Chapter 25

CHASTITY

I turn away from the sight of Flynn and Keir on the other side of the room, shielding the goofy grin I’m currently wearing. God knows what my Aunt Camilla had to say, but whatever it was seems to have entertained her no end. She’s a handful that one, and proof age is just a number.

I can’t wait until Flynn and I are alone later this evening, and hopefully I’ll make it up to him about being a bit of a bitch for asking him to give me space. I missed him and I was certain I’d find difficulty not jumping on him when he first arrived, but I didn’t anticipate he’d be wearing glasses. Gah! What is it about a sexy nerd?

But I appreciate everything he did for me—the care he took and the gentle way he treated me—but I’ve needed time this week to work out how I feel about a lot of things, including him. But this past week has given me the time and distance to make some decisions. Decisions that include him and his sexy eyewear.

‘Your home is beautiful, Chastity,’ Sophia, one of my actors, says. It’s not a very big party; just my friends, Camilla, and some business contacts, along with a small number of people who have worked for Fast Girls. The ones I’ve gotten along with, at least. Sophia is one such person. She’s very professional—not a diva like one or two I’ve come across. She’s also a bit of a sweetheart.

‘Thank you.’ I touch her arm and compliment her on her dress. She’s one of the few who chose to wear white this evening. White can be so unforgiving, but with a body like hers, the only forgiveness needed is for being unable not to stare. ‘You look gorgeous, sweets.’

‘And so do you.’ I resist a whole-body shiver as Flynn’s warm hand touches the small of my back, his lips brushing my ear. I’ve been watching you, his eyes say, and I can’t wait to get you alone. That would make two of us. His warm gaze seems to mirror my appreciation and delight.

He looks so handsome in his impeccable suit, his soft hair pushed back from his face. And I’d say Sophia would agree, given the way she’s looking at him. Debonair was how Camilla described him following their introduction. Like a young Cary Grant, she’d said. She’d also said a few other things which Flynn had very graciously chuckled about, not rising to her saucy bait. Meanwhile, her compliments had turned my complexion tomato red.

‘Can I get you a drink, duchess? His low spoken words in my ear are as unravelling as the movement of his stroking thumb. Every nerve ending seems alight.

‘Chas, where did you want these cocktail sausages?’ Tate asks, suddenly appearing to my right, holding a dark coloured rice bowl filled to the brim with the less than stylish offerings. That they’re gourmet hasn’t really satisfied Tate who holds the bowl like its contents offend him.

‘These are for you,’ I say, taking the bowl from Tate’s hand into both of mine. I pass them to Flynn almost like they’re an offering.

‘You’re a legend,’ he says, taking one from the bowl and throwing it straight into his mouth. He winks, and if that wasn’t sexy enough, I’m pretty sure both Sophia and my ovaries sigh as he swallows, then licks his full bottom lip.

‘T-Tate,’ have you met Sophia and Flynn?’ I stutter, turning away from the Devil’s better-looking twin to put the bowl on a nearby table. Unfortunately, I don’t fail to see Tate’s less than impressed expression. If Flynn notices, he doesn’t show it as he picks the bowl up again.

‘Not so fast. These were meant for me and only me.’

There’s a particular note in his tone as he throws another into his perpetually smiling mouth, almost as though he’s relating me to a bowl of sausages. Which makes no sense and is completely Flynn. I can’t help but laugh even as, for an encore, he feeds me a sausage from his fingertips, his smile turning thoroughly sultry.

With a wink in my direction, Flynn holds out his hand to Tate. ‘Pleased to meet you. You’re a neighbour, right?’

Hands are shaken, the slight air of manly posturing permeating the space between the pair. Maybe this isn’t surprising given that one of these men has carnal knowledge of me and, given the signals he’s sending out, the other still want that knowledge. What does surprise me however, is the surprising amount of eyelash fluttering coming from Sophia—so much so, she’s created a small breeze. Okay, not really. But I do find it paradoxical how her social persona is so much flirtier than her work one.

‘Could I steal you for a moment?’ Tate asks rather pointedly. ‘The wrong champagne has turned up, but it’s already on ice, and there’s a slight issue with the gougères.’

Usually, you pay a caterer to avoid dealing with the details, but as Tate is both a neighbour and seems to be running the catering at a loss, judging by the invoice, I feel obligated to be involved.

‘A drink,’ I say, turning to Flynn, placing my hand on his chest. His eyes darken as I splay my hand wide under his jacket, the tip of my little finger brushing his nipple. From our position and proximity, no one notices but us. A secret between two people who are more than just good friends. ‘I’d love a G and T.’ And there’s my promise to return.

What is it they say about the best laid plans?

When I return to the room, Flynn isn’t talking to Keir or Sophia. In fact, I can’t see him anywhere.

‘Hey, lady,’ Paisley says, planting a smacker on my cheek. She holds a champagne flute in each hand, one of which she passes to me. ‘How’s your birthday so far?’

‘It’s not actually my birthday until tomorrow, and as you know, tomorrow I’m working.’

‘Bad planning, boss lady. Bad planning. You should’ve booked a spa day or a lazy brunch with good company.’

‘I’d have settled for waking to a certain man in my bed,’ I tell her.

‘Ohhh. Is it a tale I need to hear over coffee?’

‘We’ll catch up next week sometime, and I’ll fill you in on all the details.’

‘I’m gonna hold you to it,’ she replies, her eyes wide over her glass. ‘But I can’t believe that on a Sunday and your birthday you’re off to do a shoot!’

‘Oh, you’re a photographer,’ Tate says, coming to a stop in front of us.

Shit. ‘Something like that,’ I answer, probably with a slightly pained expression because the truth is bound to come out.

‘That answers why your friends are all so attractive.’ Hmm. Yeah. I suppose he’s partially right. Thankfully, he doesn’t hang around, maybe due to the vibes Paisley was throwing out.

‘Awk-ward!’ Paisley sings.

‘Not nearly as awkward as it will be when he finds out I’m a certain type of photographer.’

‘And by that I suppose you mean an erotic cinematographer.’

I sigh. ‘People are so weird. Or is it me? Am I the weird one?’

‘Everyone watches porn in some form or another—look at your Aunt Camilla.’

I choose that moment to do just that. Dressed in a wide-legged pant suit, she’s channelling Bianca Jagger tonight and looks every inch as stylish. Of course, if I was to say this to her, she’d reply that Bianca is the copycat because she wore it first. Either way, I’m not sure she’s a good representative for “normal”, whatever that is, particularly as she’s currently being tended to by another of Fast Girls actors, Nathan Cox, who’s probably a third of her age. But she’s always been a little off the wall and is probably the only woman of her age and station who regularly quotes Anaïs Nin.

‘Everyone,’ Paisley repeats. ‘It’s just not everyone who’ll admit to it.’

‘But watching people’s faces as I tell them what I actually do; shock, horror, intrigue. And the questions? Eww.’

‘Ha, I’ll bet. But at least your job is more interesting than say, running a shop. Although with a shop you have regular hours.’

‘True,’ I agree. ‘But it is what it is.’ And what it is, is actually my own fault that I’m working on my birthday.

I’d cancelled last week’s shoot and barely left the house, opting for complete hibernation. My creativity shut off, and I just couldn’t contemplate spending my time around naked bodies. So while I’m glad I’d taken the time for a little reflective self-care, the flip side to that is I’m hustling now to make an upload deadline. If we don’t shoot tomorrow, I won’t get the filmed edited in time.

‘And the airline won’t reschedule the flights a second time.’

‘Where are you off to again?’

‘Barcelona.’

‘Home of the erotic museum.’

‘Darling, I think most European cities can claim that exact fame.’

‘Yes, but not many have theirs on the main tourist drag.’ True. Museu Eròtic de Barcelona is smack-bang in the middle of La Rambla, often complete with a Marilyn Monroe lookalike blowing kisses from the balcony to tempt people in. ‘And speaking of drag . . .’ Paisley raises her glass, toasting someone on the other side of the room.

‘Is that. . . Stephen?’

Stephen recently starred in a solo shoot, but the buff yet shy blond from the studio and the glamorously fierce-looking redhead at the other side of the room are the same person, but with two looks a million miles apart.

‘Hills.’ Paisley grabs Hillary’s arm as he passes, almost making him spill clear liquid from the tumblers he holds in his hands. ‘Is that Stephen from the other day?’

‘I told you I’d recognised him from somewhere,’ he replies, his eyes widening dramatically. ‘She’s a drag performer over at Stella LaFella’s,’ Hills explains, flipping the pronoun. ‘It’s a new place in Shoreditch.’

‘What’s her stage name?’ Paisley asks.

‘Avery Goodsux.’ Hills gives a theatrical pout. ‘I’ll let you know later if she lives up to her name. If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to go get as close to sex as humanly possible while keeping on my clothes.’

‘That man,’ Paisley says, giggling. ‘He should be in front of the camera, not behind.’

‘Only,his ego is bad enough now.’

‘Hey, you should definitely go,’ Paisley adds.

‘What? To the naughty museum on La Rambla?’ Been there, done that, bought the smutty souvenir. ‘No, I’ve decided I’m celebrating my birthday tonight. And, you know, I think this is the first birthday party I’ve had since I was six years old.’

‘No pass the parcel at this swanky shindig. Happy Birthday, babe.’ She clinks her glass against mine. ‘I think your thirtieth year is going to be a fantastic one.’

‘You know what? I think you’re right.’

‘Oh, honey, I know I am. Starting right now.’ I frown, not quite following her meaning. ‘I’ve been tasked with a message for you. There’s a man in your bedroom right now just dying to give you a birthday gift.’