CHAPTER THREE #2
‘Fuck! Mary Simms is over there,’ Ottie said, her whole body stilling as she spotted the columnist. Tom knew the woman who was popular for her engagement and wedding writeups.
His ex-girlfriend, Mandy, had sometimes read her columns to him.
She’d been good at imitating Mary’s singular voice.
While they’d been amicably broken up for two years, she’d occasionally voice note him a column if it was a feisty one and they’d share a virtual laugh.
‘Tom, you must know her. You’re a writer, right?’ Ottie pressed, her gaze glued to Mary Simms like a rowdy toddler who’d just spotted a pigeon minding its own business. ‘She’s super hard to get. She won’t write about just anybody. And you can’t bribe her – my friend Tilly tried.’
Tom glanced around a little desperately. He wasn’t tipsy enough to find Seb and Ottie charming just yet. When he saw Tori and her publishing mates at what must be their table, he made a beeline for her.
‘You came,’ she exclaimed as he reached the group.
He nodded at the familiar faces around the table and picked up his name, written in swooping gold letters upon a little card. ‘I did.’
‘Any hits?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Well, start mingling.’
‘I never would have signed with you if I knew you were this aggressive,’ he teased gently.
‘Look,’ Tori sighed, ignoring him and pointing over to the bar. ‘Pepper Cousins. Socialite, richest girl in the room. Gotta be something under all of that, even if it’s just her little black book.’
He looked over at the woman in question.
Tall, slender, long brown hair. She was wearing a sparkling silver jumpsuit and was arguing with the bartender, waving her arms around theatrically.
Tom had seen her out and about, mostly at Fashion Week parties, and she was often featured in the tabloids and society pages.
He had a feeling there wasn’t a whole lot to uncover there.
Her parents owned Spritz, a luxury resort chain that had gone global.
Other than being unaware of some of her privilege, he doubted there was anything newsworthy about her antics.
He said as much to Tori, who rolled her eyes.
‘All right then, what about her friend?’
‘What friend?’ Tom inspected his sleeves for lint.
‘Her!’
Tom glanced up. As Pepper Cousins stepped away from the bar, she approached another young woman.
This one in rose-gold sequins and blonde hair streaked with pink.
Pepper leaned in to say something to her, something that made the other girl throw her head back and laugh.
It was such a genuine reaction, so full of life.
A completely unapologetic sound, like a bell ringing in a quiet chapel.
Tom frowned. He told himself to look away, but for some reason, it was hard. The friend of the heiress accepted her drink and sipped it, taking in the room with wide eyes. She watched her friend with loving indulgence as the heiress recounted a story with vaudevillian facial expressions.
She was different. There was a vulnerability and an openness to her that no one else in the room had. Tom continued to frown as he watched her, wondering why he wanted her to cast a glance over to him.
‘Oh, yeah?’ Tori said quietly, nudging him. ‘Nothing snarky to say about that one? Want to know who she is?’
‘Who is she?’
‘Would it torture you if I didn’t tell?’
‘No, I’ll just find out for myself.’
‘All right, don’t play my game,’ she said with a pout. ‘That’s Raina Lewis. She has a popular podcast. The Disability Track? A few clips from it went viral earlier in the year and Vogue did a big spread about her. It’s getting pretty hot.’
Tom was hardly listening. He was watching Raina sit down to retie the straps of her high-heeled sandals. A flash of thigh and the long fall of her hair. She glanced up to smile at Pepper while she spoke.
Tom felt a twinge. A strange urge to go straight over to her and push her hair back from her face. To be on the receiving end of that smile and her unapologetic laugh.
‘Tom Branimir,’ Tori cried indignantly, smacking him on the chest with her clutch. ‘I am contractually entitled to at least fifteen per cent of your attention.’
The bag hit his sternum and shattered whatever spell he’d been falling under.
He turned away from the woman and sat down at his table, pouring a generous glass of water for himself.
This wasn’t him. He didn’t stare at people from the other side of a dancefloor.
She was just another guest. Nothing more than that.
She was probably the least interesting lead in the ballroom.
‘Doesn’t sound like a potential story.’ He let out an exhale, refocusing on Tori.
‘They say she’s neurodivergent.’
‘Which means what?’
‘Like, she’s autistic or something. I don’t know. I’m not a fan or down with the lingo; I’m just aware of her. In a professional sense. Lots of publishing people like her. You know what this industry is like when someone different pops up. People like her aren’t exactly the norm.’
Tom frowned. He would admit that he didn’t know any openly autistic people, but he’d always been told by society and the media that they were boys who liked trains and computers and isolation.
Then again, society had never been the best judge of character.
‘Actually,’ Tori said, leaning closer to Tom and speaking with a conspiratorial tone. ‘She might be perfect for you.’
Tom almost choked on his water. ‘Perfect for me?’
‘Your book is coming together. But it’s a cynical read. Lots of bad people doing bad things. You could do with something light. Something sweet.’
Tom stole another glance at the girl with pink in her hair. ‘Something like her?’
‘Yeah! A public figure who’s doing something good, instead of something Machiavellian! Actually, the more I think about it, the more I have to insist. Do it. Do some digging on her. Put her in, if you find anything. For a palate-cleanser.’
Tom hesitated. The idea of writing about this woman for a chapter of his book clashed with how fucking attractive he found her.
Even if his final prose was glowing, it was still a weird setup.
He couldn’t let himself get too close to someone he was writing about.
His professional reputation had been built on his ability to put up a wall.
All of his subjects in the current manuscript were so morally bankrupt, he’d been immune to any charm or influence.
This case would be different. That was already certain.
She’s probably just as vapid as the other rich people in this room, he told himself. Pretty but shallow. Just as predictable as all the other subjects in his book.
‘Don’t look now,’ Pepper said to Raina as they sat down at their table. ‘But a gorgeous man is looking over at you.’
‘He’ll be admiring you,’ Raina replied immediately, obeying her friend and refusing to turn around. That was always the way when they were out together, and Raina was fine with it. ‘You look great.’
‘That’s true.’
They grinned at each other. Then Raina pressed her cold glass of soda water against Pepper’s arm, making her giggle and shriek.
When the speeches were over and the food was brought out, Raina ate Pepper’s smoked salmon as well as her own. Pepper amused the entire table with a story Raina had heard at least eight times, but she was happy to listen again. Each retelling was richer in detail than the one that came before.
She allowed herself a glance over her shoulder, curious about who Pepper had caught staring earlier on.
Her eyes landed on a man sitting just across the dancefloor.
He was tall, broad-shouldered and had a head of dark curls.
She knew it was him because he was turned around in his seat, looking right back at her.
She snapped her attention back to her own party, a little startled by the directness of his gaze.
‘Pep,’ she whispered to her friend, dabbing her mouth with her napkin so that she could surreptitiously speak from behind it. ‘Who is he and why is he staring? He looks like he wants to kill me!’
Pepper cast a quick glance back at the man’s table and she visibly blanched when she realized who it was. ‘Okay, I can’t be one hundred per cent sure, but I think it’s Tom Branimir.’
‘And he is . . .?’
‘He’s the King of Cancel Culture, babe.’
Raina snorted. ‘Is that a self-appointed title?’
‘Definitely not, but it’s a fitting one.’
‘Wait . . .’ Raina snapped her fingers, trying to jog a memory. ‘Did he write that piece on Caroline Gibbs?’
‘Yes!’
‘I read that,’ Raina said thoughtfully. ‘He really took her out. Clean kill.’
‘Well, that’s what she gets for peddling a nasty pyramid scheme, I guess,’ Pepper replied. ‘Sorry! A multi-level marketing scheme.’
‘She was a con,’ Raina said quietly. The piece had really stayed with her, and if the crimes Caroline Gibbs was accused of committing were true, then Raina would be prepared to call her a monster. ‘She told all of those parents her oils would cure their sick kids.’
‘I get it, it’s bad,’ Pepper admitted. ‘But when you actually think about it, her whole business is gone because of him. She’ll have to completely reinvent herself.’
Raina studied her friend for a moment. She knew why Pepper automatically sympathized with the rich, privileged young woman who’d lost her entire fortune. She only wished Pepper could see the evil bricks that built such an empire.
‘So he’s like the Robin Hood of print media.’
Pepper snorted. ‘I suppose. As long as you’re not his Sheriff of Nottingham.’
‘Prince John, you mean.’
‘Whatever.’
When the owner of a gossipy tabloid came over to ask after Pepper’s parents, Raina excused herself.
‘I’m getting something sweet,’ she whispered.
Her friend nodded, waving her away. Raina rose and made for the bar, trying to ignore how overstimulating the room had become.
She ordered an amaretto and was about to take her first sip when a figure appeared on her left. A little too close for comfort.