up in their own lives. And what was worse? That she still cared what they thought, after all this time.
Just once, she’d like her mum to say, Darling, you look gorgeous, a compliment often thrown out to Shareen. The closest she got these days was, ‘That’s an interesting outfit,’ which was better than nothing but not a patch on what she wanted, what she deserved.
Annoyed at dredging up memories guaranteed to sap her confidence, she picked up the pace and as she reached the offices of Dazzle, enclosed in a modern glass monstrosity reaching for the sky, she knew Chase Etheridge belonged in the group of go-getters she’d just shouldered through.
He oozed class that money couldn’t buy, an innate assurance evident in those slashed cheekbones, square jaw and sensual mouth.
The way he’d barged into her shop, overpowering her personal space with his brand of charisma, never doubting for a second she’d fall in line with his plans… Yeah, he had confidence to burn and, despite her private vow made a long time ago to never fall for the falseness of that glamorous world, she found herself looking forward to seeing him again.
Irritated, she marched through the glass doors, ignoring the inevitable stares from business drones leaving the building.
She was used to the stares, used to people taking a second look when she walked past. Hadn’t she cultivated this image for that very reason all those years ago, turning her personal penchant for vintage into a unique look all her own?
She liked being admired, liked standing out from Shareen and Darla and the more people complimented her the further she honed her image to the point where she never stepped out of her bedroom without her retro mask in place.
Lola Lombard was striking, different, distinctive and a far cry from frumpy, mousy Louise Lombard who’d slunk in her gorgeous family’s footsteps, wishing she could be just like them.
The ten second ride in a supersonic elevator made her ears pop and, increasingly grumpy she strode along the plush thirtieth floor corridor and into the flashy Dazzle offices.
She’d expected glitz to the max but the understated elegance of the place surprised her: cinnamon carpet, mushroom walls and a simple mahogany front desk bordered on antique. The whole front office had an old world charm rather than the modern slant she’d expected after meeting Chase and her misconception rattled her. What other surprises did Chase Etheridge hide up his Armani sleeves?
A suitably sleek receptionist glanced up as she approached and to her credit the woman didn’t balk or stare at her appearance, offering a genuine smile instead.
‘Hi, you must be Lola. Chase is expecting you. Last door on the left; go straight in.’
Acutely aware of her nineteen-fifties dress next to the receptionist’s black Dolce and Gabbana power suit, she headed off down the hallway where Miss D&G had pointed.
She hesitated outside a monstrous ebony door, wishing she didn’t have to do this. Then she remembered that latest mortgage rise notification and her teetering finances, took a deep breath and raised her fist to knock.
Her knuckles had barely grazed the door when it opened and she bit back a wistful sigh.
Because that was how seeing Chase again made her feel: pensive, yearning for something she knew wasn’t good for her yet craved anyway. Kind of like her favourite double choc fudge brownies.
‘Glad you could make it.’
As if she’d had any choice. Apart from her dire financial straits, the minute he’d barged into Go Retro he would never have taken no for an answer; he was that kind of guy.
‘I’ve got a rough presentation for you to take a look at.’
‘Great, come on in.’
He opened the door wider but didn’t move and as she slid past him she could’ve sworn a bolt of electricity zapped her. How else could she explain her wobbly knees and shaky hands and boneless spine?
Striding across the office as if she was used to being in fancy executive suites every day of the week, her eyes widened when she neared the desk, a gargantuan glass and chrome concoction that would’ve served half a call centre.
It was covered with fancy gadgets and neat document stacks, with a gleaming stainless steel pen holder housing gold pens. A laptop as thin as a wafer sat side by side with a huge PC screen bigger than her television.
The desk spoke volumes about Chase: modern, efficient, smooth. So what did her chipped, scratched antique roll top say about her?
‘Have a seat.’
Oh-oh. She’d expected him to retreat behind his well organised desk and leave her a welcome few metres away on the other side. Instead, he gestured to a low ochre suede sofa nearby—a sofa without matching chairs, which meant he’d be sitting next to her, nice and cosy, while she gave her presentation.
When he cast a quizzical glance she perched on the edge of the sofa, smoothing her full skirt before delving into her bag for her notes, concentrating on gathering her documents and trying not to stiffen when he sat next to her, so temptingly close.
‘Looks like you’ve got an office in that bag.’
‘I like to be prepared,’ she said, yanking the folder from her bag and brandishing it like a protective shield.
‘Let me guess. You were in Girl Scouts.’
His mouth kicked into a teasing smile and she swore her heart kicked back.
‘Not a chance.’
She’d been too busy traipsing around after her sister as a kid, fetching costumes and tights and mascara wands, hanging around backstage killing time at countless talent and fashion shows. While she’d loved the clothes she’d hated the condescending pity stares from people in the industry who knew she was Shareen’s fat baby sister.
Exasperated she’d let more memories distract her at a time like this, she flipped open the folder.
‘This is a very basic outline of the week, which I’ll flesh out later…’
The rest of her pitch faded into oblivion as he leaned towards her to look at the folder, his shoulder brushing hers and setting off a bunch of internal fireworks that rocketed and pinwheeled and spiralled until she was dizzy.
This out of control physical reaction to a guy who embodied everything she didn’t like was crazy, a purely hormonal reaction for a girl who hadn’t had a date in a while. Okay, a long while.
Whatever the reason, it didn’t make this any easier and, gritting her teeth against blue-eyed, wicked, smiling, rich rogues, she rattled the paper and stabbed her finger at the first point.
‘The gist of the hen’s party is pampering for the bride-to-be, including manicures, pedicures, facials, massages, makeovers. Then I throw in deportment lessons, etiquette, dance and home-style cooking classes.’
Chase snorted and she raised an eyebrow.
‘The thought of Cari in the kitchen, let alone cooking anything beyond microwaving a frozen dinner is mind-boggling.’
‘She
