had said, looking at Aidan with a cool, level gaze. There was something triumphant in his expression, as though he knew that Aidan couldn’t compete with him – his power, his wealth.
Aidan had been furious, jealousy pumping through him. For the first time he’d felt his humble status, embarrassed of working in a tourist bar when this guy looked and behaved like he owned the world.
Aidan hadn’t told Alyson about her visitor. He insisted to himself that he was just looking out for her, but deep down he knew his behaviour was born out of envy. He’d seen the way Alyson was with this guy, the way her eyes had lit up when she was speaking to him. He’d never seen her behave like that with anyone else – letting her guard drop completely, hanging off his every word.
Aidan gripped the glass tightly at the memory, his fingertips turning white with pressure as he threw back his head and downed the last of the Jameson’s. It was do or die, and he was about to break his own golden rule.
‘So, how’s everything going with your new flatmates?’ he asked cheerily. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he could have kicked himself. Bloody coward. It wasn’t what he’d wanted to ask at all.
But then Alyson lazily opened her eyes – they were luminous blue and huge, framed by long, pale lashes – and gave him the most divine smile. Aidan felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him.
‘They’re great,’ she replied tiredly. ‘Really sweet girls. Kind of crazy, but fun.’
Aidan nodded, struggling to keep his focus. He took a deep breath and tried again.
‘Good. Great. Look, I um … sorted out the rotas for the next two weeks. I don’t know if you’ve looked at them?’
‘No, I haven’t had a chance yet, I’m afraid.’
‘No problem.’ Aidan paused, uncertain of where to go next. He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘It’s just … it’s worked out that we both have this Saturday night off. I was wondering if you fancied … if you wanted to do something. I know you said you hadn’t seen much of the city, so I thought it might be fun to explore …’
Alyson broke into a wide smile. ‘Yeah, that sounds great. I’d love to.’
‘Really? Fantastic!’ Aidan had to stop himself from punching the air. ‘Right, well …’ He cleared his throat, businesslike once more, as he tried to hide his delight. ‘I guess we’d better get cleaned up in here.’
The music was pumping loudly as the DJ segued effortlessly from a remixed R&B track into electronic dance. A wash of coloured lights swept the room, bouncing off the mirrors and reflecting from the polished glass tables.
Saeed Al-Assad was seated in Bijou’s VIP area, the exclusive roped-off section. The table in front of him was piled high with bottles of spirits and mixers, Rochefort champagne stacked in silver ice buckets. Saeed sat like a king surveying his harem, surrounded by a posse of black-clad friends, mostly Arabs, and short-skirted, beautiful girls – the ones he’d arrived with, and the ones he’d picked out of the crowd and invited to join him.
Behind the banquette seating was a recessed area, like a luxurious cave, the size of a double kingsize bed and with sheer gauze drapes that could be pulled across when the occupants wanted a little privacy. Already a number of girls were lying languidly on the oversized cushions, sipping drinks and artfully arranging themselves to show off their assets to best advantage. They would start off chatting to Saeed’s friends, then slowly move closer to the man himself, each hoping to land the big fish.
Dionne had no interest in lying around being decorative – she was here to have fun. She and CeCe were dancing with abandon, the men around them watching with interest as they rolled their bodies, hips grinding, booty shaking. From time to time the pair got tantalizingly close, as Dionne flung her arms around CeCe and their bodies pressed together, leaving everyone watching and wondering: will they or won’t they? Each of them loved the spotlight, craving the attention. Dionne, especially, fed off it, needing all eyes on her.
Wiggling her way past his entourage, Dionne leaned over to Saeed. ‘I’m just heading to the bathroom, honey. Back soon.’
Saeed nodded easily, reaching over to give Dionne a playful slap on her behind as she walked off. Dionne span round, giggling, before grabbing CeCe’s hand and pulling her away.
‘Let’s go have some fun,’ Dionne whispered in her ear.
They wound their way through the crowd, Dionne ever alert for Philippe Rochefort. She hadn’t seen him yet and hoped he’d put in an appearance tonight. She knew she’d be pissed if she didn’t get an opportunity to speak to him.
But, even if he didn’t show, she and CeCe were getting more than enough attention to make up for it. As they moved through the club, the men all checked them out, while the women narrowed their eyes jealously. Their attitude made Dionne laugh, all the uptight bitches standing around trying to bag a rich guy, not daring to do or say anything that might put off a potential sugar daddy. As far as Dionne was concerned, life was too short. She was all about having a good time, about drinking, dancing and enjoying herself. In her experience, men loved a wild girl – it made them imagine what she’d be like in bed.
The pair made their way to the bathroom where Dionne repaired her make-up, dabbing under her eyes where her mascara had streaked. She wanted to make sure she looked good. You never knew who was around – a lot of the top photographers and big model agents hung out here.
She spritzed on some perfume – Poison, by Dior – and readjusted her top. It was a loose gold halterneck, made from a silk mix that draped provocatively around her body, gaping open and showing her breasts whenever she leaned forward. Dionne was well aware of that. It never happened accidentally.
She turned to CeCe beside her, who was slicking on her trademark red lipstick.
‘Okay, baby girl,’ Dionne grinned. ‘Let’s go see what we can find.’
Philippe was making his way through Bijou, squeezing past the mass of bodies pressed up tightly together as they danced and drank. There was a good vibe in the club and they were at capacity, operating a strict one-out one-in policy. It didn’t seem to deter the crowds outside, huddled on the pavement and hoping that they might get lucky, picked out of the mob and allowed inside to join the chosen few.
Philippe stopped briefly to pose for a photo with an up-and-coming pop starlet, then headed for the DJ booth. He wanted to ensure that the DJ had everything she wanted; he’d spent a lot of money flying her in from LA for the night and intended to keep her happy.
‘Philippe! Philippe, honey!’
Out of the corner of his eye, Philippe saw some girl making a beeline for him. Tall, black, with an incredible body, she was barrelling towards him like a heat-seeking missile locked onto her target. He’d met her before, he thought – in his line of work it was necessary to have a photographic memory. His recollections of her weren’t good. He remembered her as loud, attention-seeking and trashy. And she was American, he realized with distaste, pronouncing his name in a grating, nasal accent.
His mind was working quickly; perhaps he could still get away. The music was pounding and he could pretend he hadn’t heard her. Changing course, he headed for the bar. He needed a stiff drink if he was going to survive this evening. As soon as the bar girl saw him approaching, she immediately began pouring a large whiskey with a dash of soda and not too much ice. Exactly
