Meet Clara Andrews: A totally vacuous girl with a hangover... (9 page)

Opening one eye and realising where I am gives me a frisson of excitement. Rolling out of bed, I wrap myself in the fluffy, champagne coloured robe that was hanging on the back of the door and go into the living area in search of Oliver. I have been asleep for three hours and feel completely refreshed and rejuvenated. Wow, even on a second viewing the penthouse takes my breath away.

‘Oliver?’ I wander into the kitchen to find it empty.

Perhaps he has been sleeping too. Come to think of it, I haven’t even looked in any other rooms, so I don’t know which room is his. Scouring the rest of the apartment for signs of his whereabouts, I decide to do some exploring. Pushing open doors, I discover three bedrooms, each one more beautiful than the last, none of which look like they have been breathed in let alone slept in. Well he definitely isn’t here.

Looking at my watch, I remember him saying to meet him in the bar at 6.30 that gives me two hours. Tip toeing back to my room, I head straight for the bathroom and fill the tub with cloud like, soapy bubbles. Gathering a stack of newspapers from the coffee table, I pile them up next to the tub and lock the door. I strip down to my birthday suit and make sure my hair is out of the waters reach. Heading for the mini bar, I grab an elderflower and raspberry sparkling water and sink down into the bath and smile. I could most certainly get used to this.

Throwing a black, pencil dress on the floor with a sigh, I sit down on the bed and fold my arms annoyed. It is 6.25 and I have nothing to wear. The lack of knowledge surrounding tonight’s dinner is throwing my karma way out of sync. How am I supposed to know what to wear when I don’t even know where I am going? Realising I am going to be later than what is acceptable, I pull my black maxi dress off the hanger and tug it over my head. Adding a chunky bangle and quick spray of Chanel Chance, I grab my room key and make my way down to the bar.

I haven’t seen Oliver since we arrived at the hotel earlier today. I hope he is here as arranged. Getting in the lift, I study the many buttons. Cocktail bar, martini bar, which one is it? I take a chance on martini bar and jab the button. I swear to God, if everyone is wearing cocktail dresses, I am going back to the room. Rearranging my dress, I just about have time to adjust my hair as the doors open.

The soft jazz music is the first thing that hits me, followed by the sweet aroma of vanilla and spice. I glance around at the many beautiful people scattered around the room in search of Oliver. Heading over to the bar, I take a seat on a stool and order an espresso martini. Watching the barman or rather, barwoman, take a sparkling martini glass and expertly create the perfect cocktail, I have another look around for Oliver.

Smiling at an adorable, elderly couple clinking champagne flutes, I almost don’t see Oliver walking out of the lift. Dressed in skinny fit jeans and slick blazer, he oozes celebrity status. He spots me instantly and weaves between the tables, noticeably winking at the pretty waitress as he goes. Shaking my head at his blatant flirting, I smile and order another espresso martini. He has paid for the room, so I guess the least I can do is buy him a drink. Like lightening, another glass is placed down in front of me, along with a tiny paper slip. Picking up the receipt, my eyes widen in shock. This can’t be my bill. I’ve only ordered two bloody drinks. Quickly grabbing my credit card, I pass it to the barwoman with a queasy smile.

‘Good evening, sleepyhead.’ Oliver props himself up on the stool next to me and picks up the drinks menu.

‘I’ve already got you a drink,’ I push the martini glass over to him.

‘Espresso martini? Good choice, one of my all time favourites.’

‘Where did you disappear to? I woke up and you weren’t there.’

‘I went to see the city, do a little shopping. I was planning on taking you with me, but I didn’t wanna wake you.’

‘You should have done! Oh well, there’s always tomorrow morning. What time is the fashion exhibition?’

‘Starts at three, so you should have plenty of time for some shopping.’ He takes a gulp of martini and checks his watch.

‘We should probably make a move. I have made reservations for seven.’

‘Where are we eating?’ I am immediately concerned about my state of dress, not to mention the strength of my credit card.

‘You’ll see.’ He jumps from his bar stool and holds out his arm to help me down.

Following him out of the bar, I look back at our half drunken, extortionate martinis mournfully. This had better be good.

The duck, the quail, the apricot cheesecake trio, my mouth is salivating just thinking about it. After six courses and an accompanying wine flight, you would think I would be suitably full. The truth is I could easily eat it all over again. Sipping the last of my dessert wine, I lean back in my chair and revel in a fuzzy, drunken haze.

‘So, Mr. Morgan, do you treat all of your colleagues this well?’

‘Only the pretty ones.’ He stares at me intently with a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

I look down at my lap and pray that I haven’t coloured up like a giddy radish. Once confident that my usual porcelain shade has returned, I work up the courage to ask something that has been on my mind for a while now.

‘What is all this about, Oliver? First the train, then The Valentina and now this?’ I look him straight in the face, my heart pounding, not really knowing what I want him to say.

‘I like you. Is that so bad?’ He fires the words back without missing a beat.

I feel my jaw sag, shocked at his forward reply. I’m still trying to find the words to respond when he speaks again, only this time it’s to the waiter.

‘Can we get a bottle of champagne please?’

‘Bollinger?’

‘Bollinger would be great, thank you.’

With a fresh burst of adrenaline, I sit up straight and crack my knuckles in anticipation. He likes me!  He actually said it! Feeling like a teenage girl, I twirl my hair and watch the waiter pop our champagne.

‘Special occasion?’ The waiter asks as he pours the sparkling bubbles into two giant champagne flutes.

‘Yes.’ I reply, locking eyes with Oliver.

How could it not be?

I awake the following morning and sneak out of the hotel before Oliver has even stirred. Stepping out into the world feels like a crime. Most people wouldn’t leave a luxury penthouse for a second, let alone before breakfast. Walking along the busy street, I follow the crowds until I reach a huge shopping centre. Pushing through the glass doors, I realise that everywhere is still closed. With fifteen minutes until the obligatory 9.00am opening time, I turn back in search of some breakfast.

Stopping at a Starbucks, I order a chocolate chip muffin and a latte, before taking a seat in a secluded corner to wait for my order.  Watching a three year old throw a tantrum over a brownie, I take my phone out of my handbag to abuse the free WIFI. After a few unsuccessful attempts at signing in, I decide to resort to old fashioned texting. I haven’t actually spoken to Lianna since my impromptu visit the other night and judging by her lack of contact, I am guessing she is still wrapped up in Dan, probably literally. Shuddering at the thought, I type out a quick message and hit send, just as my breakfast is dropped down onto the table.

Devouring my bun, I flick through my old text messages from George and can’t help but smile. With all the excitement of the past couple of days, I had totally forgotten about our plans for dinner when I get back. Not knowing what the hell the status of my relationship with Oliver is, I can’t see any wrong doing in seeing how things go with George. Grabbing my latte, I chuck my rubbish in the bin and make my way back outside. Destination, shopping.

I love it! Twirling around in the changing room, I watch the bright lights bouncing off the ruby red satin. This has to be the most flattering dress I have ever seen. The square neckline flatters my ample cleavage and the skirts falls in large, soft pleats, giving a slight 50’s vibe. I turn around to see my favourite bit, a large delicate bow, tied around the waist, sitting neatly at the base of my spine. I have to have it. Without even checking the price tag, I drag my clothes back on and march straight over to the check out before I have chance to change my mind.

Placing the dress down carefully onto the counter, I cross my fingers that it doesn’t cost the earth. My eyes are fixed on the till as the plump sales assistant scans in the price tag. Half price! I can’t believe it!

‘Erm, is that the right price?’ I point at the screen and pray that it is.

‘Yep, all occasion wear is half price. This weekend only. We actually have the shoes to match if you are interested?’

‘Yes!’ I shout, a little too loud.

‘Size?’ She asks, walking out onto the shop floor.

‘Five, please!’

Two hours later, it is just after midday and I am riding in the lift back up to the room. Clutching my precious dress and beloved shoes, I scan my room key and use my hips to push my way in. Dumping my bags on the sofa, I wander into the kitchen to grab a drink when I hear footsteps from one of the bedrooms.

‘Hey,’ Hearing Oliver’s delicious drawl makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I spin around to tell him about my morning and drop my phone on the floor with a clatter. Oh. My. God. I was not prepared for this. Stood in the doorway, is a very wet, practically naked Oliver, wrapped in nothing more than a tiny towel. Seemingly oblivious to my reaction, he walks into the kitchen, leaving a path of wet footprints behind him. Watching the beads of water roll down his back, I grab my phone and emit a high pitched squawking sound before running to my room and slamming the door shut. What is he trying to do? Give me heart attack? I perch on the edge of the bed and wait for my heart to stop beating out of my chest. He thinks he is so clever. Well, two can play at that game.

Stripping down to just my underwear, I slip on my lace night dress and grab my stilettos. Ruffling up my hair and smudging my eyeliner, I stride back into the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him stretched out on the sofa. After grabbing a bottle of Evian, I walk over to where he is sitting and take both of my shopping bags in silence. Sashaying back to my room in what I hope is an alluring manor, I turn back to gauge his reaction.

‘Uh, Clara?’

‘Yes?’

‘You have underwear stuck to your shoes.’

I look down in horror to see yesterday’s dirty knickers looped around my heel. Banging my door shut, I kick my shoes off in annoyance.

Damn, almost had it.

It takes me at least an hour to see the funny side of dirty knickers gate. Oliver has successfully talked me out of my sulk and coxed me out into the living area. Studying the mountain of room service that has just arrived, I pick up a tiny pizza slice and curl up next to Oliver on the sofa. We decided to abuse the all inclusive room service menu to pass some time before we have to leave for the fashion exhibition.

‘What about a movie?’ Oliver asks, reaching for some triple cooked, golden fries.

‘Have we got time for that? I look down at my bare wrist. Where the hell is my watch?

He nods and grabs the TV remote. Watching him flick through the channels, I jump up and grab a heavy, purple sofa throw from the chaise longue.

‘How about a horror?’

I look up to see him selecting The Conjuring on pay per view.

‘Hell no. I don’t do horror films.’ Shaking my head, I pull the cover up to my chin and tuck in my feet.

Totally ignoring what I just said, he clicks confirm and switches off the lights with the remote control.

‘Didn’t you hear me? I said I don’t like horror films!’ I make a snatch for the remote but he slips it under the sofa and pulls some of the throw over himself.

Biting my lip, I sink down further and shake my head. He is so cocky. He wouldn’t get away with it if he wasn’t drop dead gorgeous. As the film starts, I go to stretch my legs out and get comfortable, when I notice Oliver’s hand two inches from mine. Should I move my hand away? I know I should, but my arm doesn’t move. I feel a shiver of excitement as he edges his fingers closer, millimetre by millimetre, until they are wrapped around mine. My entire body tingles as he gentle squeezes my hand before pulling me over to him. Laying my head on his chest, I allow myself to relax. This is definitely not in my job description.

Yawning, I open one eye and roll onto my side. Taking in my surroundings, it takes me a good minute to work out where I am. And about another thirty seconds to realise that Oliver’s arm is wrapped tightly around my waist. Sitting bolt upright, I wiggle out of his grip and jump to my feet.

‘Oliver! Wake up!’

‘What time is it?’ He stretches and lets out a loud yawn.

‘I don’t know. I can’t find my watch.’ I grab my phone and unlock the screen.

‘Oh my God! It’s 6.30! We’ve missed it!’

‘Missed what?’

‘The fashion exhibition! The thing that we travelled two hundred miles to go to!’

‘Don’t worry about it. Why are you so het up?’ He stands up and puts his arm around my shoulders.

Instantly burning up at his touch, I bite my lip and look down at the floor.

‘I went out at stupid o clock this morning to buy an outfit especially!’

Laughing, Oliver rubs his eyes and flicks off the TV.

‘Well, why don’t you go throw it on and I’ll take you out? Might as well make the most of it now that we have come all this way.’

He lies back down on the sofa and kicks off the throw, along with his jogging bottoms.

‘What are you waiting for?’

‘What do you think?’ I spin around in my insanely cute dress and finish with a flourish.

‘I think you look incredible. Now let’s go.’ Oliver winks and ushers me towards out the door.

Travelling down to the bar, I study our reflection in the lift mirror. Not to blow my own trumpet or anything, but we would make a fantastic looking couple. I feel his hand resting at the bottom of my back and move in a little closer, enjoying the tingle that is radiating up and down my spine. I glance up at him, but he stares straight ahead, poker face intact.

Walking into the bar, I take a seat at the nearest table whilst Oliver goes to get us some drinks. I don’t even want to think about how much alcohol I have consumed in the past few days, not to mention the calories. I am about to take out my phone when a familiar cackle gets my attention. Where do I know that laugh from? Spinning around in my chair, I look around the room trying to pinpoint the ear piercing sound.

No! It can’t be! I grab my cocktail menu and cover my face. Peeking over the edge of my menu, I watch her stumble into the bar and prop herself up on a bar stool.

‘Everything alright?’ Oliver asks, giving me a rather strange look.

‘Err, yes. Thank you.’ I take the champagne flute and put the menu down.

What the hell is Gina doing here? Who is she here with? Unfortunately I don’t have to wait long to find out, as a moment later Marc appears at the bar. No! Oliver pulls his chair around to be next to mine and drapes his arm over my shoulders.

‘Actually, no. Everything isn’t alright. Marc and Gina are here.’ I try to whisper but the hysteria wins, resulting in a high pitched screech.

‘What? Who’s Gina?’ He looks genuinely perplexed.

‘Gina from work! She’s with Marc over at the bar!’

Oliver follows my gaze to the bar and a look of recognition appears on his face.

‘Hey, Marc!’ He waves one arm above his head until Marc turns around.

Understandably, Marc looks like he has seen a ghost. After mumbling something in Gina’s ear, he makes his way over to our table, hands stuffed firmly in his pockets. It wouldn’t take a body language expert to work out that he wasn’t happy. Oh God. I’m just realising how bad this must look. Please don’t sack me, please don’t sack me, please don’t sack me...