by Nicola Marsh
If this was the only luxury she’d get, a week out of her busy schedule to be pampered with a Go Retro hen’s party she’d never forget, how could she say no?
As for his personal recommendation, no matter how hard she tried to ignore the mortgage papers strewn across her desk out the back, she couldn’t. With the economy in a downslide, skyrocketing interest rates and conservative consumer spending were killing her business, despite its funky edge and appealing website and quality merchandise. If Go Retro didn’t start making a bigger profit she’d have to shut up shop and that was one thing she couldn’t even think about.
She’d worked too hard and too long to make her dream come true. No way would she give it up for the sake of pride.
Not wanting to give in too easily she named a price triple her hourly rate multiplied by seven, expecting him to barter.
He didn’t.
‘I can write you a cheque or wire the deposit directly into your business account now.’ His lips quirked. ‘If you’ll give me back my phone, that is.’
His gaze dropped to her hips and she gripped the counter, trying not to squirm.
She may have lost weight since her teenage years and learned to highlight her good assets while minimising the bad but having her body scrutinised, especially by a hot guy, never failed to make her old inadequacies flare.
Were her hips too wide? Her waist too thick? Her butt too big? While the vintage fashion she embraced made the most of her curves, having a guy like him study her made her want to duck behind the counter.
She’d had her fair share of admiring glances from men before: it was what could develop from those glances that had her skittish despite being in the place she felt most comfortable.
‘You do have it hidden away in that skirt of yours? Or have you performed some fancy trick and confiscated it for good?’
Her hand dived into her deep pocket and fumbled around for it, eager to hand it over and stop that potent blue-eyed gaze burning a hole in the metallic threaded eyelet lace of her favourite full-skirted polka dot dress.
‘Here.’
As she handed it over their fingers brushed and a jolt akin to an electrical surge shot up her arm and zapped her in places that hadn’t been zapped in a long, long time.
Not good.
The guys she occasionally dated were as far removed from this guy as her vintage dress from his designer suit. Arty guys, musicians, laid-back guys who liked a Bohemian lifestyle far removed from the pressures of modern life.
Those were the type of guys who attracted her. Not career-driven, wealthy guys who could schmooze anyone into doing anything with their natural charms.
She should know. She’d tried one on for size once and was still wishing she’d got a refund while she could.
‘Thanks.’
If that brief touch of fingertips hadn’t been bad enough, his genuine smile made her knees quake ever so slightly and she hid her nerves behind snappiness.
‘I don’t even know your name,’ she said, fiddling with the baskets of hair clips on the counter, rearranging them in carefully constructed disorder. ‘Chase Etheridge.’
He held out his hand and she swallowed, silently cursing her stupidity. Of course he’d want to do the polite thing and shake hands. Something she could’ve coped with at any other time but hot on the heels of her bizarre reaction a few moments ago? Trouble.
‘Lola Lombard.’
‘Lovely name.’
His gaze locked on hers and held. ‘Beautiful.’
And as she reluctantly placed her hand in his, and his fingers curled over hers, firm and warm and comforting, she almost believed for a fleeting second she was.
CHAPTER THREE
IN DESPERATE need of a calming cup of chamomile tea, Lola had just flicked the kettle switch on when Imogen breezed back in from her break, her face flushed as she clasped her hands to her chest. ‘Was that the Chase Etheridge just leaving?’
She craned her neck, trying to get a last glimpse while Lola wrinkled her nose, more than happy to see the back of him.
‘What was he doing here? He is sooo hot! Melbourne’s most eligible bachelor for the third year running. No wonder, with those blue eyes, all year round tan, great smile, broad chest, cute butt—’
‘Enough all ready.’
The last thing she needed right now was for her coworker to list the guy’s impressive attributes. Sadly, she’d noted them in minute detail herself and her nerves hadn’t recovered despite him exiting the building.
Imogen sighed, her green eyes twinkling as she clapped her hands. ‘Spill. What was he doing here?’
For a moment she wanted to tease her best friend but no way would Immy believe for one second that Chase was here on anything other than business. As if a guy like him would be interested in a girl like her for any other reason.
‘He wants to use our services.’
‘I can help service—’
‘His sister’s getting married and he wants Go Retro to do the hen’s night.’
‘Cool.’
Imogen edged into the tiny kitchen, grabbed her favourite ‘I’m too sexy’ mug and placed it next to hers. ‘While you’re weaving your magic with the hen and her posse, I’ll entertain Chase.’
Imogen did a little shimmy as she spooned decaf into her cup. ‘This is going to be fun.’
‘It is,’ Lola said, biting back a smile. ‘Though this gig’s a bit different.’
‘How so?’ Imogen added a shoulder wiggle to her hip shimmy. ‘Does Chase need me to sleep over? Do some serious preparation for the hen’s night? Because I’ll do it, you know. I’m that kind of gal, totally dedicated to getting the job done whatever’s required and—’
‘Not you. Me.’
Lola often had to interrupt her friend mid-sentence otherwise the simplest of questions elicited a five minute long response.
This time, she enjoyed the confusion crinkling Immy’s brow.
‘You?’
The kettle clicked off and she poured boiling water into their cups.
‘I’m the one that’ll be staying over.’
Immy’s jaw dropped, her mouth a perfect crimson glossed circle.
Enjoying her friend’s momentary silence—it wouldn’t last long—she dangled the chamomile bag.
‘Apparently he’s willing to pay for the privilege of having Go Retro run a week-long hen’s party for his sis, no expenses spared, so while I’m doing that you’ll be running the shop here.’
Imogen snapped her mouth shut into a mutinous line.
‘Come on, Immy, we’re a team. I run the workshops, you run this place when I’m not around. It works.’
The corners of Imogen’s mouth twitched. ‘Yeah, I know, but the thought of you rather than me getting up close and personal with that scrummy bachelor of the year makes me greener than Kermit.’
‘I won’t be getting up close and personal with anyone.’
Let alone an overconfident, overbearing workaholic who wouldn’t know a hatbox from a pin curl. They had absolutely nothing in common and the fact she was even thinking along these lines meant she needed to get back to work before Immy made her more nervous.
And she was nervous, terrified in fact, for she’d agreed to meet Chase in a few hours to run through a proposed itinerary.
Her nerves had nothing to do with a lack of confidence in her work and everything to do with her irrational, erratic physical reaction to a guy who made her pulse race just by looking at her.
Imogen winked and tapped the side of her nose.
‘Sure, you’re going to concentrate on work and forget the fact Melbourne’s hottest bachelor is looking over your shoulder. Just think, all those one on one consultations to ensure the hen’s party runs smoothly, all those late night meetings, all those cosy chats to—’
‘Don’t you have mannequins to dress?’
Imogen’s grin widened. ‘Oh yeah, you’re just dying to do this.’
She was dying all right but not for the re
ason Immy thought. While this may be just another job on paper the reality was far different. People like Chase, who moved in moneyed circles, had different expectations to the rest of them. What if the service she provided wasn’t good enough? What if she wasn’t good enough?
And that was bothering her the most, that she’d be found wanting in the same disheartening, discouraging, confidence sapping way she had been every day growing up.
‘Want some help planning your wardrobe?’
Lola took a sip of tea and sighed with pleasure. ‘Don’t you mean the wardrobe for the party?’
Imogen cupped her mug and raised an eyebrow over the rim.
‘Honey, you’re likely to run into the sexiest guy in Melbourne on a regular basis for a week straight. Who cares what dress ups the brats play around with? It’s you who needs to dazzle.’
Dazzle.
Her hands trembled as she clutched her cup more tightly. The thought of meeting Chase at Dazzle, his workplace, in a few hours set loose a bunch of rampaging butterflies on speed in her belly.
Taking a few sips of her soothing tea and finding it did nothing for her increasingly prevalent nerves she tipped the rest in the sink and rinsed the cup.
‘Can you hold the fort for the next hour while I nip upstairs and do some serious planning for this party?’
‘Sure, it’ll be good practice for when I hold the fort on my own for a week while you’re swanning around with chiselled Chase.’
‘It’s not like that,’ she said, managing a wry smile at the thought of her swanning around with a guy like Chase.
Imogen cocked a hip as she leaned against the fridge. ‘Then what’s it like?’
‘I’ll let you know by the end of the week,’ she said, her grin widening as Immy stuck out her tongue, the sound of childish smooching noises following her as she headed for the stairs.
Chase stared at his computer screen, trying to assimilate an inordinate amount of nonsensical information from the Go Retro website in an effort to be prepared for this meeting with Lola.
But the harder he tried to concentrate, the more the words blurred before his eyes, his attention constantly snagged by a small picture of Go Retro’s proprietor in the top right hand corner.
A scoop-necked cherry dress cinched at the waist hugged her hourglass figure in all the right places, her hair falling in soft golden waves around a heart-shaped face dominated by those big brown eyes and ruby-slicked lips.
She looked incredible; and the picture didn’t do her justice.
Lola Lombard in the flesh was something else.
He should know. He’d spent the last few hours replaying their encounter: the way her lips pursed when she wasn’t pleased, the feisty way she’d snatched his phone, the nervous flick of her tongue when she damped her lips when their fingers touched. She was so not his type but there’d been a moment in that shop, surrounded by all those bows and whistles he’d wanted her to be.
The intercom on his desk buzzed and he clicked back onto his home screen. Lola Lombard had distracted him enough for one day.
‘What is it, Jerrie?’
‘Your sister to see you.’
‘Send her in.’
He loved the way Cari dropped by to see him despite her manic schedule and today he was especially glad. She may not want a fancy wedding but he’d make sure she enjoyed his gift.
He stood and made it halfway across his office before she strode into the room, her black business suit creaseless, her hair and make-up immaculate for someone who’d hit the courts ten hours earlier.
He’d always been immensely proud of Cari and all she’d achieved and while she was getting married he couldn’t help but wonder if she was slotting in her marriage among the rest of her appointments in the meticulous diary she kept.
‘Hey, sis. Glad you could make it.’
He kissed her cheek, smiling when she barely paused en route to his desk, where she started searching it.
‘Where’s this surprise you mentioned on the phone?’
‘Ah…so that’s why you dropped in. And here I was, thinking you missed seeing your amazing brother who you haven’t had time for all week.’
‘I don’t have time for this so cut to the chase.’
She tempered her brisk tone with a cheeky smile, the same one she’d given him every time she used the well worn phrase; she’d been telling him to cut to the chase for a long time now.
‘Fine. I won’t bore you with details so here’s the low-down.’
He perched on his desk, enjoying himself immensely. ‘You know how you’ve cleared your schedule for a month for the wedding?’
‘Yeah, I don’t know how Hugh talked me into that.’ She blew out an exasperated little huff but the corners of her mouth curving into a smile belied her belligerence. Hugh Hoffman was the only guy who’d come close to taming his strong-willed sister and it had been nothing short of a miracle that he’d coerced her into taking a whole month off from her precious job.
‘I’ve talked to Hugh and he’s given me the go-ahead to snaffle a week of your time.’
She frowned and glared at him over the top of her rimless spectacles.
‘Not that Hugh has any say in what I do and how I spend my time, but what are you raving on about?’
Grinning, he spun around his computer screen. ‘I’m throwing you a hen’s party, sis. Not just a night, a whole week’s worth.’
‘You’re insane…’ The rest of her protest died on her lips as she focused on the screen, the spark of interest obvious as she caught sight of the Go Retro home page.
‘Wow, check out those clothes,’ she murmured, edging closer to the screen, squinting to get a better look.
‘You will be,’ he said, pulling up two chairs so they could sit. ‘I know you love this old stuff and you’d never take time out to check it out yourself so I’m kidnapping you and that ratbag motley crew you call friends and locking you away in my Mount Macedon place for a week, with Go Retro throwing you a hen’s bash you’ll never forget.’
Dragging her gaze away from the screen, she stared at him with wide eyes.
‘I take it back. You’re not insane. You’re certifiable. How on earth… Where did you get the idea… I don’t believe this…’
He laughed at her lack of words, something his garrulous sister never had a problem with.
‘Consider it my wedding present to you.’
He jerked his thumb at the screen, relieved when she bought his distraction. She’d honed that death glare to a fine art as a kid and it had been perfected with age. ‘You and Hugh have everything, so this is a special something you’d never buy yourself.’
When she didn’t speak, trepidation shot through him. Cari was his only sibling, the only person on the planet he truly cared about and he’d do anything to make her happy.
She’d done so much for him growing up: giving him a home, some semblance of family, when their parents were too busy indoctrinating their students rather than caring for the kids they had waiting futilely for them at home every night.
How many nights had they made macaroni cheese together, studied together, watched Tom and Jerry reruns until sleep had claimed them and their folks still hadn’t made it home from Melbourne University? Too many and their closeness was as much about enforced dependency as blood ties.
‘Come on, sis, say something.’
This time when she looked at him, every muscle in his body relaxed, for those weren’t tears of anger in her eyes. They were tears of joy.
‘This is the most brilliant gift anyone has ever given me and I can’t thank you enough.’
She launched herself into his arms and hugged him until he could barely breathe, the two of them laughing as they disentangled.
‘So I get to play dress ups with all that gorgeous gear for a week?’
‘Yeah, and a whole bunch of other stuff, which I’ll tell you about once I get the itinerary straight with Lola.’
‘Lola?’
He delibera
tely kept his tone devoid of any emotion; too little too late if Cari’s quirked eyebrow was any indication.
‘Lola Lombard, the owner. She’ll be running your hen’s party.’
Cari’s astute gaze bored into him. ‘Can’t believe a woman who owns a shop like that would take a week out of her schedule to run a private party.’
‘It’s part of her business, running parties.’
Along with her sideline of pilfering phones and distracting men.
‘Uh-huh.’ Cari tapped her bottom lip with a perfectly manicured fingernail. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?’
‘Because you’re naturally suspicious?’
Swivelling the screen back towards him, he shut down the notebook.
‘So now you know the big secret you can head back to your glass office in the sky and sue a few more corporations.’
When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up a finger.
‘But remember, a fortnight from today, get ready to party.’
With a rueful smile, she patted his cheek and sailed out the door, her fingers already glued to her smartphone as she checked for emails from clients.
They were so alike: busy, driven, ambitious, thriving on the challenge of business at a high level.
The lawyer and the CEO; as far removed from their parents, the English Lit professors, as could be.
He often wondered if that was what drove them—the unspoken urge to be nothing like the parents who hadn’t given a toss about them.
It sure had spurred him on, to enter an industry filled with fun and parties and light-heartedness, as far removed from his sterile childhood and his parents’ academic snobbery.
Not that he and Cari ever discussed it. Instead, they paid the obligatory visits at birthdays and Christmases, made perfunctory small talk with the people who were more strangers than family, before escaping for another few months.
Though not a strained visit went by without him wishing they’d show some interest: in his career, his success, his life. Futile wishes, considering his folks continued to be absorbed by their students, their timetables and themselves, in that order.