Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1 (29 page)

I follow her down the hall. Somehow I walk more gracefully, holding myself upright. I feel like a golden statue carrying an important message. The message.

Someone hands me a refreshing fruit smoothie and I gulp it down gratefully, in one go. I never realised how much decision making goes into one simple make up session. At home I just use a little eyeliner and mascara; some gloss on my lips. Jack even reacts to that badly, wiping it away with his thumb. How will he respond to me in full war paint?

“Essentially I want to focus on your natural colouring and the clothes you’ll be wearing. What are you planning for this evening?” The make-up artist does a short consultation before commencing work.

I think about the red dress hanging in the bedroom. “It’s elegant. The full works,” I tell her. “And red. Valentino Red.”

Melanie whistles. “The real McCoy?”

I nod.

“Classy. That means we must go bold.” She knows her fashion. She gets a picture up on the internet and I confirm the shade.

“Must we?” Again I remember Jack’s negative reaction to a little slick of lip gloss. I picture him holding my face over the sink and scrubbing off all her efforts with a hot wet flannel as soon as we get home. It could kind of ruin the moment.

I’m beginning to understand the subtle level of control Jack wields and I suspect what I’ve seen might only be the tip of the ice mountain. For a second I recall the vajazzle. The message. Perhaps I should forget the whole idea? My confidence waxes and wanes moment by moment.

“Don’t you fret, poppet, you’re young. I won’t be trowelling it on. But if the colours on your face are too subtle you’ll look washed out next to that dress. It’ll take you over. You want people to notice you, not the dress, don’t you?

“Not too sure about that.” Fading into the background sounds far less dangerous. Yet she knows what she’s talking about. Suddenly that dress becomes my nemesis: the tiger standing between me and the cage door. Either Jack’s purchase will rip me to ribbons or I’ll find the courage to tame it. It’s going to be the latter.

“I’ll trust your judgement.” I think I’d better warn her about Jack though. “But I think my date prefers a more natural look.” It’s the most diplomatic way I can put it which has me pondering how much he actually prefers me for being me and not something I’m not, despite all the accoutrements.

“Mr Keogh? Yes I suppose he does.” She sounds pensive.

Her words sucker-punch me. Are all the staff here on close acquaintance with the infamous Jack Keogh? Just how many women has he delivered to be transformed into something fit for his consumption? It’s wishful thinking to believe he has any special interest in me so why do I keep kidding myself?

“Don’t worry.” Melanie places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Yeah, she knows Jack all right. “We’ll get this right for you. Keep talking to me about your ideas and we’ll reach an understanding that works. This is about you, remember. Not about any man.”

That supportive comment alone shows she knows what he’s like, better than I thought but what do I expect? He’s had years without me in it. And at his own admission Jack is no monk, except, it would seem, when it comes to me. The thought depresses me. A few seconds ago I felt pampered, taken care of, but now I realise I’m not unique. Just one in a long line of women he’s thrown money at. I feel I might as well plaster myself in slap like a cheap whore and really scare him off, back to whoever he last came from.

“Thanks.” I close my eyes and let her start the foundation.

Two nail technicians work on my hands to finish in time. It’s quite exhausting getting ready to go on a date with Jack. I’m glad he suggested I sleep for a couple of hours. I have a sneaking suspicion the night could prove daunting.

“I have false eyelashes ready, but do you know, I don’t think you’ll need them. Yours are naturally long and thick.”

One less thing for me to worry about or for Jack to take exception to, I suppose.

“Black eyeliner, a few coats of smoky black mascara and a lash curl will be all that’s needed. Your brown eyes look fabulous.”

They do. They look bigger, darker, bolder. And can I admit it? Sexier. I look like I’m begging for it which is probably true, all things considered.

We get to the lips. “Can we go nude?”

“You’ve full lips and I’ve really gone to town on those beautiful eyes.” Melanie rubs her forefinger across my lower lip. It’s almost exactly what Jack did to me earlier. “I think nearly nude lips will work fine. A little sheer colour stain perhaps.”

I decline red in favour of French polish on my nails and finally I’m done so I change back into my clothes again. Now if I can just do something with my hair, I’ll give that dress a run for Jack’s money. I’ve never appeared so polished in my life. I wonder what Jack will make of the new, more sophisticated me.

Tabitha Caid, all grown up.

He’s standing with his back to me at the reception desk, talking to staff and paying my bill with his black AmEx as I emerge. I observe the ease he conveys for a moment before noticing all the girls that have worked on me are right there in reception too. I know instantly they haven’t come out to see me off. They’re here for him.

He charms them and they flirt back. It’s such a pretty scene which I find really painful to watch. I see the effect he has on women. Other women. The same effect he has on me. Jack Keogh is used to being courted and worshipped. No wonder he finds my pathetic little adoration so forgettable. My confidence takes another nose-dive.

As if he’s aware I’m standing behind him, he turns slowly and our eyes meet. Everything stops. We stare at each other. When he smiles my relief is pitiable. I must pass muster.

Even Jasmine and Sally are all teeth and tits around Jack. I feel almost like a woman betrayed. At least they stop falling all over themselves after I arrive. Jack holds out his hand and I walk towards him, obedient as a puppy. He turns me around for a three sixty view in front of everyone and whistles, making my cheeks burn.

Leaning forward, he whispers in my ear. “You look spectacular. You’d better not be out of my sight for a minute tonight. Or else.”

Or else what? He flatters as easily as he threatens. It’s clever and deceptive. You don’t know which you’re really getting. He drops a kiss on my perfectly matt cheek.

When I hear a collective sigh I’m thrown. They think he’s being romantic and I don’t like it. I don’t like that he can instigate this green-tinged fiend in me quite as often as he does. He isn’t mine.

Jack pulls out a thick wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and peels off a hefty wodge of notes. They’re fifties, I notice, surprised. He waves them before him for a second, like dead fish flopping in his grip, then slaps them on the desk. There must be hundreds of pounds there. The service tip. It’s not that I begrudge the technicians the money for a moment. I simply have pause at what it represents for me.

“I hope I’m worth every penny,” I hiss meanly, my back to the women.

His eyes narrow on me for a second but I don’t care. He’s made me feel like an escort. I’m sorry I’ve respected his feelings so much and gone for the nearly nude lips and understated nails now. I wouldn’t mind those thick false eyelashes either, to flash at him.

Jack shields his irritated reaction instantly and turns all his charm back on the women again. They’re utterly smitten by their playboy Adonis and thank him profusely. I’m riled to see how often their hands lightly touch him in supposed gratitude.

“Go wild girls. Let your hair down and live it up this weekend. You’re only young once.”

That last comment really stings. I’m only young once too, yet Jack won’t countenance me going wild, letting my hair down. Look how he reacted when I got a little bit drunk. He won’t even tolerate me wearing lip gloss for God’s sake and I’m probably younger than all of them. I feel hurt by his double standards.

If I should feel grateful for Jack’s generosity, I don’t. Not anymore. He’s a controlling man who only wants to humiliate me. He doesn’t care I have feelings too. He propels me from the shop. My better nature and decent upbringing get the better of me and I turn and thank the staff at the last minute. None of this is their fault.

They call after me to wish me a great night. Just before I leave, I see Sally wink at me. I suddenly can’t help but be grimly amused. I clamp my lips together in case I smile. Jack might think I’ve forgiven him. I’m totally glad I thought of the message now. In your face, Jack. It will be. Thinking about the reveal is gratifying.

Which must be evident when Jack looks at me quizzically. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“No.”

He looks unconvinced but I hold my nerve. I plaster on a
who me?
look of utter innocence until he shrugs and carries on walking. As soon as the door closes behind us, Jack hauls me to the car. He’s parked on yellow lines again.

“Don’t you care about what laws you’re breaking?” I snipe.

“Never mind laws. What the hell was that all about, back there in the salon? He spins me round to face him. I try to throw his hands off but he isn’t letting go. “Don’t struggle. I don’t want to bruise you.”

I glare defiantly up at him. “Then take your hands off me and you won’t.”

“I want an answer.”

Ignoring him, I stare past him rebelliously. His finger and thumb turn my chin to face him. “I’m waiting.” His voice lowers menacingly. Jack Keogh isn’t used to waiting for anything.

I launch. “How come you think those women should let their hair down and have fun, when you want to control and manage me like a… a pet monkey.”

“Pet monkey?” His lips twitch, which only makes me madder.

“It’s not funny.” Actually it is. I don’t know whether I’ve suddenly realised how stupid that sounds, particularly in light of the hairless situation, or whether it’s seeing him trying to keep a straight face, but I find myself struggling not to laugh too. I so don’t want to laugh. He isn’t off the hook yet.

“You’re jealous.” His tone sounds exactly like he understands why I might be and is delighted by it.

“Jealous? I’m not jealous. They can have you. See how long they think your balls are platinum, when their whole weekend turns into one long boring lecture and you make them eat peach yoghurt for breakfast. Naked.” I positively screech the last word. A couple turn to stare at us.

“Lower your voice, Tabitha. You didn’t have to do that… breakfast thing. No-one made you.” He isn’t really ashamed of himself either. Damn him, if anything, he looks more amused than ever. “Platinum balls?” His eyebrows couldn’t arch higher if he’d had them threaded, like mine.

That does it. I go. I double over laughing.

“Get in the car. I’m parked on a double yellow line, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He raises the doors and releases me.

“You’re good for the fine, I expect.” I huff. I haven’t quite forgiven him. “I’ve heard you tip beauticians thousands to turn your hideous dates into something tolerable. Platinum balls.” I dive in the car as he takes a step towards me. Sod elegant, I’m getting out of his way.

“Buckle up,” he growls, looking as if he’s thinking twice about dragging me outside again.

He drives like a lunatic, so fast I have to shut my eyes. When I open them I realise we aren’t heading back to Belvedere. There’s no way he’s going to let me off the hook and break the silence. I suspect he’s tallying up this afternoon’s misdemeanours ready for another hour long sermon.

“Am I going to have to listen to another replay of everything I’m doing wrong?” I turn to watch his reaction.

Jack draws a big sigh. He slows the car down finally and glances across briefly. “I don’t think it’s working, do you?”

That gets my heart thumping. What does he mean by that? Is he abandoning mentoring me or wondering where he left his bull-whip? “I’m not that bad, am I?”

“Where do I start? Bratty springs to mind.”

“What? No way.”

“Tabitha.” He sounds exasperated. “It’s clear you haven’t understood what I’m trying to do here. We’re going to have to have a long conversation about expectations.”

“Whose expectations?” Like I don’t know.

“Mine.” No mixed messages then.

I try to look on the bright side. “So does that mean I don’t get to go to the ball? I’m sure you’ve got a drooling back-up female.” I can’t resist. That’s my trouble. I can never resist. Why do I keep pushing him so much?

Unlucky for me, the traffic lights are against us. He hits the brake pedal throwing me forward. I totally consider making a run for it. Although he stares, I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead.

“If this drama is about dodging the ball, the decision has already been made. You’re not backing out.”

He pulls into a parking area and switches off the engine. “Don’t move.” He gets out and goes to the meter to pay, returning with a ticket which he flings casually onto the dashboard climbing back into the car again.

He twists round in his seat to face me. I so want to make some snotty remark about the benefits of legal parking zones but keep my mouth firmly shut and wait for the preaching to begin.

His voice is gentle. “You can relax. I’m not going to lecture.”

I’m not sure if he’s joking so it takes me a while to move. My eyes turn to his to check out his seriousness.