He scanned her from head to toe. It was a slow gaze, one that held much appreciation. Then he smiled, a wicked yet sexy smile, and said, “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Vaughn.”
As Darcey was about to close the door and return inside, he added, “And, out of curiosity, does Superman really live in our building?”
She felt her face redden. Her thoughts flushed and confused. It was like he said words in a foreign language.
Dimitri grinned at the bewildered look on her face and winked.
She closed the door and leaned on it. With mortification Darcey suddenly realized he overheard her. To add to her already embarrassed state, she felt cold. The heat from her hot cheeks didn’t help given she was barely clothed.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She felt like Eve who, after taking a bite from the forbidden fruit, felt guilt and shame. Taking a deep breath, a bright thought came to her mind while a rueful smile formed a crease on her lips.
Looks like Cupid has finally come to my rescue, she thought happily.
Chapter 2
"Darcey, I want you to pick up my dry cleaning and separate the clothes I'm taking to my Cancun trip. Place them on my second wardrobe closet, " Mrs. Leighton said, a strict tone in her voice.
Darcey's boss continued, "Go to Harrods and buy Max the new Lego toy that came out today. Make sure you finish all those calls to the charity. All three hundred of them. And make sure you get all of them to reply to the invitation I asked you to send a week ago.”
The orders didn't stop. "I will be hosting the charity event in three weeks time so we need to get all this done, everything has to be perfect. Capisce?" she asked, not bothering to wait for a reply. She looked at Darcey, an imperious look in Mrs. Leighton's eyes.
Long, slender red-manicured fingers coiled around the fine bone china teacup from Wedgewood. The older woman took a small sip of her tea with the grace and elegance of royalty. Her laptop laid open to her right, a leather diary on her left. The diary was full of red check marks and circles.
"Oh I just remembered--did you say you have a chef friend? Can you ask him to call me? I might want to hire him to cook the dinner for the charity."
Without waiting for Darcey to reply, Mrs. Leighton carried on. "Does he cook dishes like Ramsay? If not, don't bother. We need to feed the guests hors d'ouvres that is beyond palatable. Can you also tell the nanny Maria that Carmen cannot go to school if she's got nits! That Maria is really stupid sometimes. Tell her not to keep washing Carmen’s hair because my friend tells me nits thrive on clean hair."
Mrs. Leighton was talking about her 5- year old daughter, Carmen. Darcey managed to nod, struggling not to let out a moan. Sometimes she wondered why her boss couldn't tell Maria herself or, better yet, show a bit of motherly love to her own daughter.
As Darcey was about to leave her study, Mrs. Leighton added, "Also, get me the new Hermes bag from Selfridges. Use my black Amex card. Buy a gift for Jemma. She is due to deliver a baby in a few weeks. Her baby shower is this Saturday."
She continued to give orders while glancing at her diary.
"Get her something expensive so she doesn't miss the fact that I cannot be bothered to attend. Perhaps a Tiffany baby rattle or comb and baby set from Dior will do. And get her a matching Monica Vinader bracelet with her name engraved. She should be touched by the gesture."
Without missing a beat, as was her custom, Mrs. Leighton went on. "Also, book me a spa treatment at the Corinthians Hotel for next Wednesday, and on Friday lunch at the Allain Ducasse for two. Don't forget to send Camilla some Hydrangeas and write a get-well note and make it sound sincere but not overly so. Call my son's drum instructor. Max cannot make it for his lesson next week because there’s a Chelsea game my husband is taking him to."
She was handing out her instructions with a pragmatic tone, which, to Darcey, was actually quite ironic. Mrs. Leighton sipped her tea and motioned for Darcey to leave.
Darcey walked towards the coat hanger, grabbing her shabby coat. She tried to look at her own list to make sure she was able to write down all of her boss' instructions. She placed the coat on and gave a polite goodbye to Mrs. Leighton. Darcey walked out of the lion's den, the term she gave her superior's office, and closed the heavy oak wood door. She mentally recited all the things she was told to do.
She repeated the notes in her mind, careful not to miss anything, not even a strand on Carmen's lice-infested mane.
Mrs. Leighton was the wife of a highly regarded CEO from a big multinational company. Darcey met him just a few times. He was always abroad for work.
Sometimes Darcey wondered if he lived in that big house of theirs in Belgravia or somewhere else. The couple’s home was situated in one of the most expensive areas in town. Their neighbours were the same people she read about in the newspapers, their names often brought in a feeling of reverent awe. Mr. And Mrs. Leighton had an impressive art collection--Damien Hirst and Andy Warhol to name a few--stored in their house, which was surrounded by ostentatious furnishings and expensive antiques. A couple of the lamps were insured for hundreds of thousands of pounds! They also had a house in the country, a penthouse in New York, a flat by St. Honore in Paris.
Sure, they were beyond rich but Darcey always felt the loneliness inside that huge mansion.
That day’s tasks were quite a lot but, if anyone were to ask Darcey, the to-do list she was given was considered rather easy compared to the other almost impossible tasks her majesty would ask her to do. Mrs. Leighton once asked Darcey if her employee could get an invitation to the wedding of some Scandinavian royalty since the Leightons were invited to some of English Aristocrats’ weddings. Mrs. Leighton once asked the Edinburgh Zoo how much it would be to have her kids cuddle the panda bears, despite Darcey stressing how it wasn't allowed.
Mrs. Leighton had the temper of a witch and most of her servants were likened to an imbecile, and an idiot a few times, if her demands weren't met. She would apologize if she was wrong. Sometimes. Proud, cold and sometimes terrifying, she wasn't entirely cruel. She paid her staff generously and sometimes, when she was in a good mood, she would act tolerable.
Darcey sensed sadness in her boss, a sadness that was quite noticeable. She once asked her superior if there was anything else the older lady wanted her to do and Mrs. Leighton replied with sadness mulling in her voice, "Hmmm, if you can remind my husband that he has wife, I would give you a big bonus."
If she were to be honest with her herself Darcey really wanted to quit and find a job where she could use her degree. A writing job, or some other post in publishing. She had been rejected several times. Not one who grew up spoiled, she tried to make it on her own since university.
Darcey didn't ask her mum’s help for living expenses. She needed her job working for Mrs. Leighton to pay bills. Rather than trying to find a job closer to her choice of career, she accepted the current job and found herself working for the posh woman for almost five years, mostly without voicing out her complaints.
With sheer determination, Darcey set on to doing her tasks for the day. When she left Harrods, she decided to quickly pop by her friend's cafe off Brompton's Road. Her friend Nick owned a small cafe by South Kensington.
Darcey walked leisurely on the streets, enjoying the window displays, adoring each expensive, ornate object with approval. The street was busy that time of the day. A double decker bus halted next to a bus stop. Suddenly the grey clouds blotted out the golden sun. Drops of water started falling from the sky.
The pattering rain fell faster and more frequently. Within minutes the rain started pouring out like flagellation from the sky. Darcey forgot to bring her umbrella that day. Images of the handsome Dimitri and the to-do list were fighting airtime and space in her brain.
She ran. The cafe was only a few streets down and soon she would be able to find shelter. The downpour got heavier by the second, puddles forming on the ground. She dodged all the people, careful not to be hit by umbrellas. She expertly avoided bei
ng splashed by dirty puddle water when cars passed.
Drat, my shoes are Louboutins! My hair is now soaked with droplets of water! Does it really have to rain on my parade? she moaned to herself, putting a hand on her coiffure hair.
The day had started out great with a clear sky. And then she met a gorgeous new neighbour. But now? Rain. Darcey laughed and shook her head, the irony of it all.
She finally got to the cafe. It was packed, of course. It was always packed during lunchtime. The tables were full of people in suits, chattering. On one side a mother and her child sat with a buggy, the mum was trying to juggle spoon-feeding her baby while eating a sandwich. The smell of coffee was very comforting. The aromas floating from the kitchen were hints of cheese, a buttered dish, the smell of Cumberland sausages. Darcey's empty stomach growled.
She looked around for a vacant seat but found none. She was soaking wet, cold and shivering, miserable and famished. She only had a piece of toast and black coffee that day.
As she was about to turn around and look at the menu on the wall, Nicholas came out of the kitchen dressed in a chef's outfit, his forehead damped with sweat, his wavy hair framed a handsome face.
The chef was a very dear friend of hers. His dark hair and olive skin were from his Italian mother, but his eyes were light gray, pale like silvery moon. Smokey, almost like soft graphite on a newly sharpened pencil. The colour of his eyes changed, depending on his mood. His cute bum chin and ducal nose he inherited from his English aristocrat father.
The moment Nicholas saw Darcey he gave her a warm smile, a beaming smile that formed creases across his face. He gave her a look, a warm look, one that made her feel he had been waiting for her all day. The look that said, "Now that I'm here, everything in this world will be right again."
But this was Nicholas. Not only was he her favourite male friend, he also happened to have a long list of girlfriends. She often joked with him, telling him that he was collecting the United Nations flag, thanks to having dated girls from different countries.
Nicholas was definitely a sweetheart, as sweet as the pastries he made. They met a few years back, while they were both flying home on a plane coming from Sweden.
Because of anxiety and stress, Darcey hadn't realized she was having a panic attack. Trisha, her friend who was on the same trip, stayed calm and in control.
Trisha whispered a warning as a joke, "Darcey, do not say or do anything stupid because there's a gorgeous guy sitting behind us."
Panic and fear took hold of Darcey. She couldn't help it. She screamed so hysterically it brought four flight attendants to her seat. They asked for medical assistance from the passengers but there wasn't a single doctor or nurse on board.
The good looking man Trisha referred to suddenly told them he used to be a medical student. He wanted to help.
Darcey felt like dying then. She stared at the beautiful pale eyes, soft like clay, and her heart began to beat quickly by the second. He looked like an angel welcoming her into heaven.
The man who saved her that day on the plane was Nicholas. To thank him for his heroic act, she had invited him to dinner and they instantly became good friends, especially when he ended up making the meal instead of Darcey. They had so much in common. She eventually knew and met all of his girlfriends. And in time it was why she became so immune to his devilish smile and flirtations. She put him in the friend zone.
"Darcey, sweetie, it's so good to see you," he announced, interrupting her reverie of the past as he swooped her in his arms for a warm embrace, not caring she was soaked.
He took her hand and guided her towards the kitchen, away from the chatters and curious looks of the customers. A kitchen help named Trevor waved. Nicholas went to the staff room and came out with a towel and a plain white t-shirt.
"Not your usual silk blouse or your favourite shirt from Reiss, but this is dry and you really need to change. I can see through your wet blouse." He gulped.
Then, with a killer smile, he added, "Your bra is showing."
He threw a quick glance at Trevor who was busy scrambling eggs, oblivious to the both of them.
Darcey flushed and her gaze quickly went to her bosom.
"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed.
Although she was wearing a black blazer, she didn't realize she was soaked and her black bra was very visible through her white top. Gazing up to meet Nicky's naughty grin, she scowled at him and shook her head. She ran off to the toilet through the kitchen.
When she came out of the toilet, she saw Nick had made her favourite cafe mocha and a plate of medium rare steak, plus chips on the side. He served it with peppercorn sauce, the way she liked it.
"Thanks, you're a star," she told him and placed a soft peck on his cheek. "Nicky, did I ever tell you how lucky I am to have you as my friend? This is divine." She began to cut her succulent beef. She took a bite and discovered it was as delicious as it looked.
After a several bites, she looked up at him. He looked into her eyes and didn't say a thing.
"I think I'm going to start dating again," she declared as she dabbed a napkin on her greasy lips. His raised a brow, matching the curiosity his eyes held.
She went on. "I have a new neighbour. His name is Dimitri and he's Greek. I thought maybe I should invite him over. You know, a welcome dinner for new neighbours."
Nick’s face showed more curiosity. "Interesting, go on." He was cutting vegetables before she made her declaration. He stopped what he was doing and washed his hands in the sink.
"Why are you telling me this?" He wiped his hands on a towel and stole a chip from her plate. His eyes didn't leave hers.
"I thought maybe you could help me prepare dinner and I'll invite him over to my place and..."
"And you plan to feed him with oysters and other aphrodisiacs?" he interrupted her, sarcasm written all over his face. "Is that what you have in mind?"
"No!" she protested. "I’m not inviting him over to seduce him!" She threw a glance at Trevor who, it turned out, was not good at pretending he wasn't eavesdropping.
"I just want to make him dinner, with your help, of course, so it can taste good, be more than edible. And you know what they say, a way to a man's heart is through his stomach." she added.
"Then, by the end of the night, I plan to charm him with my wit and sense of humour. Make him realize I’m the woman he's been waiting for. He will think I'm wife material," she proclaimed it all like a fortune teller, batting her eyelashes innocently.
Nicky studied her for a moment. "Well, I guess that's why fate brought us together after all, I’m to save you from your disasters."
He paused before adding, "I guess if it makes you happy, I'll help you with the cooking." He shrugged. There was an unreadable look on his face, like the one he wore when he played poker.
"Darcey, whoever steals your heart is one lucky guy," he said in almost a whisper.
She looked away to stop him from seeing her blush from the compliment. "Of course you had to say that--you're my good friend," she replied with a fake laugh, hoping to ease the momentary awkwardness that was now heating up the kitchen.
"No, actually, because we're good friends, I shouldn't be saying that." He abruptly walked away and headed towards Trevor, checking to see what the other guy was doing.
Darcey went back to eating, trying to brush off what her friend just said. She tried to not read too much into Nicky's words.
Chapter 3
It was around six in the evening and Darcey was getting ready to leave work. As she walked out of her boss’ elegant foyer, her phone rang. She heard the energetic voice of Luis, her best friend and a very successful director from an ad agency in the city.
"You are going to thank your lucky stars. And me, of course,” he bragged. “I have just pulled some strings for you and you, my dear friend, have an interview with a publisher. In fact, the main guy himself.” His voice carried more than its usual share of pumped up excitement.
He carried on. “I told
him that you’re a talented writer, sent him your CV and portfolio. Guess what, darling? He’s willing to give you an interview. Tonight, eight o’clock at the Pink Cameo Club Hotel in Soho."
Luis spoke with speed. Darcey’s friend was famous for his mile-a-minute way of speaking. She tried to understand and remember everything he was saying but she struggled to keep up.
"Be there, dress sexy. He is hot!” Luis went on without pausing. “But be professional, tell him about your passion and how good you are at this. In a less eloquent way, you have got to please Mr. Carlisle. He is a very good-looking man, by the way. Anyway, got to go. I have a meeting. Ciao." And with that, he hung up.
"Wait! How will I know who Mr. Carlisle is, apart from him being hot?”
And there was silence.
“Fudge!” she screamed as her phone’s battery drained, her phone powering off. She stared at the dark picture on the screen. It showed her grotesquely animated face.
Drats! How in the world am I going to know how Mr. Carlisle looks? Handsome doesn’t describe it and Luis forgot to mention which part of the hotel I’m supposed to meet this person.
That was just so typical of Luis, always in rush.
She stared at herself in the antique full-length mirror. Mrs. Leighton’s foyer, just like the rest of the house, was filled with lavish furniture. Darcey wore the t-shirt Nicky lent her earlier. Glancing at her blue leather watch, the timepiece indicated she had an hour and a half until the interview that could very well change her life.
She had no time to run back to her flat and change. This was an opportunity she couldn’t allow to pass by. It was crucial she arrived at the hotel Luis mentioned and find this Mr. Carlisle.
Be Mine This Christmas: A Lovers in London Book Page 2