Chapter 9
9
After tonight, there were only two after-show parties to cater for and George was glad. She hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in ages and she was getting sick of the pressure of creating a culinary masterpiece every day. It wasn’t something she liked to rush; it was usually something she had time to plan for. Tonight, it was salmon canapés with chive mustard butter. They were good, but she was too exhausted to care what anyone thought of them. And she was still so angry about Quinn and his utter arrogance. Jonesy, the soldier, had copped a punch, not because he thought he could get away with touching her but because she’d been so mad about Quinn. She hadn’t been that furious for a long time and she didn’t like it. It showed a lack of control and it was a reminder of the old George. The George who started fights in pubs and played pool for money. So tonight, to save herself from karate-kicking Quinn in front of a room full of people, she was hiding in the kitchen.
She had sent Helen out to be the face of Finger Food with Marisa, Adam, Tom, Alison and Curly Shirley assisting her with distribution. She had put herself in charge of preparation, because this way, she didn’t have to be nice to people when she really didn’t feel like it and she didn’t have to even set eyes on Quinn Blake.
When they had got back to her house after the Army party, Adam had called, gushing about his time with Quinn. Apparently, he had played every guitar Quinn had available and the ridiculously expensive grand piano Quinn played in the gigs every night. Quinn had apparently played him a song he was working on and Adam had made a suggestion about incorporating a violin part. Quinn had thought it was a great idea. They had worked together on the section and then Quinn had picked up a violin, played the part and it had brought the whole song together. In fact, George had been so entirely sick of hearing the name ‘Quinn’ by the end of the conversation, she thought she might vomit if she ever heard it again in her life.
She was pleased Quinn hadn’t let Adam down though and glad Adam had enjoyed himself. She knew he would be glowing from this experience for a long time to come. Unlike her. She would be annoyed with herself for a good long while, wondering why she had momentarily fallen for the charms of a superficial pop star who treated people like pawns on his celebrity chessboard.
‘Empty tray,’ a voice spoke.
‘OK, put it down. I’ve got another platter of salmon and chicken if you just hang on a second,’ George said, putting the finishing touches to the tray she was decorating.
‘I can wait,’ Quinn replied.
George looked up and saw him standing in the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his jeans, a plain, black t-shirt hugging his all-too-moulded chest.
‘What are you doing here?’ George questioned angrily.
‘Just helping out.’
‘Well we don’t need any help. Where are my staff?’ George enquired.
‘Listening to Belch rock out to one of my songs,’ Quinn answered.
‘I don’t pay them to join in with the party; I pay them to serve,’ George replied .
‘Are you angry?’ Quinn enquired, looking at her with interest.
‘Yes!’ she answered.
‘Why?’
‘Lots of reasons.’
‘Such as?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘I think it is. This is my party, after all,’ Quinn reminded her and he moved nearer so she could no longer avoid looking at him.
‘You’re engaged,’ George stated, staring him straight in the eye.
‘Yes,’ he replied nonchalantly.
The matter-of-fact tone to his voice, coupled with the devastatingly handsome jaw line, was enough to irk her into action. George slapped him hard across the face and then let out a gasp, realising what she’d done. Before she could put her hand back down, Quinn grabbed hold of it and gripped it tightly in his.
‘Spend the night with me,’ he said his eyes meeting hers.
‘You’re getting married! I’m not stupid enough to think you want me for more than a bit of fun, but I won’t do that!’ George shouted.
She was trying desperately to ignore her racing heart as he gripped her hand. His palm was warm, he was so close to her she could feel his breath on her face, smell the musk on him. It was intoxicating.
‘Spend the night with me,’ he repeated, unfazed.
‘No,’ George answered through dry lips.
‘I’m not going to stop asking,’ Quinn told her, still looking at her with his intense eyes.
‘And I’m not going to stop saying no,’ George assured him in as strong a voice as possible.
‘Yes, you are,’ Quinn answered with a smug smile.
George swallowed and looked at him looking at her. Her head was starting to spin. She hated him, didn’t she? She despised him for being the philanderer he was. Then why was there nothing else she wanted to do more than spend the night with him? She wanted to let him undress her, touch his lips on every single part of her. She wanted sex with him: hard, fast, dirty sex. It was like he was infectious and although she wanted to be immune, she definitely wasn’t.
The door flew open and Marisa stomped in, carrying two empty platters. George hurriedly moved away from Quinn and picked up the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be a rolling pin.
‘Oh. My. God, like you totally missed Belch doing a whole rock guitar version of “Mine”. He was like totally ace and…Oh. My. God,’ Marisa said as she dumped the platters on the work top and suddenly noticed Quinn was standing in the kitchen.
‘So, salmon is Michael’s thing, not mine. I don’t want to see another salmon canapé tomorrow night, d’you understand?’ Quinn said to George in a manner appropriate to a telling off.
‘Yes, of course, I understand,’ George replied, playing along.
‘Hello, er Mr Blake, I’m Marisa. I’m like one of your biggest fans and…’ Marisa began.
‘Hi Marisa. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. No more salmon,’ Quinn said, wagging a finger at the young girl.
‘Salmon sucks,’ Marisa replied with a hasty nod, her face glowing with embarrassment.
Quinn left the room and George let out a sigh of relief. He only had to look at her and a part of her melted; it was like a personal global warming crisis.
‘Oh. My. God! He hated the salmon! But everyone else loved the salmon; it’s almost all gone. I can’t believe he came into the kitchen to tell you he hated the salmon. I mean, him , himself, not like just sending someone to tell you. He actually told you in person,’ Marisa gabbled .
‘Yeah, fancy that. The personal touch,’ George replied with a nervous swallow.
‘Why are you holding a rolling pin?’ Marisa enquired.
She knew about Taylor. Well, it was inevitable wasn’t it? Taylor had them featured in as many magazines as she could get access to. Brand Blake! That was a fucking joke!
He put a hand to his cheek and felt the heat. She’d done a good job of slapping him, his face was stinging, but bizarrely, it was really turning him on.
‘Ah, there you are! I was almost thinking of sending out a search party for you. Timothy Moulineux from Ultimate Guitarist magazine, could you give him a few moments?’ Michael asked, taking hold of Quinn’s arm.
‘Sure, lead on,’ Quinn said, taking a breath.
For once, the party was wrapped up before 3.00a.m. George sent Helen, Marisa, Alison and Curly Shirley off in a taxi and that left her, Adam and Tom to finish loading the van. With three of them, it didn’t take too long and then it was time for Adam and Tom to make the long drive back to university.
‘Now, are you sure you’re not too tired to drive?’ George asked as Adam put his beanie hat on and prepared to get in the driving seat of his Fiat Panda.
‘I’m sure, plus it will be better driving through the night – less traffic,’ Adam assured her.
‘OK, well, just take care won’t you and Tom, can you sing to him or something? Keep him awake,’ George ordered, looking in on the other youth.
‘He won’t need to sing. I’ve got the CD me and Quinn made this afternoon. I haven’t been able to stop listening to it; it’s only one track but he says he’s going to credit me on the CD, as a writer,’ Adam informed her proudly.
‘Well that’s great but, you know, don’t be upset if that doesn’t happen; you know how these things are,’ George spoke.
She couldn’t believe a word he said no matter how he made her feel in the knicker department.
‘You worry too much, George. By the way, Quinn’s dead impressed with Finger Food. He talked quite a lot about you,’ Adam remarked.
‘Well, let’s hope he tells all his celebrity friends. I could do with the business,’ George answered quickly.
‘I’d better go, promised I’d ring Mum when we got back and you know she won’t sleep until I do,’ Adam said, getting into the car.
‘Yeah, well don’t drive too fast and text me when you get there too,’ George told him.
‘OK, see you,’ Adam said.
‘Bye,’ George replied, closing the door for him.
She watched him start up the car, reverse out of the parking space and drive off up the road, waving to her. She swallowed as the car went out of sight. She had enjoyed spending time with him, even if they had been working for most of it. It had been nice to just have him around, although it always reminded her just how much she missed him.
‘George Fraser,’ a deep, male voice spoke.
George spun around quickly and was confronted by a rotund, black man wearing dark trousers and a black puffa jacket. Ordinarily, he would have looked quite like a mugger not to be messed with, given his size and slightly scary voice, but he knew her name and he was holding out an envelope to her.
She took the envelope and looked back to the man for some sort of explanation. However, he had already turned away from her and was making his way back to wherever he came from.
George ripped open the envelope and took out what was inside. There was a plastic, credit-card-shaped item and a sticky yellow note attached to it which read:
Highgate Hotel Suite One – Qx
It was a hotel key card.
George looked at the card and the note and a shiver of excitement ran through her, like it did whenever she thought about Quinn or whenever he was anywhere near her. He was dangerous, he was spontaneous, he had complete disregard for anyone but himself. He may be engaged but he was everything she looked for in a man and hadn’t been able to find since Paul. He was unreliable, he couldn’t be trusted but he made her feel unbelievably alive.
She dropped the keys to the van in her haste to get inside it and it was enough to make her stop and think. She disliked him, didn’t she? The way he was so cocksure of himself, so confident of his ability to woo her, or was disliking him part of the thrill? She may not agree with how he behaved, but she couldn’t deny she still wanted him. She got into the van, closed the door and started the engine. She knew where the hotel was.