Save the Last Dance (27 page)

No to what? To glowing? To
tasting
…?

‘I'll find you something else.'

And before he'd had a chance to say James Dean she'd darted away and hidden herself between the racks of clothes.

Nothing else worked. Cameron tried not to think about who might have been the last person to wear each of the five
suits he tried on, tried not to think about mothballs and funerals and caskets. Just as well that none of them fitted. Either the trouser legs flapped above his ankles or the shoulders were way too tight.

‘I happen to have some really nice suits of my own,' he yelled over the top of the screen as he finally clambered back into his own clothes. ‘The one I was intending to wear—to
my
party, remember?—is being made for me by a man on Savile Row.'

She looked impressed when he mentioned the name, clearly knowing that the man in question never needed to advertise and that being admitted into the inner sanctum of his fitting rooms was rather like gaining entry to an exclusive gentlemen's club.

‘Sizing with vintage clothes is often a problem for someone as tall and…Well, with all those…with all that—with your physique,' she finished in a hurry. ‘We could search for months and not find anything suitable. A few
distinctive
vintage accessories may be the way to go. I'll see what I can find.'

He shrugged his suit jacket back on and straightened his tie. ‘In other words, the last forty-five minutes were a complete waste of time?'

She pulled an apologetic face.

‘My time is valuable,' he said, trying not to smile. ‘I should charge you.'

Suddenly she looked extremely serious and thoughtful. ‘It'd be worth every penny,' she said, glancing at the leather jacket and jeans hanging innocently on the other side of the room, a decidedly naughty twinkle in her eye.

Wait a minute. Was Alice…
flirting
with him? In a totally
Alice
way, of course. She'd just hinted at it with that look, done something almost undetectable with her voice. It was all so subtle he started to doubt it had been there in the first place.

When he looked again she was hanging the last of the suits up, all brisk efficiency, and he decided he must have imagined it after all.

His forehead crinkled into a slight frown.

The thought he might have imagined it disappointed him, and the realisation he was disappointed surprised him. Did he
want
Alice to flirt with him? She was just a kid he'd once been kind to at a Christmas party a very, very long time ago. As she walked back to her desk she did the hair-behind-the-ear gesture. The gentle, unselfconsciously feminine movement made his stomach knot, even though she wasn't paying him the slightest bit of attention. All at once surprise gave way to irritation. Another thing he didn't like. This feeling of being at a disadvantage, of not being the one to hold all the cards.

‘Am I dismissed, then?' he asked, as she tucked herself behind the desk and got back to work.

She looked up at him, bit her lip and released it slowly, emphasising its fullness. Somehow that just made him crosser.

‘Yes.' The cool, restrained tone was back, but there was something—an undercurrent—that made him eye her suspiciously. ‘I've finished dressing you up. You can go now.'

Well, he didn't know how to respond to that. Nobody ever dismissed him. He didn't like that much, either.

‘Fine. I will, then.'

And he crashed out of the door and down the hallway without looking back.

 

Alice stared after him. Was she going crazy? She certainly seemed to be behaving strangely today. She swung round on her chair and looked out of the window. First of all she'd made Cameron get dressed up in an outfit she'd known he would never consent to wear to the party—just on a whim.

She sighed. It had been
so
worth it.

And just now, only a few seconds ago, had she actually been
flirting
?

Well, it hadn't done her much good, had it? He'd gone all prickly and she'd just got worse, goading a reaction out of him. Well done, Alice. You just sent Cameron Hunter packing when he's the key to your whole future. Very professional. But it was just…Well, when Cameron pushed, she had the stupidest urge to push back twice as hard.

What was wrong with her? She was doormat girl—voted by everyone she knew as most likely to just lie down and take rubbish from the men in her life—and she'd decided to lock horns with Cameron Hunter? Great time to grow a backbone, Alice.

Aw, shut up. You've always had a spine and you know it. You just chose to put it out to pasture because it suited your plan of being the perfect low-stress girlfriend no man could resist.

And look how well
that
had turned out. Yet another well-thought-out plan.

She let out a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. It must be the long hours, being flung into the deep end of her new career—and Jennie's—without really knowing what she was doing.

A sudden blush crept up her cheeks.

Keeping her tongue under control hadn't been the only problem, had it? Her hands seemed to have developed a will of their own too. But that white T-shirt had smelled of warm, clean man and had looked all soft and fresh and…touchable. She'd been feeling the heat of his chest beneath her palm before she'd even registered a decision to put it there.

This was bad. The party and the fashion show were in another nine days, and then she'd be back in the real world—not stuck up here in this impossibly high tower where the
altitude must be getting to her brain cells. She couldn't let this ill-timed crush grow any further.

I mean, get real, Alice. It's all just a fairy tale, a daydream. He dates the likes of socialites and supermodels. If you can't hold on to the likes of geeky Paul, how in hell have you got a chance of keeping a man like Cameron Hunter interested?

 

Two hours later, Alice was knocking on Coreen's door. Coreen answered, resplendent in an embroidered black silk kimono and a bright green face pack. Alice pushed past her, marched into the kitchen, grabbed two wine glasses out of the cupboard and started pouring cheap Cabernet from the screwtop bottle she'd brought with her.

Coreen skidded into the kitchen behind her. ‘Whoa!' she said, her eyes widening as Alice filled the oversized glasses nearly to the brim. Her voice sounded funny, escaping through clenched teeth as she tried not to crack her face mask. ‘What happened?'

Alice picked the glasses up and handed one to Coreen. Her hand was shaking and she sloshed wine all over her fingers. Shaking her head, she slammed the glass down, spilling more.

‘Me.
I
happened. I've had an epiphany! I'm the anti-girlfriend.'

Coreen's face mask crumbled, and large chunks rained down on her kimono. She shook her head. ‘This is all about Paul, isn't it?' she said. ‘You're going through the five stages of grief…I thought you were in denial; now you've obviously moved on to anger.' She stared at Alice. ‘What happened to bargaining? You should be bargaining now.'

Alice took another swig of wine and held it in her mouth for a second before swallowing it. She nodded at the bottle and headed out of the kitchen. ‘How's this for bargaining? You keep the red stuff coming and I'll tell you all about it!'

Coreen had no choice but to follow her into the sitting
room, where Alice not so much sat down as crumpled onto the couch.

‘Now, what's all this about you being an anti-girlfriend? Is it like being an anti-hero? I'm not sure I quite get it.'

‘More like being an antidote,' Alice said gloomily. ‘And not in a good way.' She sank back into the sofa and stared into space. ‘I know what Paul meant when he said I was “a relief” now. Men
love
those girly girls.' She narrowed her eyes and looked at Coreen. ‘Girls like you. Pretty girls, who run them a merry dance and keep them on their toes. Girls who torture them and treat 'em mean to keep 'em keen. But after a while either she gets tired of him not being up to scratch, or he gets tired of all the game-playing and one of them ends it. And that's when the guys come looking for me—the perfect antidote to a demanding diva.'

‘That's good news, surely?' Coreen said. She thought a while, then pouted. ‘Not for girls like me, of course. But for girls like you it is.' She grinned, destroying the rest of the face pack completely, and held her hand up for a high five.

‘What do all my exes have in common?' Alice asked in a wistful voice.

‘Erm…bad hair?'

Alice shook her head, and kept on staring at the paisley curtains.

‘Anoraks?' Coreen ventured, and got a scowl for her efforts.

‘I figured it out on the way over here.'

‘Figured
what
out?'

‘All of them said how lovely I was—how
easy
I was to be around. Easy to dump when something better turned up, more like it.' Alice turned to look at her. ‘I am—and will only ever be—a
transition
girlfriend.'

‘I thought you said you were an antidote…'

‘They all say they are fed up with the high-maintenance women in their lives, but they all eventually find a new siren to trot around after—or, in Paul's case, trot back to.' Her face fell. ‘I'm just a…a…
stopgap
until that happens!'

Coreen flung her arms round Alice and squeezed. ‘You are so much more than a stopgap!'

‘Then why don't the guys I go out with get that?' she wailed. ‘Why am I always the one they go out with just
before
they find the love of their lives? Why can't somebody think
I'm
the most wonderful thing to happen to them for a change?'

Coreen hugged her tighter. ‘You want the truth?'

Alice nodded. If her friend had some advice on how she should keep men interested, she might as well hear it. She was tired of being discarded like an old shoe.

‘I think that until
you
believe you're more than a stopgap, you're going to keep attracting men like Paul. He was too much of an idiot to see what he had.' Coreen swivelled to face her. ‘Where's all this coming from anyway? I don't think this is all about Pathetic Paul after all.'

Alice avoided her gaze. ‘Nonsense. Of course it is. I've been so busy recently, when have I had time to meet any other men?'

A naughty smile quirked Coreen's lips. ‘There
is
one rather yummy specimen you've come into contact with on a daily basis recently.' She paused and looked a little sheepish. ‘I Googled him, you know.'

‘Who?' Alice said, fearing she already knew the answer.

‘Mr Orion Solutions, of course.' Her eyes brightened. ‘Did you know he went out with—?' She took one look at Alice's face and closed her mouth. ‘Never mind…'

Alice sighed. ‘Yes, I know he went out with Sierra Collins last year. Suddenly I keep seeing her face everywhere. On bus
shelters, batting her eyelashes at me…in my bathtime magazine, showing off her perfect bikini body…I think I hate her.'

Coreen sighed too, and flumped back onto the sofa next to Alice. ‘She's a supermodel. What's not to hate?'

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

‘You like him, don't you?' Coreen finally said, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

‘I do
not
!' Alice said with venom, and then buried her face in a cushion. Coreen tapped her on the shoulder, and Alice looked up. ‘Oh, Corrie…I really do. I really do like him. A lot. It's like a bad joke, really.'

A soppy smile spread across Coreen's face. ‘Aww, I can see it now—childhood sweethearts, and then he whisks you off your feet and takes you away from all this…'

Alice burst out laughing. ‘I hardly think so! He was lovely back then, you know. Sensitive, thoughtful, kind…I'm sure he's still that way underneath, but he's changed, Corrie. He's used to the finest things in life, to having the best of everything. Somehow he's harder, pushier. It wouldn't be a good idea to get involved with him. It really wouldn't.'

‘Not even a teensy bit?' Coreen replied, her incorrigible smile back on her face.

Alice laughed again, but this time it was more with gallows humour than hysteria. She walked over to Coreen's stack of fashion magazines and flicked through one, then another. Finally she found what she was looking for. She folded the magazine back on itself and held the picture up next to her face.

On one side the glossy picture of Sierra Collins—flawless skin, sparkling blue eyes, a cleavage…

On the other, plain old Alice Morton. So used to being ‘one of the lads' she was almost androgynous, with her face flushed pink and a figure like an ironing board.