Girl in a Vintage Dress

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘Can’t handle being upstaged, that’s his problem.’

  Chase waved his arms in the air. ‘Hello! I’m still here.’

  ‘Not for long.’ Cari waved him towards the kitchen. ‘Why don’t you make yourself useful and go whip us up a couple of espressos?’

  Lucky she liked strong coffee for Lola had a feeling no one could stop Cari when she was in full steamroller mode.

  ‘And rustle up a couple of Anzac bikkies while you’re at it. We’re starving.’

  Bemused by Cari’s take charge attitude and even more amazed by Chase’s capitulation, Lola wondered what the corporate dynamo would come up with next.

  The moment Chase left the room, she didn’t wait long to find out.

  Cari clutched her arm, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘So what’s going on with you and my brother?’

  Heck. If the last few minutes hadn’t confounded her, that blunt question would’ve done the trick.

  ‘Nothing. He came into my shop earlier today and hired me to run your hen’s party. That’s it.’

  ‘Like hell.’

  Cari released her, only to fold her arms and pin her with a sceptical glare that must intimidate her clients to great effect.

  ‘I’m a good judge of character, Lola. We’ve only just met and I like you.’

  She paused, her eyes narrowing as she moved in for the kill.

  ‘But let me be perfectly blunt. My brother dates vapid women with IQs on a par with their shoe size. He doesn’t take them to industry parties on the first night they meet and he never, ever brings them home.’

  She took a step towards her and Lola tried not to shrink back in fear like a criminal with secrets to hide.

  ‘So while you may not be technically classed as his date because he’s hired you for my hen’s party, let me tell you that Chase likes you. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’

  Cari waved her perfectly manicured hands around and Lola spotted an antique charm bracelet semi-hidden beneath her jacket cuff. Considering her corporate wardrobe, it must be the lawyer’s one concession to her love of vintage.

  Hoping to distract, she said, ‘Nice bracelet. I may have some charms at the shop I can bring along too.’

  ‘Thanks, that’d be great.’

  Cari darted a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen before beckoning her closer. ‘I love this old stuff. Which is why I wear vintage under here too.’

  She tugged at her shirt collar and Lola hoped she didn’t blush. Go Retro had its fair share of old style lingerie but customers were rarely so forthcoming.

  ‘Now, let’s get back to the question of you and my brother.’

  More than a little stunned by Cari’s full-on approach, Lola quickly scrambled for a response, knowing she had to say something to avoid being railroaded into blurting exactly what was going on here: that while this was all business to Chase—his natural flirting notwithstanding—she was fast developing a crush on the hen’s brother.

  Did that make him a rooster?

  The ridiculous question popped into her head and she stifled a giggle, not helping her cause when Cari caught sight of her twitching lips.

  ‘A-ha! I knew there’s something going on. You’re looking all coy and Chase looked dazed when I came in.’

  She rubbed her hands together like a Machiavellian puppet master yanking their strings.

  ‘This is too good. Wait till I ask Chase—’

  ‘Ask me what?’

  Lola’s heart gave a frightening ka-thump as he strolled back into the room bearing a tray with their coffees, milk, sugar and cookies. He should’ve looked odd performing such a domestic task in his business suit but he didn’t. He looked like a guy comfortable enough in his own skin to perform any task.

  Leaping in before Cari could embarrass her further, she sent the woman she’d only just met—and her client technically—a warning glare.

  ‘Cari was just asking about the itinerary for the hen’s week but I said it was a surprise so she wanted to grill you.’

  Chase’s shrewd stare darted between the two of them. He didn’t buy her cover-up but thankfully he didn’t push it.

  ‘Sorry, sis. All one big surprise.’

  ‘I bet,’ Cari murmured, raising an eyebrow at her across the rim of her coffee cup.

  Desperate to change the subject, Lola dumped way too much sugar into her coffee and stirred vigorously, the spoon clanking against the cup a dead giveaway of her increasing nervousness.

  ‘Have you confirmed with your friends? What kind of numbers are we looking at?’

  There, a perfectly legitimate business question to get them back on track and away from the dicey subject of her presence in Chase’s life.

  ‘Just me and my four closest colleagues.’

  Lola almost choked on her coffee. Colleagues? Didn’t she mean friends?

  Annoyingly intuitive, Chase piped up. ‘Sadly, all my sister’s friends are workaholic drones like her, that’s why she calls them colleagues.’

  Fire flashed in Cari’s deep blue eyes so like her brother’s. ‘At least I have friends.’

  Chase shrugged, his grin widening as Lola wondered how many times over the years the siblings had played this game.

  If they were so alike in personality and ambition it stood to reason they’d be fiery too, baiting each other to see how fast the other could snap.

  And while she never would’ve had the spunk for something like this, she almost wished she’d had a sister to trade banter with.

  Shareen had been a master at baiting; out of cruelty rather than fun. She’d picked on her clothes, her hair, her weight, her social skills, not necessarily in that order and she’d always lamented the fact that while her sister may have been beautiful on the outside it certainly hadn’t extended within.

  ‘Do we need to bring anything, Lola?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just yourselves and a sense of fun.’

  ‘We can do that.’

  Cari sipped at her espresso before darting a glance at her brother, a mischievous glance that had Lola bracing for the next incoming missile.

  ‘Will you be popping down to Mount Macedon while we’re there?’

  To his credit, Chase didn’t miss a beat. ‘Depends on my work schedule but I’d like to drop by, make sure you and the chooks aren’t tearing the place apart.’

  ‘Riiight.’

  How Cari managed to instil so much innuendo into that one word she’d never know, so Lola rushed in again.

  ‘I’ll be commuting daily, though I’ve cleared the possibility of staying over two nights with Chase.’

  ‘Commute?’ Cari’s shriek intimated she equated commuting the hour between Melbourne and Mount Macedon with a daily trip to the moon.

  Jabbing a finger at her brother, Cari said, ‘Tell her she can’t do that. She’ll be exhausted driving back at the end of a day, then having to get up and do it all over again the next.’

  Before Chase could open his mouth to respond, Cari glared at her. ‘It’s ludicrous. You’re staying. I take it you have someone running the shop while you’re doing this?’

  ‘Of course but—’

  ‘Then it’s settled. Right, Chase?’

  Sending her a quick shrug and an apologetic wink, Chase nodded.

  ‘You’re the boss, sis.’

  ‘And don’t either of you forget it.’

  With an emphatic nod and a self-satisfied smirk, Cari resumed drinking her espresso as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t just railroaded them.

  What was it with these Etheridges?

  First Chase had steamrollered her into accepting this job, now Cari.

  It was going to be some week.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TWO weeks later Lola hefted the last case into the back of the van and collapsed against the tailgate alongside Imogen.

  ‘I must be insane for agreeing to do this,’ she muttered, wiping the perspiration from her brow while stretching out her right calf which
had cramped after countless trips between Go Retro and the back alley where they’d filled the van to capacity.

  ‘Think of the publicity.’ Imogen moaned as she locked fingers, stretched forward and rolled her neck. ‘And the massive bonus you’re going to pay me for lugging all these bloody boxes out here.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ Lola smiled, a smile that soon faded as she glanced over her shoulder at the floor to roof boxes. ‘Guess the logistics of this escaped me in the excitement of Chase’s whopping great fee.’

  ‘I wonder if that’s the only whopping great thing Chase has—’

  ‘Isn’t it time you locked up and headed home?’

  The last thing she needed was more of Immy’s teasing. She’d bombarded her the entire afternoon as they’d closed up shop to organise the props for the hen’s party, firing constant questions at her about her meeting with Chase—she’d told her friend nothing—and when that didn’t work, resorting to childish teasing interspersed with ribald insinuations.

  As if she wasn’t nervous enough about the coming week.

  Imogen sniggered and glanced at her watch. ‘Is it that time already? Time for you to hit the road and go shack up with your billionaire.’

  ‘This isn’t a romance novel,’ Lola said, straightening and brushing off her dusty butt.

  She had no intention of shacking up with anyone in the near future, especially not a career-driven charmer who wouldn’t know a white picket fence if he drove into one.

  When she shacked up it would be with Mr Right, not Mr Flirt-Like-Crazy-And-Hope-For-The-Best.

  She’d once thought Bodey was shacking up material; until their relationship had taken the next step and he’d bolted quicker than her sister at the sight of a pavlova.

  ‘Maybe you should read a few. Couldn’t hurt.’

  She could’ve ignored Imogen’s sly sideways glance but knew it’d be useless. Her friend would expound her latest theory anyway.

  With a resigned sigh, she perched on the tailgate again.

  ‘And why should I read those romance novels you have your nose constantly buried in?’

  Imogen held up her hand. ‘Because they’re great entertainment.’

  She ticked off the first finger. ‘Because they’re great escapism.’

  Another finger bent down. ‘Because they give you great pointers to handle your very own billionaire when he comes along.’

  Lola opened her mouth to protest she didn’t have her very own billionaire but Imogen shushed her.

  The last finger bent. ‘And because they get you in the mood, particularly the really steamy ones. Some of those scenes…’

  Imogen fanned herself while Lola tried to ignore her friend’s salient arguments in favour of romance novels.

  Since when had she read anything other than business journals anyway? She never had time for fun stuff any more. Even her weekend trips scouring the markets and auction houses had as much to do with work as pleasure.

  She loved Go Retro and everything it stood for but it had become her life these days and, while she adored every inch of her dream come true, she sacrificed a lot to get it off the ground.

  And keep it going. Which was why she’d loaded her van and would soon take off for Mount Macedon and spend a week in a guy’s house—a guy who might or might not pop in—but the thought alone was enough to have her on tenterhooks the entire time.

  The money carving a huge chunk off her mortgage was a major incentive but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit a shiver of excitement at the thought of seeing Chase again.

  ‘I’ve sold you, haven’t I?’

  Imogen snapped her fingers. ‘I can see that twinkle in your eye. Wait here.’

  Before she could protest, Immy had shot back into Go Retro, no doubt to rummage through her massive handbag for the stack of novels she had on the go all at once.

  Grinning at her friend’s exuberance, and a romantic streak no amount of lousy dates or failed relationships could dim, she hopped off the tailgate and slammed it shut, securing the locks.

  She could hit the road before Imogen returned but she wouldn’t put it past her single-minded friend to follow her all the way to Mount Macedon just to ply her with romance novels, then stick around to ply Chase with questions about the imaginary relationship she’d built up in her head.

  Snagging the keys, she swung up into the van and started the engine. At the sound, Imogen shot out of the back door and ran to the van, shoving a mini stack of novels through the window.

  ‘Here, take these.’ She winked. ‘You can thank me later.’

  Shaking her head, Lola glanced at the covers. Hot Nights with a Playboy. Big-Shot Bachelor. The Boss’s Bedroom Agenda. Purchased for Pleasure, the titles punctuated by provocative pictures of women in clinches with gorgeous men.

  Half their luck.

  An image popped unbidden into her mind, a memory fragment of Chase kissing the back of her hand, his lips curving into a sexy smile, his incredibly blue eyes dark with promise…and in that fleeting instant, she wished she could believe she did fascinate him.

  Imogen tapped the top cover—Two-Week Mistress. ‘Change the title to One-Week and it could be you.’

  Lola rolled her eyes as Imogen giggled. ‘Trust me, read those and you won’t put a foot wrong with your Chase.’ Immy’s eyes glinted with mischief. ‘Then when you get back I’ll lend you some more appropriate titles, along the lines of The Billionaire’s Baby.’

  Unable to do anything but laugh at her friend’s antics, she pointed to her pride and joy.

  ‘Take good care of the place.’

  ‘Shall do.’

  Imogen saluted and tapped the van’s bonnet. ‘And you take good care of our place’s reputation. Give ’em a hen’s party to remember.’

  As she put the van into gear and eased off on the clutch to protect the precious cargo in the back, Imogen cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, ‘As for your reputation, cut loose. Take a leaf out of Ariel’s story and get the hero naked. She’s the heroine in Big-Shot Bachelor—’

  Lola gunned the engine and drove off, effectively cutting off any more of Imogen’s relationship wisdom.

  She could take care of her own love life, thank you very much.

  What little there was of it.

  Casting a quick look at the pile of novels on the front seat beside her, seeing the ecstatic expression on the heroine’s face made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something to Imogen’s prescription for romance after all.

  Chase thrived on a challenge. He’d relished working his butt off at the roughest high school in North Melbourne to gain a good entry score for university, he’d studied hard at uni to get an honours degree in economics and he’d worked harder and longer than anyone in the entertainment business to launch Dazzle then keep it at the top.

  He’d procured international stars to perform at local millionaires’ parties, he’d MC’d top line charity balls, he’d organised bands and caterers and dancers for major AFL functions, rising to each and every challenge.

  But nothing in his busy life challenged him as much as facing his mother.

  With a resigned sigh he shoved his smartphone back in his jacket after signing off on another A-list shin-dig and headed up the familiar path winding through Melbourne University’s sprawling campus.

  He knew this path well, had traipsed it many times growing up. It had been the only time he ever got to see his parents, if he made the trek here after school.

  Initially, he’d found their snatched hour together between lectures fun. How many other kids got to have picnic dinners with their parents every evening? And usually at a different location: the main lawns, outside the library, on a park bench.

  It had been exciting, like having a new adventure every day. But it grew tiring after a while, having to drag a tired Cari home by himself on public transport, battling peak hour commuters on a tram, before getting her settled for bed then starting on his homework.

  As he gr
ew older and his parents’ work commitments increased the higher up the university faculty ladder they climbed, the dinner picnics dwindled as his resentment built. Why couldn’t he have parents who came home at a reasonable hour, parents who helped with homework, parents who cared more about their kids than their precious bloody jobs?

  Not that those picnics had been anything special. Looking back, those snatched hours were probably his folks’ way of paying lip service to spending time with their kids. A way to assuage their guilt at being absentee parents? A way to indoctrinate them into the uni life at a young age? A way to soothe their disappointment that their kids weren’t born child geniuses?

  He’d wondered over the years at why they’d ever decided to become parents in the first place but had come to no conclusions. For a while, he’d wondered if they’d had kids as some kind of sociological experiment and when he and Cari couldn’t hold a proper conversation by the age of five they were deemed not important.

  Not that he’d noticed the lack of affection at the start. They had nannies to provide the basics, until he was old enough to fend for himself and then he’d taken over as Cari’s carer. That was when the resentment had kicked in and he’d been pondering their motivation ever since.

  Why have kids if you didn’t give a toss about them?

  Not that they were deliberately mean or nasty; they just weren’t there. Cari’s first ballet concert, his first high school debate, Cari’s debutante ball, his graduation; they’d been absent for it all and despite a continuing apathy over the years he couldn’t help but wish they’d acknowledge how far their kids had come, just once.

  He’d practically raised Cari and now, when their mum should be involved in wedding stuff, once again it was left to him to take on the parental role.

  Trying to stem his rising animosity, he wound his way through students coming the other way, dodging hefty backpacks and book-laden arms.

  Had he ever been as carefree as some of these kids looked? Wide smiles, clear eyes, filled with hope and expectation and love for life?

  It annoyed him, to think he’d never had a chance to be so blithe and, as he neared the English faculty building, the loss of his childhood stung as much as his parents’ indifference.