A horrible premonition made her skin suddenly feel damp and she clicked to open the first one from Christos with mounting unease.
From: [email protected]
Subject: URGENT!
Call me.
Well, that told her absolutely nothing. She clicked on the next.
From: [email protected]
Subject: URGENT!
Immediately.
A man of few words.
Then she flipped to a text from her sister.
Hope UR ok after last night. Call me. Xx
Cara suspected she wasn’t referring to Aidan Kelly’s kisses, which was just as well, because she might never be okay after those again.
Worried that the cryptic messages were alluding to the poker game, Cara clicked onto her internet connection and searched for her own name.
What she saw made her want to bury her head in the pillow and never come up for air.
Cara Chatsfield Game for Anything.
Cara Chatsfield Caught in a Three-way.
A three-way!
Chatsfield Wild Child Staked by Aidan Kelly.
Oh, great.
Cara was about to throw her phone on the bed when her agent’s name flashed up on the screen.
She didn’t answer it. She knew she’d be upset with her. Ever since she’d been in that rock video a year ago Harriet had warned her she had to clean up her act or she’d never be offered a decent job again. But she’d also taken her on after she’d sacked her previous agent and told Cara that she believed in her and that she’d work damned hard to turn her career around. Cara knew that Harriet had put her own professional reputation on the line for her, and now this.
She clicked on the message and it felt like a cement brick had landed in her stomach when she read it.
From: [email protected]
Subject: What the hell???
Demarche furious. Just pulled your contract.
This is bad.
Call me. Hx
For a moment Cara’s mind went completely blank.
She tossed her phone on the bed as if it had just bitten her. She felt numb. Winning Demarche had been a huge coup and now it was gone. And she’d really wanted it. Initially she had fallen into modelling because of her face and her name. It had been fun having all those people fuss over her, telling her she was beautiful. Telling her that she was fantastic, daaarling. It had been so different from growing up between a remote manor house and a boarding school full of girls who would just as quickly cut you off at the knees as draw you into their fold.
What she had come to appreciate was the craft of modelling. Of learning how to show the clothes she was wearing in the best light. Fashion had become a sort of passion and she loved having a hand in what she was wearing.
Demarche had offered something more, though. They had been offering her a role as not only their house model, but as a spokeswoman for the company. A representative of their brand. They had been offering her credibility and the opportunity to be part of something bigger than herself. A place to belong.
Now they were offering her nothing and it was all her own fault.
Feeling the threat of tears again, Cara determinedly dashed them away.
This was not the time to crumple. This was the time to pull herself together and … do what?
Run home with her tail between her legs?
Run home to her flat and her friends who would jump up and down in outrage for her right before they passed her a margarita. And she didn’t even like margaritas!
But she didn’t want to talk about last night. Certainly not to her friends because they wouldn’t understand.
Lucilla might, but she knew Cilla had her own problems to deal with right now. As did her brothers, and she didn’t want to hear Antonio tell her again that she needed to take responsibility for her actions. She knew she did.
And no doubt the press would camp outside her doorstep again 24/7 and hound her mercilessly. It was what they did best in the UK. So far the paps in the US didn’t seem so bad.
No. Going home to England humiliated and fired wasn’t an option.
Nor was staying here.
She officially hated Vegas now.
Pulling herself out of bed she headed for a steaming shower and wondered what Aidan Kelly thought of all the publicity surrounding last night. Of the photo she had seen of him dragging her out of the Mahogany Room. Damn mobile phone technology anyway.
No doubt he’d hate it. No doubt he’d already be making a statement to distance himself from her as quickly as possible. It’s what her father usually did.
Wanting to burst into tears again she bit into her quivering lip and wished she’d emptied the minibar of champagne when she’d returned to her room last night instead of chocolate. That way maybe she wouldn’t remember everything so clearly. That way maybe she might still be asleep.