Chapter 5
chapter five
the bitch wears prada
In the few times I’d been out of the townhouse since December, I’d always felt like I was being watched.
It didn’t matter where I was, if the girls were with me, or whether I was all alone in my room. My heart was constantly in my throat. The skin on the back of my neck went icy. And I was forever looking over my shoulder, waiting for my gut to tell me I was right.
It was the same today when I woke up. It was the same when I was talking to that guy on the porch whose name I’d already forgotten while he droned on with an out-of-date apology. And it was the same now, even with the blacked-out windows of the car Louellen had sent.
Relax, Cora. You’re safe, you’re fine, and he’s not here.
My pulse had only been getting quicker with every mile closer I got to the office, only slowing when I stepped into the lift that took me to the floor that my talent agency occupied.
But even then, I’d somehow convinced myself that the camera in the top left corner was meant for me, placed there when they listened into my phone call, knowing I’d be here.
I lifted my tortoiseshell sunglasses as I reached the desk, offering a tiny smile to the blonde receptionist.
“Cora Holland,” She looked up at me with a toothy smile. “I’m here to see—”
“Cora!”
Before I could so much as turn around to see her, Louellen wrapped her arms around me. It felt like a hug I’d imagine someone who’d been missing for decades would receive.
“You look so well!” She urged as she squeezed my hands, her thick, mousy blonde braids shimmying over each shoulder.
“Thank you, Lou,”
“Can I get you anything before we head in?” She snaked an arm around my shoulder, and walked me in the direction of the conference rooms.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got any Earl Grey left, do you?” I put on my best ‘pretty please’ grin. “I’d kill for a cup of tea.”
Louellen led me into the kitchen as she made my tea, or tried to. I was very anal about my brews, and so far I’d only entrusted Daisy to make them properly. She had the milk ratio down to a T. Unlike Goldie, who seemed to think there was a milk shortage in the city, and we had to ration ours.
Rory was nearly there; she just forgot to add the tea bag most of the time; bless her.
But Louellen was a natural.
“When are you due to head back to Liberty?” Louellen broke the silence between the dings when the spoon hit the porcelain.
My eyes locked on hers, guilt veiling them as I picked at the fading purple polish on my nails. “Today.”
Her eyes turned to globes. “What? What do you mean today?” She whipped around quick as anything to chuck the bag in the bin, then pinned me with a stare as she grabbed the milk.
My head rolled from side to side, my face scrunching. “I mean… I may or may not have pardoned myself from my afternoon classes.”
These brown globes narrowed as she poured the perfect amount of milk. “Cora.”
I pulled my head back in a jerk, my smile thinning. “Do I get points for going to my morning ones?”
She shook her head, as a beam of sun from the late afternoon golden hour struck through the room. But her smile told me that I could tell her I’d carry on missing them, and she’d still never push me to go.
“Look, if it’s what you feel like you have to do, then I support you. You know that, right?”
I nodded, taking a sip of—Oh God, that was a good tea. My smile grew. “I know.”
Half of her smile lifted. “But that being said, I’m also not going to let you hole yourself up in your room for eternity. Getting out, back into society, might help you feel okay with going back to your classes.” She shrugged. “It’s baby steps.”
I angled my head, rolling my eyes. “You say baby steps, I hear launch parties for brands that want my following, not my opinions.”
She waved me off as she hopped down from the counter.
“Okay, A, I had a call from Prada this morning that want you to attend some launch party at the weekend.
That's the brand.” I spun around on my stool to face her, finding her leaning against the wall, legs crossed over casually.
“And B, all these events just mean you're one step closer to getting invited to a certain gala.” Her face was all smug. “You know, Nouvelle Muse, the event where literally everyone in the art world will be, and you’ll have a chance to show off what you actually care about to the best of the best?”
I loved this woman. Hated when she was right, though.
I nodded, trying hard not to let her see how happy I was that she was right. “I know.”
The Nouvelle Muse Gala was the event for anyone who lived for art. One night where the world’s best gathered under glittering lights, balancing champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres while debating whether art was political.
(It was. Obviously.)
But for me, the gala was more than small talk and spectacle. It was opportunity. It was just another reason I yearned for this city.
Each year, the Nouvelle committee, made up of art icons, selected five emerging artists to showcase their work, auction it off, and step into the industry for the first time.
And for one, the one they believed held the most promise, came the ultimate reward: a three-year scholarship to any art school of their choice.
I’d applied every year since being in the US, but I’d never heard back. Ever. I’d try again this year, like I always did, but it was becoming clearer that maybe the only way I was getting into this event was being invited to post about it, not as a prodigy.
I brought my eyes back into focus, landing on Lou, nodding softly. “Shit launch parties it is then.”
“Atta girl.” She sighed, dropping her folded arms as her face softened. “Which leads me on to the next matter.”
Sarcasm masked my smile. “I’d rather not.”
“Ha. Like you have a choice.” She grabbed my hand. “Like hell I’m sending you out into the world unprotected.” I grabbed the mug as she pulled me from my stool and through the door back out into the hallway. “Who that protector is? Totally up to you. Not having one? Not gonna happen.”
I shrugged, taking another sip as I followed in step behind her. “I’m starting to think that I just need some self-defence classes and I can protect myself. Everyone is scared of Londoners back home.”
She flicked a braid over her shoulder as she looked back at me.
“But this is New York. New Yorkers are scared of New Yorkers.” She looked back ahead of her, stopping just before she walked through the door we landed at.
“Besides, as much as I trust you to kick anyone’s ass who dared try and attack you again, I think this guy is willing to do more than that if someone so much as looks at you the wrong way. ”
My eyes rolled as she opened the door, light spilling into the hallway. “Ha. Yeah. I very much doubt that—”
As my eyes adjusted, that’s when I saw him.
Him him.
He was just the same. Dark hair. Almost black eyes. Overly tall frame. Same wicked smile I’d seen not four hours ago.
And… yeah. Okay. My stomach apparently liked dropping whenever I laid eyes on this guy. I know it shouldn’t, but I dare you to look at him and not have your stomach drop.
My brain couldn’t compute fast enough to turn my thoughts into actual words before Louellen spoke. “Cora, this is Marcus.” She looked back at me. “Head of Romano Security.”
I glanced from her, to Marcus, then back to Louellen. But her gaze had shifted, lingering on Marcus, sweeping over him as subtly as she could.
Not that it mattered. His eyes never left mine.
That stare made my heart pound, and I couldn’t tell if it was safety I felt, or fear. Maybe both. My thoughts scattered in eight thousand directions at once, and I couldn’t catch a single one.
I felt the mug slip from my hands, only losing a bit of tea before catching it. “You okay?” Louellen whispered to me.
I nodded, even though I wasn’t. “Yeah. Fine.” My eyes were back on Marcus.
Why was he even here? Why had he been at the house this morning? Did Louellen know he’d come to see me?
Out of nowhere, he walked over, reaching me in no less than three slow strides. He held out his hand, caked in tattoos. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Holland.”
Guess that answers whether Louellen knew about this morning.
Wariness smothered me as I reached out my hand and lowered it slowly until it met his.
The only thing I felt when our palms cupped was warmth.
The kind of warmth that shouldn’t belong to a man with such a menacing persona.
The shake was slight, enough for me to recognise the callouses.
And like he saw the moment I did, a small, knowing smirk curled up his mouth.
And that alone was enough for the memories to flood me, and my hand to drop from his like a cannonball.
My hands returned to the safe, non-menacing warmth I got from my mug and deemed that a better substitute, as my eyes fell to Louellen. “Exactly how much say do I have in who my guard is?”
Her eyes darted from Marcus back to me, probably wondering why I hadn’t replied to him yet. “You have the say, Cora.” Her eyes flew over Marcus once more, before returning to me. “But why don’t we sit down and see why Mr Romano put himself forward for the job?”
Put himself forward?
Who the fuck was this guy?
I pinned Marcus with my stare, trying with everything I could to figure out this stranger.
After another subtle sweep of his… who was I kidding…
gorgeous features, I couldn’t find it. Couldn’t find anything.
Nothing other than shadows and question marks and a smirk that made me wonder whether he was enjoying watching me trying to figure him out.
My eyes dipped to his chest, focusing on the silver chain that hung right in the middle, before darting back to his eyes in a rapid motion. “Alright.” I breathed, and had to contain my eye roll as he stepped to the side and stretched out his arm out for me to glide past.