There were still too many hours left in this day.
Chapter 13
It Was The Best I Could Hope For
I was bored out of my tree. And my cheeks had started to hurt from all the fake smiling. They almost, but not quite, over shadowed the pain in the centre of my chest. I sucked in a deep breath to try to still the roll of my stomach at that thought and took a tiny sip of my cocktail drink. I was in no fit state of mind to get drunk. That could wait until I made it home, but in front of these people... Not a chance.
"How long have you been decorating?" the woman beside me asked. I think she'd been introduced as Mrs Clarkson, but I had never met her at any of my parents' charity events, and my mind was clearly not retaining superfluous information right now.
"I graduated from university eight years ago. I started my business not long after that." I attempted to put a little cheer in my voice, but I was unsure if she noticed.
"You've made a name for yourself in a short amount of time, dear. Well done!" The 'well done' was said in that oh-my-how-did-you-do-it condescending voice people use when they don't truly believe what they're saying.
"Yes, quite," I replied, swallowing the cringe at what my mother would say to that retort.
"Katie is the next best thing," Mrs Montgomery-Smith added, as she approached from the other side of the room.
The sitting room I had completed for the Montgomery-Smiths was extraordinary. The design could easily be called my pièce de résistance. The one project that would be at the front of every portfolio I put together from here on in. And the reason why all these stuffy people were here tonight clamouring for a slice of my attention.
I sucked in a shaky breath at how terribly ungrateful I was being. This was not me. Not the Katie Anscombe I normally strove to be. Jason had changed me in more ways than I cared to acknowledge right now. But I would not let his... heartless behaviour affect my future employment.
I pasted a smile back on my face and re-entered civilised conversation.
"It is such a thrill to be here, Mrs Montgomery-Smith," I said with enthusiasm. "I am so grateful for this evening and your continued support."
"Oh pish, Katie. You deserve it." And I think she actually meant it, too. My smile turned genuine. Look past the peacock that she is, and there was actually someone nice underneath. She may have driven me a little crazy during our professional entanglement, but her heart had always been in the right place.
And then she ruined my mental appraisal by say, "Oh, there's Henry and Alexandria! I must tell them all about the swimming pool we want to put in."
I started chuckling, realising I was thankfully alone again, as she trotted across the sitting room to greet two new arrivals to the event. I took a bigger sip of my drink and breathed freely for the first time that night. Apart from the newly arrived Henry and Alexandria, I had done the rounds, spoken to everyone present; wowed and schmoozed as expected. They had my contact details and had all been dazzled by my skills. All in all a successful, if not mind-numbingly boring, night.
I couldn't exactly leave yet, being as I was the quasi-guest du jour, but excluding Henry and Alexandria, I didn't have to impress anyone else. Maybe I could fade into the background and be lost in amongst the artwork until it was time to go home. I'm sure, despite them all being here to meet the designer who created this 'masterpiece', that no one would miss me.
I took a furtive look around, and then slipped out of the main part of the room and headed toward the darker, shadowy end. The Montgomery-Smith's sitting room was enormous, split up into three areas. The main event tonight was being hosted in what Mrs Montgomery-Smith called her parlour, or where she would entertain guests after dinner. At one end was a more informal sitting area, with a small selection of books and comfortable chairs. Towards the other end, where I was slinking away to now, were French doors that opened up on to the terrace, and several hand picked, well placed objets d'art. It was all for show, no seating to be had here. Simply an opportunity for the Montgomery-Smiths to show off their prized possessions.
And because of that, no one would be hiding here with me.
A cool breeze came in from the terrace. It wasn't exactly warm out, but even with my thin blouse on, I wouldn't freeze to death. I'd chosen to wear a slim line silk skirt that stopped just below my knees; a very professional and appropriate-for-this-evening looking outfit with a hint of bling, as the deep red silk in the skirt caught the lights and tended to shimmer in them. The top I had on was black, with intricate matching red silk flowers embroidered into it. It had long sleeves, the cuffs hanging over my wrists delicately, but even though the material would provide some warmth, it wasn't much. The sleeves were sheer, my pale skin visible through the loose weave. The blouse also had a lower than strictly acceptable neckline, but the length of the sleeves made up for the flash of décolletage. And anyway, let's not forget I am by no means busty.
I paused on the threshold of the terrace. I hadn't intended to go outside, but remain hidden amongst the art, in the shadows. But the stars were out and a full moon beckoned in the night sky, pulling me forward like an ocean wave. As soon as I stepped out onto the stone patio, I realised I was not the only one who was seeking a refuge tonight.
A spicy and strangely alluring smelling tobacco wafted on the air, but one quick glance around and I couldn't even see the smoke, let alone see the person who was wielding it. I stood frozen for a second trying to decide if I should go forward and be undoubtedly discovered, or head back inside, and probably be thought a fool. The smoker, whoever they were, may be hidden to my eyes right now, but I was haloed in a soft muted glow from the sitting room. I stood out like a sore thumb.
Shaking my head at myself, I prayed they would leave me alone, as I took the necessary steps to fully emerge under the moon. Surely they could see I was escaping.
I stopped beside a statue of Venus and stared unseeing up at the stars. I should have really been mingling. As Dom had said, it was an opportunity not to be missed. But I'd well and truly done my dash tonight. I was all faked out. This was the real me. Alone. Sad. A little bit teary eyed, truth be told.
I'd grown up in this environment, my parents on occasion having to attend events such as these and dragging their children along. But although my parents might have been part of this world, they were not entrenched in it. Thankfully. But several people here had mentioned my father in passing, or a charity event my mother had planned. I may not have known them, but they knew me - or at least my parents.
Jason wouldn't fit in this world. He'd look at these people and have less patience than me with their pomp and circumstance, their never ending need to be on top, to be seen. In some ways Jason and I were two completely different people. Even his sister was more able to slip into Dominic's life, than Jason would ever have been able to slip into mine.
Maybe he did me a favour. Maybe he knew this already and was saving us both further regret down the line.
I sighed. It was louder and longer than I had intended. Epiphanies can do that to you.
The smell of the tobacco grew stronger until it was obvious the smoker of the exotic smelling cigarette had approached. I turned my head slightly to see a tall man leaning against the stone railing several feet away. Watching me. He took a slow drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out gradually, dark eyes on my face.
I blinked at him, unsure if I should greet the man or just ignore his presence altogether. He took another pull on the cigarette and waited for me to say something. I found his silence amusing for some reason. A small smile graced my lips. If he was part of this crowd he was blatantly disobeying the rules of etiquette. I turned back to look at the stars and he let a low chuckle out.
"You don't much care for this sort of thing, do you?" he asked, in a smooth voice like velvet.
"I'm not the only one escaping," I pointed out.
"Ah," he said in reply. I heard the click of a lighter and saw the flare of a flame out of the corner of my eye. He was lighting
another cigarette. "Care to join me?" he asked, holding out a slim metal case that held more cigarettes inside.
"I don't smoke," I answered with a shake of my head. My body had turned slightly to look at him and I hadn't even realised.
"Neither do I, officially," he quipped, taking a purposeful drag on his cigarette. "And I'm not escaping, I've just arrived."
I stared at him for a second longer than I should have. He wasn't familiar to me, I think I would have remembered him if I had met him before. He was tall, but not as tall as Jason's six foot three. He was also much slimmer than Jason's soldier's physique. And at this point, I decided Jason Cain was not going to be the standard by which I compared all other men. I discarded all images of Jason from my mind and concentrated on the strange man beside me.
He had slightly wavy brown hair, combed back in a careless fashion. When he leant forward to flick ash off his cigarette, his hair flopped over his forehead, obscuring eyes, the colour of which I couldn't decipher in the current lighting available. He was dressed in a fine suit, one I am sure would have cost a fortune and matched the extravagance of his highly polished Italian leather shoes. He had gold cuff links on his wrists, the glint of a large round faced watch flashed from beneath the edge of his shirt sleeve.
I felt a sudden disappointment settle in my stomach. Then frowned at my reaction. Had I wanted this man to be something other than those stiffs inside Mrs Montgomery-Smith's sitting room? How utterly ridiculous. I was in no place to entertain a distraction.
Or was I?
My eyes flicked back over to the tall man, who was still watching me keenly. I held his gaze, not wilting under his perusal.
"Why the need to escape?" he asked, softly.
"It's been a long night," I offered, looking back over the Montgomery-Smith's garden. Only dark shadows met my eyes.
He nodded in either understanding or agreement.
"I thought I'd drop in, see what all the fuss is about, and make a hasty retreat afterwards," he suddenly admitted. "Malcolm said I might like their new look." Malcolm being Mr Montgomery-Smith and their new look, I guess, being my design. The stranger didn't seem enthralled with Malcolm's assessment though.
"Are you in the market for an interior designer?" I asked, not really interested in the answer but still stuck in wine and dine mode, it seemed.
"A decorator," he corrected, but there was a teasing note in his voice. My eyes flicked over to his, he was no longer smoking. His hands were thrust deep in his trouser pockets, a boyish grin on his face. "That's what they really are, isn't it? Someone who decorates a room."
"Ah," I said, mimicking his earlier nonchalance. I turned back to the stars, effectively dismissing him. "And what is it you do exactly?" I asked the night sky.
His voice came from right beside me when he spoke, I managed not to jump. "I provide the decorators with fine art in order to dazzle their clients."
My face swung around to look at him again. If he was an art dealer of renown I would have met him already.
This close I could see his eyes were hazel, hints of green in amongst the brown. They were unremarkable, despite their tonal colours.
"Where is your store?" I asked, finally believing at least something good could come of this tedious night. A new art dealer on my books would be a coup. Especially if he was a recent addition to town. Being the first to support a fledgling business could establish strong ties. And give me the edge over opposition.
"Parnell. I plan on opening in ten days time, but I can't find a decorator who can work on such a short time-frame." He smiled. It was beguiling, I suppose, but my mind was elsewhere.
I didn't have any contracts lined up following Mr and Mrs Montgomery-Smith's. And although I'd received countless compliments this evening, no one had hinted at a desire to redecorate their homes. Oh, they had talked the talk, but none had actually come out and said they were in the market. They'd snaffled up my business cards with pristine white toothed smiles, but none had asked so much as for a quote.
"Interior designer," I corrected absent-mindedly.
"Interior designer," he murmured in reply. Then, "You wouldn't happen to know of one, would you?"
My gaze flicked back toward the French doors and the darkened end of the sitting room I had designed.
"Have you even looked at the Montgomery-Smith's new sitting room?" I asked.
"I don't need to," he replied. "I know exactly what I want already."
"Ah," I said with understanding. "Then in answer to your question, I am not aware of a decorator who would suit your needs." I turned away to look out over the black garden, people like this man were hard to work for; their minds already made up and incapable of direction from a designer. My skills would be wasted here.
"Ms Anscombe," the stranger said, with obvious amusement in his tone. "Do I look like the sort of man who wouldn't have done his homework?"
I bit back the sigh before it escaped. I wasn't sure if liked this man or found him infuriating. One minute he amused, the next he offended. And it was clear he'd had an ulterior motive all along. I was a little sick and tired of men disrupting my life. But then, Mrs Montgomery-Smith hadn't been a walk in the park either.
And Dominic was right. I couldn't pay the bills without signed contracts lined up. And I most definitely needed something right now to keep me busy, to keep my mind occupied.
Did it matter if this man was eccentric in his behaviour and interactions with those he employs? He was clearly well off, part of the social stratosphere that I was raised within, and that the Montgomery-Smiths revelled in. And it is there that the money is to be made.
"Are you trying to gain my services, Mr...?" I asked, leaving the question open for his name.
"Tremayne," he replied smoothly, offering me a hand to shake. "Richard Tremayne. And yes, Ms Anscombe, I want you designing my new store. But I want it completed by Monday week. Can you achieve that?"
Even though the question was direct, there was still a hint of levity in his tone. He'd intended for his words to be frank, but they'd fallen short of commanding. And I'd had a taste of commanding when done correctly, and as much as I didn't want to think of Jason again, it always led back to him in the end.
Everything led back to him.
But, I needed to focus. Richard Tremayne was wealthy, probably successful, and wanted to hire me, nothing more. I had to remember that and forget about strong minded men in my bed. This was work. I was in no position in my recovery of the Jason Debacle, to be thinking in any other terms except professionally.
I'd throw myself into my business, ignoring the ache that seemed to fill me up inside, and with time things would get better. Then, maybe, I could consider another man in my bed. Commanding or not.
"I would need to see your premises to determine what time-frame would be achievable," I said, turning fully to face him at last.
His smile was slow and languid in coming. He thought he had me already. Clearly he hadn't dealt with an Anscombe yet.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, then handed it over between two long manicured fingers.
"Nine am tomorrow, Ms Anscombe. I'll bring the coffee."
I took his card and retrieved one of mine from my pocket in return.
"No need," he said, jovially. "I already have one. As well as your latest catalogue. Like I said," he took a step backward, intending to leave, I think, "I do my homework. You're exactly what I want."
He offered a nod of his head and then spun on his heels and walked down the steps into the night. I'm not sure if he'd even stepped foot inside the Montgomery-Smith's house, let alone greeted them. But within seconds he'd disappeared in amongst the dark shadows of their back yard.
What a strange man.
I glanced down at his business card, tilting it to get a better view in the dim light from the house. Gold embossed flowing print displayed his name and contact details, including a phone number, website, physical address and his business' title
: Tremayne Arts.
I flicked it over in my hand, wondering if he would be as difficult to deal with as Mrs Montgomery-Smith. Then, dismissing that as irrelevant, slipped the card into my pocket.
It had been a very long day and night, but maybe, at least, I would have something to show for it. And a pressure filled job to occupy my mind.
At this point, it was the best I could hope for.
Chapter 14
It's A Date
My bedside phone ringing woke me. I'd set my alarm for seven thirty, leaving me enough time to get up and face the day. A day that included a possible new client. I was still a little unsure about Richard Tremayne, but a job was a job. And I was not above admitting I needed all the financial assistance I could get. Let alone the distraction a contract would provide.
I picked the handset up and mumbled out, "Katie Anscombe," flicking a glance at the clock to see it was just after seven. Who phones at this hour?
"Katie," Gen's excited voice said over the line. "I spent all evening yesterday phoning everyone. So, you don't have to worry about a thing. I've sorted it. Can you bring a pasta salad?"
I blinked, rubbed a hand over my sleep encrusted eyes and tried to sit up.
"Darling, you're going to have to be more specific. What have you sorted?"
I fluffed a few pillows behind my back and settled in for a Genevieve Cain runaway mouth moment. If I had coffee, I'd be set.
"Well, you know, chickie. The barbecue."
"The barbecue? Genevieve, I told you I can't make it this weekend."
"No, you said you couldn't make it Sunday night. So, I changed it to tonight instead." Oh. "Dom and I really want you there with us. But you're going to have to act all surprised. No one would appreciate you knowing ahead of time. Gotta keep it fair, you know?"
No I didn't know, and I really didn't want to face this. Damn. She'd changed the barbecue to this evening, because I couldn't make tomorrow's date. I felt tears prickling behind my eyes, I blinked my lids rapidly, trying to still their onslaught. I'd done enough crying, thank you very much. But this, this, was too much. Lovely, sweet Genevieve going to all that trouble to fit in with me.
Sweet Seduction Surrender (Sweet Seduction, Book 4) Page 12