Chapter 4
“We all do stupid shit when we’re kids,” Jane croaked, her dress suddenly feeling like a corset pulled tight around her waist. This was news to Jane and Jane didn’t like news. To do her job she needed to know all the skeletons in the closet. Apparently, Sarah had been holding back on a few details.
“Stupid shit?” He lifted a brow. “There’s the smart-lipped girl from the airport. I can practically smell the bleach on your hands.”
“What does that mean?”
“One minute you’re telling me to go fuck myself, then the next you’re talking like a bloody debutante.”
“Sorry, it happens every time I have prolonged exposure to assholes.”
He laughed. She wanted to punch him. Then run and find Sarah for a WTF chat about Elle and summer camp. Because it didn’t sound like it had been all friendship bracelets and daisy chains.
According to the extensive dossier, which had been painstakingly compiled from interviews with Sarah, letters between Sarah and the real Elle, and a lot of cyber-searching—some questionable on its legality, by Roxy—and all of which Jane had memorized down to the minute detail, there had been no talk of bleach. And from the anger simmering in Henry’s eyes, he wasn’t the only asshole in the conversation.
Then those pissy slits narrowed even further. “You look different.”
Jane’s palms began to sweat, and she fought the urge to run. Instead, she went chin up, cocked a hip, and held his gaze. “It’s called cocktail attire. I don’t see your ball cap either.”
“It didn’t match the penguin suit.”
“Mine didn’t match the dress.”
“And your eyes are greener than they were before.”
“Yours still look shit brown. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re interfering with my vibe. So shoo.” She swatted at him like a pesky gnat, but he didn’t budge. “You.” She poked his pec and her finger bounced back from the stark muscle beneath the starched shirt. “Are exhausting.”
“And you aren’t as cool as you pretend to be under that cucumber facade you have going on.”
“Says the man whose watch is worth more than my car. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have bridesmaid duties to attend to that don’t include talking to a mouth breather.”
“Wait,” he croaked. “You’re the fourth bridesmaid?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No.” But his expression said differently.
“Good.” With that she spun on her heels and marched her way straight through the ballroom, around the ice sculpture and champagne tower, and disappeared. When she was certain she was out of sight she made a beeline for the bathroom.
Inside, she checked under every stall and let out a sigh when she found herself blessedly alone.
Palms sweating, heart thrashing, she looked at herself in the mirror and gasped. Her hair was coming loose, her mascara was smudged, and if she looked really closely at her shoulder, there was a light tint of strawberry blond hair dye covering it like a bad spray tan.
“Little Elle Vaughn,” she sneered into the mirror. “I’ll show you little.”
Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow she would. Tonight she was a mess. Between the jet lag, heels, and those never-ending dimples of his, she had trouble focusing on the job at hand.
But, seriously, how could any woman focus when staring into those dreamy chocolate-colored eyes? And man, she loved chocolate.
However, this was no time for distractions. She needed to be on top of her game. Which was why she called Roxy. Jane was in need of a good old-fashioned, no BS convo to get her head on straight and Roxy fit the bill. Jane never lost her cool or did something like get snippy with a guest or break character. But Henry seemed to bring out the worst in her. And he seemed to do it on purpose, which meant keeping a distance would be imperative to her mission here in London.
Roxy answered on the first ring, her raspy voice hard-edged with a Hell on Wheels vibe. “Bride Buddies, how can we make your dreams come true?”
“You’re supposed to answer like we’re a high-class bridal service company, not a biker bar.”
“If you want perky, hire a cheerleader,” Roxy said, and Jane could almost picture her friend leaned back in her chair, feet kicked up on the table, her motorcycle boots leaving marks on the desktop.
“We pull off this wedding and we won’t just hire a receptionist. We’ll hire a full staff of bridesmaids.”
Because this wasn’t just any ordinary bridesmaid-for-hire gig. Due to the last-minute nature of the job, a weeklong number of events, and Jane taking on another identity, Sarah had offered to double their fee and—if Jane pulled this off without a hitch—add an additional twenty-five percent bonus. Bride Buddies would make more money in this one job than they had all year. There was so much on the line, Jane had to be on her best game.
“I think I just had an orgasm at the words ‘Hire a receptionist.’ As for more bridesmaids, that’s your thing. I’m just here so I can hack and get paid. Now, what’s up?”
Jane rubbed her pointer finger under her eye and wiped away the fallen mascara. “I think I need an exorcism.”
“Dark magic isn’t my specialty, but let’s give it a shot. What’s going on?”
“I think I’m cursed.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
Jane turned and hopped up on the sink counter. “Seriously, everything that can go wrong has gone wrong.”
“Give me specifics.”
“It was so stuffy in the ballroom it was like a sauna, so some dye dripped onto my shoulders. I’m going to have to find a shawl to wear for the rest of the night and look like I’m some kind of granny brigade. Then I was cornered by the groomsman from hell who’s isn’t a day over eighteen, with the braces and the hormones that go with it. Then there was this guy, a real asshole.”
“Your voice changed on asshole. Let’s talk about him.” Roxy always knew how to cut straight to the point.
“There’s nothing to talk about except that he brought up a story about Elle that we didn’t know. It seems like she was a bitch back in the day. There is more to the story than just selling out Sarah to the tabloids and I need to know ASAP.”
“I’ll get on it from my end. You talk to Sarah.” She could hear fingers on a keyboard clicking away in the background.
“I will first thing tomorrow.”
“See, none of this sounds unfixable. You are the queen of fix-it, you can change a flat tire in stilettos and a Betsey Johnson in a downpour without getting a speck of dirt on anything.”
“I can’t even change out of my shoes tonight.”
“Okay, what’s really bugging you?”
“It’s not a big deal, but the asshole?—”
“I knew it. There’s more to the story. Spill.”
“I ran into him at the airport. Like physically ran into him when he tried to cut in front of the line.”
“You hate line cutters.”
“I know! But the problem is he saw me out of costume. And tonight he was suspicious, telling me my eyes are greener.”
“They are.”
“We don’t want him to know that! I played it off, but I don’t think he bought it fully.”
The clicking picked up and then complete silence. “I knew that was you at the airport!”
“What do you mean?” Jane asked, a sinking feeling bottoming out her stomach.
“Man, you were so pissed, your face is beet red.”
“How do you know about my encounter with Dickhead Darcy?”
“You mean Mr. I Just Signed a Hundred-thousand-Euro Contract, Henry Norris? There’s a video.”
Jane felt sick. “What video?”
“It’s all over social media. Even TMZ reported on it. Penalty under review when Henry Norris is caught executing an unsafe overtake while cutting in line at the airport and gets an earful from innocent passenger,” Roxy read in her best broadcaster’s voice.
“My face is plastered everywhere? This is a disaster. What if the wedding guests see it? What if past or future clients recognize me? What if they print my name in the paper?” Definitely going to be sick.
How had she not recognized him? She’d looked at his photo a thousand times in preparation for the trip. Granted, he’d had on a hat and sunglasses, a disguise of his own, she decided. But she should have noticed. It was her job to notice.
“I will keep an eye on the news and let you know if you have anything to worry about. Until then, can you avoid cameras?”
“And the douche.” He was an inconvenience. For her hormones and her career. She needed to keep a wide berth.
“I could barely recognize you with the ball cap, so you’re safe.”
She ignored this. “I knew he was trouble. He is so arrogant and egotistical and entitled and a complete bag of dicks.”
“Well, you might need to mend that fence a little. Georgia has a favor to ask.”
Georgia was one of Jane’s closest friends, who worked for a nonprofit called the Wish Foundation. She was a fairy godmother of sorts, handing out wishes to sick and terminal kids. Like Roxy, Jane had met Georgia in college, the three of them sharing a dorm freshman year, then getting their own apartment the next three years. It had been some of her best years. So if Georgia had a request, then Jane would make it happen. No matter the cost to her pride.
“How much of my ego are we talking?”
“There’s a boy who lives outside London who just had a kidney transplant, and his wish is to meet Henry Norris.”
“I thought you said my face was barely visible.”
“Maybe you could make out more than I originally implied.”
Jane groaned and pressed her palms to her eyes. “Enough that the press can ferret out who I am?”
“Maybe,” Roxy whispered with a hint of concern in her voice.
“This could ruin us.” She massaged her temples. “God, I am so stressed.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” Roxy said. “I want you to repeat these words: I am a boss bitch.”
Roxy went silent and Jane knew her friend wouldn’t let it go until she said it aloud. “Fine. I am a boss bitch.”
“That’s my girl. Now, after you’ve charmed the crowd and get back to the hotel room, there is a gift waiting.”
“A gift? Is it chocolate?”
“Better. There’s a brand-new smut book in the side compartment of your suitcase along with The Clitorator, the best vibrator money can buy. Happy endings all around for you, girl.”
“Didthe famous Henry Norris just strike out with a lady?” Jake said, casually resting his elbow on the bar top while sipping fifty-year-old Scotch from a crystal tumbler.
“Hard to strike out when you weren’t swinging,” Henry said, using American slang.
“Oh, you were swinging, whether you knew it or not,” Enzo Rossi said. He was dressed in a sleek silk tux that was made from the finest Italian silk money could buy and carried an air about him that said, Ladies, I am open for business. Please apply here for a night of unadulterated fun. Position ends when the sun comes up. Velcro women need not apply.
Enzo smacked Henry on the back. “And the miss was spectacular.”
Henry scanned the ballroom for Little Elle who wasn’t so little anymore. He’d seen a few pictures of her over the years pinned to Sarah’s corkboard. She had seemed taller, willowier. But Elle was a pint-sized pinup with all the right curves and angles. She was also an entitled trust fund globetrotter, at least from what he’d gathered from Sarah.
Henry had dated women like that. His ex had been a trust fund baby. He’d assumed that because she’d come from money, she’d love him for who he was beneath the wealth, but it had been his status she’d been after. Namely, the kind of spotlight he could provide.
When things started getting serious and he was thinking of settling down, he wanted to take things more private. His ex wasn’t having it, still wanting to live the red-carpet lifestyle. And when he grew bored with that, the arguing started and they grew distant. Until one day he read an article detailing the problems in the relationship. Details that could have only come from her. So he’d called it quits and avoided serious entanglements since.
He’d rather stay single, have casual flings with other celebs who understood, than put himself in that kind of position to get played again.
“Trust me I wouldn’t even swing the bat,” Henry lied.
He might not like her, but he loved getting under her skin. Watching the way her freckles crinkled when she got good and bloody heated. He’d pay good money to see her lose her shit, even for a second. Because he knew, just knew, that beneath that poised and prim posture she showed to the world was a hothead ready to explode. All it took was the right accelerant.
And Henry would figure out what lit her fuse because he was determined to be there when she blew. Call him a sick bastard, but deep down he had a feeling that he’d like Raging Elle a hell of a lot more than Debutante Elle.
“I haven’t seen either of you making much headway with the ladies,” Henry said, trying to take the spotlight off him.
“I don’t chase. They chase me,” Enzo said.
“The cute brunette in the corner has been eye fucking me for the past twenty minutes,” Jake said, pointing out a woman in a skintight red dress. “Just because I came stag, doesn’t mean I’ll leave alone.”
His friend wasn’t bragging, he was stating a fact. They didn’t call him Jake “Every Time” Evans for nothing. So Henry smacked him upside the head.
“Ow! What the hell?”
“That’s my cousin. What did I say? All family and bridal party are off-limits.”
Henry felt like a hypocrite. Elle was a bridesmaid, and that hadn’t stopped him from looking his fill. Or wondering what it would feel like to get his hands under all that silk.
There were a lot of perks that came with being a professional athlete. Fame, money, women, the lifestyle, but lately none of it had been as appealing as it used to be. Henry felt as if there were some kind of void in his life. Unless he was on the track, he felt a little lost. A little bored with it all. But he hadn’t been bored a few minutes ago, he’d been stimulated—and not just physically. Elle had given even better than she got, and something about that turned him on.
“That didn’t seem to apply when you were staring at Elle’s ass sway as she stormed away,” Jake said.
“Elle? So you knew she was a bridesmaid when you made the wager?”
Jake grinned from ear to fucking ear. “I thought you liked a challenge, bro.”
He looked at Jake. “Why the hell are you coming at me?”
“If it weren’t for you getting away with excessive track limits in Bahrain, golden boy, I would be world champ, and you know it,” Jake said with no heat behind his words.
“Do you want to talk about your DNF in Austin?”
Jake groaned. “The only reason I didn’t finish was because that rookie took me out in the first turn of lap one.”
“Always avoid the rookies,” Enzo said, as if they all hadn’t been taken out by a rookie or two.
But it was something Henry was going to take to heart. He’d made a rookie move back there with Elle. He had no business playing games with his sister’s friend, especially one he’d loathed. Ball-buster attitude aside, she didn’t seem like the type who would put bleach in another girl’s shampoo. Maybe she was right, and kids did do stupid things. He’d done some pretty stupid things in his youth.
Stupid, but never mean. There was a difference.
Yet nothing about Elle came off as mean. Stubborn and judgmental, but not mean. Just look at how sweet and velvety she’d been with Wayne and his family, and how special she’d made Sarah feel.
Jesus, why was he still thinking about her?