Chapter Two
“Are you listening to me?”
“No, because it’s the same thing every time.”
I love my mother, but she meddles. Constantly.
“Good, listen now. It’s at Tom Ford. Nancy Palmerston’s daughter is the manager. They’ve recently sacked one of the personal dressers. You need to call in tomorrow at ten. Don’t be late.”
“You’re serious?”
Tom Ford? That would be the chance of a lifetime.
“As a heart attack,”
she says drily.
“Don’t say that. It’s horrid.”
I shudder at the memory of my father’s sudden death and my mother’s matter-of-fact way of dealing with it.
“Don’t be so sensitive. I expect a call tomorrow at five, informing me you have the position. Don’t forget to tidy up your hair.”
She ends the call as she does everything—abruptly. Bloody woman. I hate it when she comes through on something for me. Then I do a little dance. Tom Ford. Fucking hell!
My best friend, Adam, walks in. “Don’t tell me you’ve found it?”
I stop mid-swirl. “What?”
“Horny Blinkers number.”
He sighs dramatically.
“His name is Ollie, and no, still nothing.”
God, I’ve been so stupid. I’ve tried everywhere to get his phone number. Why the hell did I say it wouldn’t be difficult to find him? The guy must work for MI5 and have an alias. How could I have let that gorgeous man slip through my fingers? Shorter and slimmer than me, he was so exactly my type. Dark hair that was naturally messy as if he had been running his hands through it all day. Dressed in a French navy suit that fitted him perfectly, but with his tie loosened and the top button undone, he looked as if he would be happier in casual clothes. Full lips with the perfect cupid’s bow that were made to be kissed. What I wouldn’t give to tug that plump lower lip between my teeth.
Adam claps me on the back, bringing me back to the present.
“Then what’s with the whole Beyoncé shit?”
Adam shucks out of his jacket and undoes his tie.
“Because my bat-crap crazy, pain-in-my-arse mother has me going for a job at…”
I drum my hands on the back of the sofa for effect. “Tom, ever the motherfucking god, Ford. Tomorrow at ten.”
“Wow! And your mother did this for you?”
I nod, biting my lip to hold back the shriek.
“Your mother? The woman who makes gerbils who eat their young look like good parents? She’s done this for you?”
Words have flown out of my head, so I nod again.
“Fred and Rosemary West had better…”
“Yes! I know. But she has done it.”
“Why?”
I frown. Shit, yes, why has she gone out of her way to be nice to me? “Fuck. Why do you have to ruin it? Now I owe her big time. Bollocks. If I get to work at Tom Ford’s, I don’t care if I have to fuck her bridge partner.”
“Is her bridge partner a man?”
Adam is doing a poor job of keeping his face straight.
“I don’t know.”
I throw up my arms. “I don’t even know if she plays the damn card game.”
“Huh? Isn’t it when you throw a stick over a bridge and run to the other side to see who wins?”
“What? No. That’s Pooh Sticks. Jesus, Adam. Bridge is a complicated and very unnecessary card game.”
He looks puzzled for a moment. “Oh! That makes so much more sense. My nanna told me she played it with some other olds in her retirement home. I thought it strange she’d do that.”
“Wasn’t she a High Court Judge?”
Some days I wonder how Adam, who comes from a clever family, manages to walk and chew gum at the same time.
“Oh yes, I think so. Something like that. Anyway, that’s not important. What are you going to wear?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the Tom Ford suit?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.”
The sarcasm goes over his head. He’s such a sweet man. “What shall we have for dinner?”
Adam thinking about food means the subject is closed.
Five minutes before my interview time, I walk into the store. For the most part of last night, I read up on all the reviews and studied the latest catalogue.
Now I’m up to date with the latest trends. While I take in the sharp, clean, and painfully chic store, one of the assistants is watching me. Or rather he’s checking me out, and a small smile flits on his face. Does he like what he sees? Too bad he isn’t my type. He’s cute, though.
“Can I help you?”
he asks, a sparkle in his eyes like he knows a joke he won’t share.
“I’m Kit Wells. I’m here to see Tory Palmerston.”
“Of course. Follow me, Kit.”
We walk to the back of the store, passing exquisite dark wood and glass cabinets displaying small items like cufflinks and wallets. I’m trying to look cool and unaffected, but inside, butterflies are doing a happy dance. I follow him into the staff-only section until we reach an open door. He knocks on the frame.
“Tory, your ten o’clock is here.”
He winks. “See you again, Kit Wells.”
I put on my “I’m super confident and you need me here” face.
“Kit, hi. Thanks for coming. Let’s see if you’re what I’m looking for.”
She gestures for me to sit in the leather chair in front of her desk and gives me a warm smile.
For thirty minutes, she questions me, but it doesn’t feel like the Spanish Inquisition. I answer as genuinely as possible, and when I don’t know something, I say so honestly. She seems to appreciate that. She puts her pen down and leans forward.
“I don’t do favours for my mother and her cronies, Kit, but you’ve impressed me. You know your fashion, and you know what we need here. When can you start?”
“Um, how does tomorrow sound?”
I grin, excitement bubbling up inside me.
“Perfect, can you be here for eight thirty? I’ll make sure I’ve got the right clothes for you. You look good in that suit. It’s a shame it’s last season, though. In fact, let’s go and see Jack. He can take your measurements, and you can try on some things. Any alterations needed can be done this afternoon. Come with me.”
I follow like an eager puppy. I can’t believe this is happening.
We get back on the shop floor, where Tory calls Jack over. After explaining what she wants, she says goodbye to me.
“Welcome aboard.”
Jack smiles. He’s gorgeous, but not really my type. My mind slips back to Ollie Blinkhorn, a little bit geeky, messy chestnut hair, eyes full of humour and mischief. Fuck, why can’t I find him?
I let Jack take my measurements. Then we look through the selection of suits and smart wear. I pick three outfits. Dreams do come true after all. If only I didn’t have to grovel to my mother, but hey, it’ll be worth it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,”
I say to Jack, and he gives a little squeal and hugs me.
“This is going to be so much fun. Alfonso was such a prick, but I like you. See you tomorrow.”
I float home, not being able to get the smile off my face. The other passengers on the tube cast me some odd looks, but I don’t care in the slightest. I’ve got a fantastic job.
With a sigh, I dial my mother’s number. No sense in delaying it. She would only pester me even more than she already does.
“Kit.”
Does this woman ever speak nicely?
“Yes, Mother, it’s me. I got the position and will start tomorrow.”
“And?”
God, why do I put up with this?
“And thank you.”
“See, that wasn’t difficult. I’ll see you on Sunday.”
I groan inwardly. The monthly Sunday lunch. The day I’m put under the microscope and all my failings exposed. Which of her friend’s sons will be forced into joining us? Her determination to find the right husband for me knows no end.
“Yes, Mother. I’ll see you then.”
God, I need a drink.