Chapter Five
Alice
“Harry asked you out?” Hannah hugs her knees as we sit on her bed in the small bedroom she shares with her sister and looks thrilled by my news. Didn’t she listen to me?
“No. Well, technically yes, but only because he’s desperate.” Even saying the word causes my chest to cramp, and renewed humiliation rolls through me. I can’t even get furious at him, because he has no idea he stamped all over my feelings with his careless question.
“Oh, bugger that.” Hannah sweeps aside my comment with a flick of her fingers. “He’s taking you to a ball. You’re going to have your very own Cinderella moment. This is perfect.”
“It’s not a ball.” I lean my back against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t erase the gorgeous smile on Harry’s face as he practically begged me to accompany him to the ceremony.
So he wouldn’t get mobbed by his newfound fans. Do I look like a bloody bodyguard?
“As good as.” Hannah glances at her laptop that sits between us, with the incriminating article from two years ago displayed on the screen. “It’s a top hotel with all the extras. And a red carpet. Seriously! I’m so freaking jealous.”
“Well, don’t be. The two prime candidates were me and his sister. I think it’s pretty clear what he thinks of me now.”
Platonic to the bone.
“Yeah, he’d rather take you than his sister. That says it all.”
I heave a ragged sigh. Hannah’s a die-hard romantic, but she wasn’t there when Harry and Caleb were discussing the awards night. Harry didn’t even ask me to be his date for the night, which might’ve sweetened the whole thing.
No, he wants me to go as his partner, in a purely work-related sense, and, as if that wasn’t clear enough, he had to go and rub it in by offering me overtime.
“And it’s a hotel,” Hannah repeats, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Hello, private rooms. Much better than your idea of bonking him at work.”
I don’t even bother contradicting her. As far as I know, the deal doesn’t include overnight accommodation, and even if it did there’s no way I’d stay now.
Which reminds me. “I never said I was going.”
“You’re definitely going. If this isn’t a sign that you and Harry are meant to have your big romance, then I don’t know what is.”
“I don’t believe in signs.”
My phone rings, and I pull it from my jeans pocket. The ID bores into my retinas, and before I can think better of it I answer. “Harry?”
He never calls me. Well, maybe a couple of times in all the months I’ve been working for him. But the fact he’s called right now seems somehow…portentous.
Now who’s seeing signs in everything?
“Hey, Alice.” His bone-melting voice teases my senses like a psychic caress, and I try and ignore the way Hannah’s punching the air next to me. “I just wanted to check. Are you coming with me next week?”
Straight to the point, as always. “Um,” I flounder, trapped, except despite everything there’s a big part of me that desperately wants to go with him.
Seems like desperate is the defining feature of this fiasco.
“I know it’s a pain in the arse. I’ll be in your debt if you do this for me.”
I’m not at all sure I want Harry to feel like he owes me something, but on the other hand at least he’s completely oblivious to my mortification.
“Well, I’ll bear that in mind.” I wind the end of my hair around my finger.
“So that’s a yes? Only I need to tell them if I’m taking a guest.”
Now I’ve been downgraded to guest. Or is that better than partner? Still isn’t anywhere near a date.
I swallow a groan. I have the feeling this is going to be a huge mistake, but I can’t let Harry down, even if it’s completely unbelievable that he couldn’t find a genuine date for the ceremony.
“It’s a yes.”
“Thanks, Alice.” The relief in his voice would be funny if it wasn’t yet another reminder that he only wants me to go with him as a friendly favor. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
I can think of a couple of ways, but even I’m not sad enough to fantasize over being the recipient of a pity fuck. Thankfully my brain isn’t total mush as something occurs to me. “You can pay for my leaving party.”
Instead of laughing there’s an ominous silence, and heat washes through me. It was a jokey, throwaway comment, and he should’ve responded in kind, but now my words are echoing around my head as though I’ve just inadvertently confessed how much I want him.
“Sure,” he says at last. “That goes without saying. Whatever you want.”
There’s another awkward silence, not helped by the way Hannah’s doing a victory dance with her arms. “Okay then,” I say, since it’s obvious Harry isn’t going to end this excruciating conversation. “Have a great weekend.”
I drop my phone on the bed and groan. “Looks like I’m going to the ball.”
“Yes.” Hannah thumps me on the arm. “And you know what that means don’t you? Tomorrow we need to find you a dress.”
Oh shit, I hadn’t even thought of that.
“And you’ll need to do something with your hair.”
“What? There’s nothing wrong with my hair.” Self-consciously I tug on my ponytail. I guess it is well overdue for a trim.
She scrolls through her phone before handing it to me. “You’d look amazing with this kind of style.”
Speechless, I stare at the Pinterest photos of models with thick, glowing curls tumbling down their backs. I really would need a fairy godmother to look anything like this.
“Well?” Hannah demands. “What do you think? Your hair’s just screaming for balayage.”
“Balayage? You mean highlights?” I’ve never been much into fashion, and the only times I’ve done anything to my hair is when Hannah’s given me do-it-yourself dyes.
“Sure. Well, not exactly. They paint it on, but whatever.” She kneels on the bed and tugs the band from my hair. “It’ll really make so much difference. Oh, you’ll have to get it curled as well, for the full effect for the night.”
I twist a length of my boringly pale blonde hair around my finger before comparing it to the models. A frisson of excitement zaps through me. Is it possible my hair could look even half as good with a few highlights and a good cut?
It’s so tempting. Except…
“It’ll cost a fortune.” And that’s not even counting how much the dress will be.
“Yes. But you won’t have to get anything done to your hair for the rest of the year.”
Since I only get my hair cut maybe three times a year, that’s hardly much of a saving, but I let it pass. “I suppose I could splurge a bit.”
And then guilt eats through me. Except for this year’s Mother’s Day, when I practically had to frog march Mum to a local beauty salon where I’d arranged for her to have a mani, pedi, and hair makeover, she’s never had her hair professionally styled, as one of her friends always cuts it as a favor. It’s another way to save money, as my dad’s never paid a penny in maintenance.
He took off when I was five to be with his girlfriend, and when I didn’t fall in with his scheme to continue to idolize him and accept her without question, he dumped me like an unwanted piece of baggage.
It took ages before Mum convinced me it was all down to him and had nothing to do with me, but sometimes…well, he’s still my dad, even if he is a shit. But I’ve not even had a single birthday card from him since, never mind anything else.
Whereas Mum’s worked two jobs just so I could go to a hideously expensive school that encouraged academic brilliance. She always says the only thing that matters is I have a fabulous career because the only one you can rely on is yourself.
It was only a couple of months ago that I managed to persuade her to give up her night job. She’s always been so paranoid about making ends meet I don’t think she realized the bursary that the university awarded me means she doesn’t need to worry as much.
I don’t really need to get my hair done, do I? Except…I really do. I push back my guilt. If I want Harry to notice me, I have to go all out. And don’t forget the dress. “You have to promise not to let my mum know, though.”
“Sure. Though that means you can’t get ready here, in case she sees you leaving.”
One of the drawbacks of living next door to your best friend, although until now I’ve never actually done anything that needed any kind of subterfuge.
“Which reminds me,” Hannah adds, “how are you getting there? Is Harry going to pick you up in a limo?”
My thought processes haven’t yet gone beyond princess hair and fairy-tale dress. “I’ve no idea. I’ll ask him on Monday. It won’t be a limo, though.”
“Why not? It’s not like he can’t afford it.”
It wouldn’t even cross his mind. He’s never flashy with his money. If I didn’t know for a fact how much Blitz is worth, it’d be easy to think Harry and Caleb were barely making ends meet.
Well, apart from their obsessive coffee habit.
“We don’t need a limo. Caleb can drive us.” I think of Caleb’s messy car, overflowing with old takeaway boxes, and frown. If I’m going to spend an obscene amount of money on a gorgeous dress, there’s no way I want it smelling of old fries. “Taxi is probably a better bet.”
...
Harry
It’s early Friday evening when I leave work and make my way home. The two-bed apartment forms part of a Grade II Listed mansion, but the main reason I bought it six months ago is because it’s only a ten-minute drive from Blitz.
I’ve just finished a shower when Caleb and some of the guys from work turn up with beer and Chinese takeaway, for a The Walking Dead marathon. We’ve been planning this weekend for a month, but for some reason I can’t focus. I keep hearing Alice telling me I can pay for her leaving party.
Like she can’t wait to leave.
“I hope you haven’t started without me.” Mackenzie’s voice drifts into what the estate agents described as the elegant drawing room, which makes a great theater and games room. My sister strolls in, balancing a large cheesecake box on her hand, and Caleb grabs it and places it on a table.
“Just starting,” Di tells her as she and Joe, a programmer Caleb’s dad recommended to us and who started work at Blitz five months ago, hold hands on one of the couches. Weird, I thought they couldn’t stand each other.
“Cool.” Mackenzie takes a prawn cracker from the bag Caleb offers her. “Hey, did you see the new aftershave ad with Lucas? He’s only wearing a pair of boxer briefs. Put me right off my lunch.”
Di twists around and hangs her arm over the couch. “Never mind about Lucas. Did Harry tell you he’s finaled in Steele’s Sexiest Geek of the Year poll?”
“Thanks, Di,” I growl. Not that I expect to keep it a big secret or anything, but being on a sexiest geek list is hardly something I want to broadcast.
Mackenzie theatrically chokes on her cracker and Caleb hovers, as though he’s worried she might need resuscitation.
“That’s hysterical,” she says when she catches her breath. “Who are these people?”
“Tweens, mostly,” Di says before joining my sister in laughing. I exchange glances with some of the guys, and they all look as flummoxed as me as to what the joke is.
“It’s an over-eighteen-only event.” Caleb hands Mackenzie a beer. “It’s good PR.”
“So you keep telling me.” I toss my sister a bottle opener. “I’m not convinced.”
“Have you told Lucas yet?” She rips the top off her bottle and takes a long swallow.
“Why would I tell him?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because he’s always hitting hot lists. I thought you’d want to let him know you can do it, too.”
It’s true our brother is always being named as one of the top-ten hottest guys in magazines I’ve never heard of, and the only reason I know is because Mackenzie feels it’s her duty to keep me informed. Lucas sure as hell never says anything, even though he thrives on all the attention from his legion of fans.
“I haven’t told you the best part yet.” Di flaps her hand to get Mackenzie’s attention. “You’ll never guess who he’s taking with him. Alice Wentworth.”
She announces Alice’s name like she’s a game show host introducing a contestant, and for some reason it rubs me the wrong way. How the hell does she know about that, anyway?
“Seriously?” Mackenzie rounds on me, and it’s obvious she’s dying to laugh. “That’s so adorable. You make such a cute couple.”
“You don’t even know her.” Too late, I realize my error. “And we’re not a couple.”
She and Di exchange a look I can’t figure out. “I’ve met Alice a few times,” my sister reminds me, which is true enough since somehow she turns up at Blitz whenever we have an in-house party, but that doesn’t mean she knows her. “I think it’s cool you’ve finally asked her out.”
What the fuck? “I didn’t ask her out.”
“Dude, you totally asked her out.” Caleb grins from a safe distance, and I glower at him. “She was so traumatized she couldn’t leave work fast enough.”
Did he have to remind me? “It’s a work thing. That’s all.”
Mac snorts. “I hope you’re making it worth her while.”
Yeah, I’m paying for her leaving party. “She didn’t want it booked as overtime.”
Mac grimaces. “You’re bloody hopeless. You don’t offer a girl overtime. You offer her a fairy-tale night she’s never going to forget.”
“Why would Alice want a fairy-tale night?” Caleb sounds bemused as Joe grabs the remote and restarts the episode.
Although I’m not sure what my sister means by it, I do want Alice to have a great time, and when it comes to dating, Mackenzie is a pro.
This isn’t a date.
“What do you suggest?” I go over to her, so there’s no chance of anyone eavesdropping. I think of Lucas and the flashy gifts I’ve seen him send to countless girls. “Two dozen red roses and a diamond bracelet?”
She stares at me as though I’ve lost my mind. I think I have.
“Don’t be a dick. Why would she want twenty-four roses? Although she might want the bracelet. But whatever.” Mac shakes her head in obvious despair. “What I mean is you need to pick her up and take her to this thing, not expect her to turn up there by herself.”
“Of course, I’m going to take her myself.” I’m kind of offended my sister thought otherwise. I’m not that much of a social fuckwit.
“Huh.” She raises her eyebrows in obvious surprise. “Okay, then. And you’re not thinking of wearing jeans, either?”
“Not helping.”
“Well, I had to ask. I don’t remember the last time I saw you in anything else.”
She falls silent, and a frown creases her forehead as though she does remember, as well as I do.
Paris. Five years ago.
I break the silence. “Thought I’d hire a tux.”
“Good idea. I’ll come with you to make sure you look drop-dead gorgeous.”
“Yeah. Not happening.”
“This is your big night. I’m not going to let you stuff it up.”
What the hell is she talking about? “It’s just an awards night, Mac. Because they like my fucking biceps.”
She smirks. “You’re so clueless. But whatever.”
Sometimes it’s like she speaks an alien language. “I can get my own clothes.”
“Harry. Lucas got the style gene. You just got the brains. And I’m the one with the PhD in shopping. I’m going with you tomorrow. All right?”
It’s not a question and we both know it. There’s even a small part of me that’s relieved, since she’ll know exactly where to go for all the crap I’ll need. But this is Mackenzie, and I need to set boundaries. “All right. But we’re only shopping for the one night. I’m not buying a whole new wardrobe.”
Her grin is pure evil. “Sure. Whatever you say.”