, with his Hugo Boss suit and stuffy, buttoned-up appearance, was simply a hanger-on?

  Usually these guys looked like a cross between Jean Paul Gaultier and David Beckham with their ultra-trendy clothes and frequently effeminate exterior. Still, given that he wasn’t racing around the venue like a headless chicken, it was unlikely Murray was one of the planners. Which meant he had to be Labyrinth management.

  Even worse.

  “So I take it you’re not a big fan of canapés and champagne, Ms Webb?” he asked, his dark eyes mocking her.

  Natalie instinctively straightened her dress and tried to regain some composure. She glanced across at Danni, who was still trying to fend off the advances of the bald man and, mercifully, seemed totally oblivious to her boss’s faux pas.

  “It’s Natalie,” she said, with a nervous laugh. “And of course I am, but I thought that a place like this could . . . could do better, that’s all . . .” she trailed off, too embarrassed to elaborate. Thanks to the aforementioned Cava, she’d already said way too much. “Look, I’m very sorry if I insulted you – I had no idea –”

  “No idea that we’d spent weeks on end organising this . . . wait a second . . . what was it you called it again? Ah yes . . . ‘a reception for the Queen’, wasn’t it?”

  Natalie bit her lip, mortified.

  “But it’s OK,” he went on. “As it happens, I agree with you, and it’s good to get the feedback. I like to get a feel for what people really think of our events, which is why I try to blend in at these things.”

  “Blend in or go in disguise? When we were introduced, I had you pegged as a City trader.”

  He glanced down at his none-too-casual attire. “Really? I thought all the party people dressed like this,” he joked, before adding, “But as I remember it, Ms Webb, or should I say Natalie, we weren’t actually introduced before you so eloquently voiced your opinion of my company’s work.”

  Yikes! She’d walked into that one. Saying nothing more, Natalie took another gulp of champagne, wishing that she were anywhere else but here. She hadn’t really wanted to come to this sodding party in the first place – fitting that, like everything else in her life these days, it should end up in disaster!

  “Anyway, as I said, I think you’re right in what you said,” Murray conceded. “We had some great ideas for this launch, but the club management wouldn’t go for any of it. Although, to be honest, nobody had come up with your purple carpet suggestion, and now that I think of it, you’re right – it is the obvious choice. You could have a future in this kind of thing, Natalie – your talents are obviously wasted in PR.”

  By his tone, Natalie knew he was teasing her. Thank goodness. At least he hadn’t taken serious umbrage at her remarks. Some of these events and promotions types could be very touchy indeed, and Jack Moon would kill her if he found out she’d managed to alienate one of the city’s top promotions people.

  “Yes, well, it was just a suggestion,” she said, cringing as she realised how stupid her tacky ideas must have sounded to someone of his expertise. “I see a lot of this kind of thing and, well, it would be good for once to experience something different.”

  “You work with Blue Moon, you said?”

  “Yes, I’m an account manager there.”

  “Great company – Jack Moon’s a good man.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Tell him I said hello, will you?”

  “Sure.” Shit, Jay Murray and her boss obvio
usly knew each other. For God’s sake, please, please, don’t tell him I made a fool of myself tonight! Natalie pleaded silently. The last thing she needed was her work life going to pot too. Work was the only thing in her life that was going smoothly. If only she hadn’t opened her big fat mouth!

  Murray was now leaning casually against the bar, and Natalie realised that the two of them had gradually moved away from the others and were now having a private conversation.

  “So, Natalie, do you think the place has any chance of being the next Ivy? And this time, give me your honest opinion – I wouldn’t want you to hold back or anything.” His mouth curled up into a not altogether unattractive smile and yet again Natalie tried to place that accent. It was British but with a faint tinge of something else . . . Scottish maybe?

  She smiled back, thankful that the tension had finally been relieved. “Well – no offence – but with a damp squib like this for a launch, I doubt it.” She shook her head from side to side. “Never mind celebrities, it’s not even the kind of place I’d hang out.”

  “I see, and where would that kind of place be?” he asked, looking her squarely in the eye, and with a jolt Natalie realised he was flirting with her.

  In fact, he probably had been all along, but she’d been too caught up in her embarrassment to notice.

  She took a second or two to study him properly. He was tall, so tall he towered above her five-foot-five frame by a good six or seven inches. And he seemed well built, although it was difficult to tell what lay underneath that banker’s suit. But while he had a nice face, he wasn’t conventionally attractive, save for his dark, almost black, eyes and, now that she thought about it, rather arresting presence.

  Natalie only wished she’d taken notice of that powerful presence long before she’d started shooting her mouth off about the crappiness of the party. Yes, she decided as Jay Murray’s dark eyes stared back at her own, he wasn’t bad at all.

  Almost instinctively she straightened up, subtly thrust forward her boobs and flashed him her most alluring smile. In that same split second, she forgot all about Steve and her shattered, never-to-be-repaired heart.