Chapter 15
LA FA?ON, MANHATTAN
‘Hey, where’s the woman?’
Luca’s hand dropped away and he turned in the direction of the man’s voice. He didn’t need to see to know who it was but this was unexpected.
‘Mr Torres,’ Luca greeted.
‘Yeah, no shit, buddy. But I’m not here for you.’
This guy was a complete jerk from his too-shiny shoes that were fide but frankly looked cheap, to whatever paste was turning his hair into dark, greasy macaroni. And he stank. Of scotch.
‘Ms Legrand isn’t here right now. Is she expecting you?’
‘Like an appointment kind of expecting me?’ Benoit asked, eyes a little crazed, demeanour definitely off.
‘Yes, like that,’ Luca answered.
‘You know who I am, right?’
Total dick. Luca smiled. ‘Of course, Mr Torres, that’s why I called you by your name. And you said “yeah, no shit, buddy”.’
‘Are you trying to be smart?’ Benoit asked, leaning a little close, not altogether unthreatening.
‘I’m just trying to do my job.’
‘Well, do your job and find me the woman who is meant to be styling me tonight.’
‘I don’t need to find her. I know where she is. She’s with another client right now. One with a scheduled appointment.’
‘Oh, is that so?’ He poked a finger towards Luca. ‘Well, buddy, you either get her here or I find myself a stylist who does want their credit on my red-carpet appearance tonight.’
The Marcello part of Luca wanted to drop this obnoxious asshole right on his asshole. But he knew how to be professional and he knew Sybille wanted this job no matter how uncompromising this actor had just become.
Luca nodded. ‘I will give her a call.’
‘Yeah, you will. And make it quick.’
* * *
‘Wow! It’s so old! What did it used to be?’
Phoebe was asking the question about the large brick building they were standing outside.
And Gabriella obviously had no answers because she wasn’t a walking encyclopaedia.
It was still freezing cold but today the sky was clear, no sleet clouds threatening more of the white stuff, for now at least. She took a sip from her bottle of water.
‘Cotton mill?’ Gabriella suggested. ‘Warehouse for bootleg alcohol from Manhattan smugglers?’
Phoebe looked at her with intrigue written in her expression until realisation replaced it. ‘You made that up, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know what the place used to be, Pheebs. I just got here, like you.’
Phoebe turned to Cheyenne whose interest had been captured by her iPad since they had got out of the cab. ‘Do you know what this building used to be when it—’
‘OK, so we need the top floor. We’re a bit early but I’m sure they can get us some coffees. Shall we go in?’ Having ignored Phoebe’s question, Cheyenne didn’t wait for anyone to say anything more before she headed towards the door.
Gabriella touched Phoebe’s arm with her free hand. ‘I will find out what this building was used for, OK?’ She smiled. ‘If we’re lucky there might even be a plaque or something that tells us.’
Phoebe smiled back. ‘It looks really old, doesn’t it? I like it.’
Gabriella looked at her niece, wearing that expression that covered her face when she got excited about something.
It was so similar to Lulu, that wonderment and innocence that came with wanting to know more about the world.
Lulu had always felt with the same intensity her daughter did.
Gabriella knew that needed to be protected, in a way it hadn’t always been with her sister.
‘Come on,’ she said, putting the cap back on her water bottle and then throwing an arm around Phoebe’s shoulders. ‘Let’s see if this stylist can get us both looking fancy.’
But before they could make it through the door, someone barrelled out, knocking into Phoebe and sending her sprawling sideways.
‘Hey!’ Gabriella yelled. It was a man, in a hurry and apparently not even turning back to say sorry.
‘Hey yourself,’ he snapped, moving down the street.
As Phoebe righted herself, Gabriella’s temper flared. ‘Oi!’ she shouted, taking steps towards him. ‘Don’t you think you should apologise?’
The man turned around and shrugged. ‘Sorry you got in my way.’ Then he turned back around and continued on his path.
Now Gabriella’s blood was boiling. Without thinking too much about it, she launched her water bottle at his retreating form and it was a direct hit.
Right on the back of his head. She was surprised at her accuracy, but it hadn’t knocked him out and now he had turned and was beginning to bear down on her, a furious expression on his face.
‘Do you know who the fuck I am?’ he snarled, leaning close.
‘Yeah, I do,’ Gabriella said, unflinching. ‘You’re the rude little fuck who just pushed my niece over and didn’t apologise. Did I miss anything out? Oh yeah, super rude little fuck.’
The man lurched forward, arm raised but Gabriella didn’t have time to react before someone else arrived and within milliseconds, the rude guy was pressed up against the wall of the building by his throat. Gabriella watched the scene. The taller guy had dark curly hair that looked oddly familiar.
‘I am only gonna say this once, OK? Leave. Right now. And do not come back to this studio. Ever.’
‘I am calling the police—’
The rude man stopped talking. He seemed to be unable to get his breath, the taller guy’s hand tight to his throat, all strong, long fingers pinching. White Knight.
‘Are we done?’ the taller man asked as Rude Man went a puce colour. ‘Because if I’m not hearing an apology for Ms Felix when I put you down we can stay here until you fall down. Your choice, Mr Torres.’
Ms Felix. He knew her name? Mr Torres? In quick succession Gabriella’s eyes went from White Knight to Rude Man. Benoit Torres. The actor?
There were choking sounds and then Benoit’s feet hit the sidewalk and right away he was rubbing his throat with his hands before finally looking at Gabriella.
‘Sorry,’ he said, gruff and weak.
And then Gabriella got a good look at the White Knight. Definitely recognisable now. It was the guy from the restaurant yesterday. And then he was stepping towards her, the hand that had been around Benoit Torres’s throat outstretched in offering.
‘Good morning, Ms Felix,’ he greeted with a smile. ‘I’m Luca Manning. Your stylist.’
What. The. Fuck.