Chapter 1 #2
So yes, my favourite horror film is me declaring my undying love for Rory Wallace after he kissed me, agreeing to wait for him whilst he trained to represent his country and hiding the fact I was head over heels for him from my family on his instruction (this should have clued me in right there to be honest) only to have him ghost me after he won the match.
Ghost me. It was humiliating, and I couldn’t even complain to my family as they were totally in the dark about it all.
My brother was still mates with the man.
“Thank you, Gok Wan, for that wonderful fashion advice,” I said through a forced smile. “I shall look into flats for my next event, but I fear eye contact may be a problem with most people if I eschew the heels completely. How’s the weather up there, by the way?”
Rory didn’t crack a smile, forced or otherwise.
I decided to soldier on. We were being filmed, and I had a job to do.
Steve, my cameraman, gave me an encouraging pat on the back, and I straightened my spine.
For some reason, Rory transferred his scowl to Steve after he laid his hand on me, and his expression darkened, which was impressive as I didn’t think it could get any darker.
It seemed his hatred extended to my entire team. Good to know.
“So, Contribution to Rugby Youth Award, you talented man. Excited to be here?”
Rory grunted and pulled on his collar, clearly not comfortable in his formal wear. “Excited? To be in this monkey suit and have to talk to you lot? No likely.”
I flinched at those verbal blows. What was wrong with him?
We were on the red carpet at an event which was supposed to be fun.
It was in aid of the charity he supported.
I was doing my bloody job. There was a camera pointed at him right now, recording an interview that I would no doubt have to dump.
Honestly, when would he let his resentment go? I didn’t even do anything wrong. And it was him who broke my heart. If anyone had the right to be a grumpy bitch in this situation, it was me.
“Right, Incredible Hulk,” snapped Josh as his latest interviewee moved on and he turned to Rory. “Off you fuck. Nobody but me speaks to Powerpuff like that.”
“Powerpuff?” Rory said in confusion, staring at Josh like he was a creature from outer space.
“You don’t deserve to breathe her air, big man,” Josh told him.
“You should be begging to walk through hellfire to drink her bath water, not behaving like you’ve got a stick lodged up your arse.
I may not be built like a brick shithouse, but I bitch-slapped my way out of a fight with a six-foot queen in a gay bar in Vauxhall yesterday, and queens in Vauxhall are way scarier than you could ever be.
So off you go to hang out with your little rugby dickheads and leave Lady Sterling alone. ”
Rory was staring at Josh throughout this little speech.
At first, he’d bristled, especially when Josh had put his arm around me halfway through, but for some reason, at the mention of gay bars, his scowl softened and the corners of his mouth turned up in something that may have almost passed for a smile.
“Okay, chief,” he said through his almost-smile, holding his hands up as he backed away. “Ye can stand down.”
“Stand down from what?” A tall brunette in a stunning floor-length black dress came up next to him and took his arm.
My chest tightened. Her effortlessly understated style was the total opposite of mine: soft make-up, chic up-do, only a hint of cleavage showing – nothing vulgar, as Granny would say.
Now my girls were hard to miss, and I’d long since given up trying to minimise them. I was the Dolly Parton to her Princess Catherine. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Dolly, but after the withering looks from Rory, I was for once wishing I could manage a more regal vibe.
Still having a crush on Rory Wallace was ridiculous. The man hated me.
I shook my head to clear it and reached for my game face.
“Thanks, Josh,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ve got it from here.”
Josh gave my shoulder a squeeze and Rory another scowl before moving to his own mark. Bless him. By leaping to my defence, he’d probably missed a couple of interviews already.
“Miss Hawthorne,” I put in, and when Rory’s plus one turned to me, I was proud that I managed a smile.
It wasn’t her fault that she could channel royalty and bag a man that my demented brain fantasised about running off the rugby field covered in mud and shagging me before I gave him the chance to shower.
That was my dysfunction. “You’re here to support Mr Wallace? ”
“You don’t have to answer her,” Rory muttered to Maggie Hawthorne, who frowned at him.
“Why wouldn’t I answer her?” she asked, seeming bewildered, then turned to me with a smile.
“Poppy Sterling,” she gushed. “I watch your interviews.”
“Oh dear. Bad luck,” I said my standard reply with a mock grimace.
Aside from interviewing celebs at red carpet events, I also booked them for one-on-one interviews which were conducted in one of the pods of the London Eye.
It was perfect really, if a bit high pressure due to the thirty-minute time constraint.
We called it Pod Dates with Poppy and posted the interviews on my YouTube channel.
It was way more successful than I could ever have predicted, and over the last few years my Pod Dates had branched out from UK-based celebs to international stars.
But however famous the celebs were, they all got the same pod and the same thirty minutes.
She laughed. “No! You’re so funny and really insightful.
” She stepped closer then, ignoring Rory, who clearly wanted to move on.
“I actually think you’re terribly clever.
” She tilted her head to the side as she studied me.
“The way you use humour to help people open up. And you make all of your subjects feel special. That’s a real talent. ”
I blinked up at her, thrown for a moment, but as I always did, I recovered quickly. “Wow. Please don’t tell me you’re a beautiful, intelligent, famous political correspondent who’s also really nice. Give us something to hate, for God’s sake.”
Maggie laughed. Even that was understated and beautiful. When I laughed, there was invariably actual snorting involved.
“Good luck tomorrow, by the way.” The whole country knew about Maggie’s upcoming interview with the Prime Minister.
Maggie smiled. “Thanks. Maybe you should come along with me? I’d probably get a lot more out of him that way.”
Rory grumbled something next to her, and she shot him an irritated look.
“Yes, yes, okay, Rory. I’m coming. Lovely to meet you, Poppy.”
I breathed a sigh of relief as they moved on, but unfortunately, that relief was short-lived.
“Oh bugger,” I murmured as I spotted Alastair Roxburg through the crowd, headed towards us.
He was another Scottish rugby player, but the type of Scotsman who didn’t have a broad accent like Rory.
His family owned a castle near Edinburgh but spent most of their time in London.
Alastair went to boarding school in England, and his accent was as posh as mine.
The Sterlings and the Roxburgs knew each other (just as most aristocratic families did in the UK) and attended a lot of the same events.
Alastair had always given me a creepy vibe.
He was objectively handsome, but quite frankly an arse.
He made cruel jokes at other people’s expense.
He’d made my cousin Lola cry at her debutante ball after wondering out loud why they didn’t “apply a weight limit to the posh birds they truss up in white for these things.” And he was so arrogant that my repeated rejections over the years had gone down like a tonne of bricks each time, with him even asking me once how long I was going to be a “tedious cock tease” when I knew he was the most logical choice, seeing as he was in his own words, “practically Scottish royalty.”
Unfortunately, as loathsome as he was, the man was talented on the rugby field and was part of the squad for the Scottish team in the World Cup (although Alastair was actually on the bench as a sub for Rory’s position).
After my disastrous interview with Rory, Alastair had cornered me in the chaos and told me I was better off without “that low-life, Braveheart-wannabe peasant” and asked if I wanted to fuck him instead.
I certainly did not, and I made that clear by kneeing him in the balls so that he would let go of my arms.
I’d managed to successfully avoid the man over the last five years, and I had no idea what he was doing here now. I doubted Alastair was in the running for any accolades unless there was a Biggest Bellend in Rugby award I didn’t know about.
“Ah, my old friend, the lovely Poppy,” Alastair drawled as he stopped in front of me, his gaze sweeping me from head to toe, making me feel a little bit sick.
I held back an eye roll and forced myself to smile as I looked up at his arrogant face.
“Mr Roxburg,” I said through gritted teeth, holding my microphone so tightly that my knuckles turned white, and shuffling back as far as I could with the banners and Steve behind me.
“Mr Roxburg?” he said, his eyes wide with mock surprise. “Come on, Poppy darling. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Let’s not dwell on formalities.”
Before I could dodge away from him, he leaned right in, kissed my cheek and grabbed me around the waist so that my body was flush with his. Then, out of view of the passing celebrities and my cameraman, his other hand came up under my short skirt and grabbed my arse.
I let out a muted scream and pulled away to take a couple of shaky steps back, running into Steve, who had to catch me before I stumbled.
Now, I was usually a fairly good advocate for myself, but in that moment, I simply didn’t know what to do.
We were in the middle of the red carpet.
Interviewing and flirting with celebrities was my career, and there were hundreds of people around us.
I wasn’t in any danger, but my heart was still hammering, and my face felt like it was on fire.
Alastair was smiling his shark’s smile down at me as he tilted his head to the side.
“Oh, come on now, Poppy. We’re all friends here, aren’t we? I know how friendly you can be.”
What was the slimy git talking about? I’d never even kissed him.
He chuckled and lifted a hand up towards my face. I flinched back from him, wobbling on my heels again. When I opened my mouth to call out to Steve, suddenly Alastair’s hand was gone.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, mate?” snapped Rory, who seemed to expend very little effort grabbing Alastair’s arm and pulling him back several feet away from me.