I slip beside her.
“I’ve never seen Oscar like this with a woman. You make him so happy.” Her frown flips, and she smiles shyly at me, her eyes drifting back to the offending gift. “It’s just a clock.” I pull a face. “Honestly, Oscar loves the flare of this life, but he is pretty chilled out too,” I reassure her.
She nods and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lifts to talk into my ear.
“I booked us a weekend away, Paris. We fly out tomorrow,” she whispers excitedly.
“He will love that. Also, his passport’s at mine. I will have to get it to you,” I impart quickly when Oscar twists to get in on the conversation.
“What are you two concocting?” he muses, finishing the rest of his drink.
“Nothing,” we say in unison, and he laughs loudly, drawing a few glances. I’m glad Chloe is on the scene. If I do have to part ways with Oscar for whatever reason, at least he will have her. I frown at a few women close by who are again searching the open space.
“Where is he?” one says, and another shrugs. I suspect they mean Oscar, and I’m about to get their attention when another chimes in.
“I thought he’d be here. He owns the place,” she mutters, her hair scraped back; makeup thick, dress revealing. Unbelievable! They aren’t here for my friend’s birthday, but for Callan fucking Scott!
I want to march over and tell them the man in question doesn’t like stuck-up money grabbers, but I don’t know if that is true. Callan has always kept me at arm’s length. I’m angry on my friend’s behalf and insanely jealous. I have no doubt Callan has resumed his usual sexual activities. My mouth sours, and I have to force a strained smile. I can’t listen to them fawning over him, so I step away and take the first sip of my drink. I’m going to need it if half of London’s female elite are here to hook up with the best sex of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As the hours tick by, I become even more on edge, worried any second the beast of a man will saunter in and send each woman into an excited frenzy. Each time the elevator doors whoosh open, my head involuntarily snaps round. I could slap myself. I’m no better than them.
Everybody is well on their way to being drunk, music is thumping, and the drinks are flowing like the fountain inside, sparkling wine mixes with diamonds and the glitter of dresses. I’m possibly the only person, other than the servers, who isn't under the influence. I do feel a little tipsy from my one glass, and without anything to eat to soak it up, I’m still a little fuzzy.
Oscar’s loud and slightly slurred voice rings out across the open patio, and faces appear as people stand and move, gaining a better view as he steps up onto a table to gain some height. Tony gives me a disapproving headshake, but I shrug because I know I won’t be able to get him down.
“Fellow alcoholics!” he begins, drawing a few chuckles, but most pull the typical political smile. “Firstly, I want to thank you all for coming. I know dragging yourselves out to celebrate with me must have been a hardship.” That pulls a few more laughs out. “So far, I’ve had the best fucking night,” he slips and nearly loses his footing, giving an unmanly yip, making us all laugh at his expense, “okay, okay, it’s not news that I am rather pissed.” He grins, then turns to me and goes solemn. “To you.” He holds his glass high. “To my gorgeous friend, thank you for trying to surprise me with tonight, and fuck the press for ruining it,” he huffs, and I give him a wink, “you truly are the best a person could wish for.” I put my hand to my heart, and we share a smile together. It reflects all our love for one another. It’s not merely about tonight. “I love you. I’m grateful to you, but I really wish you’d actually start drinking. It’s your only downfall,” he mutters playfully. That gains a few shocked glances my way as I shake my head no at him.
“Someone needs to keep an even head when you’re on the loose!” I call back. I look at Chloe. “Plus, you’ve got another favourite to drink with. I don’t need to.” I grin.
“Yes,” he grins knowingly, “to my gorgeous girlfriend. You’re sexy as hell, and I can't wait to whip off to Paris with you.” Chloe is red—bless her. I don't think she is used to the attention. Oscar mentioned she is a small-time actress and recently moved to the area, so this must be pretty overwhelming for her. She blows him a kiss, and Oscar beckons me up. “Get up here and give me a hug!” he demands pensively. I go, moving through the crowd until I’m standing below him. He holds out his hand, and I throw Tony a quick look but put my hand in his to be pulled up onto the table, clutching my dress to keep my dignity intact. As soon as we are eye level, he smiles at me. “Honestly, thank you,” he says sincerely.
“Oscar, you’re as good as family. I think you forget that sometimes.” And yet, I can’t tell him the truth of my past or what really happened between Callan and me. I sometimes wonder why that is. If some intrinsic part of me refuses to share my former years because it knows Oscar could never cope with that reality.
He pulls me tight and hugs me close to his side, and I’m eternally grateful because Callan chooses that moment to walk out of the elevator. There is a strange hush that echoes through the bar but is quickly picked back up when Oscar says, “And, of course, a big thank you to Mr Scott for allowing us to use this space for my birthday.” Oscar’s voice sounds strained, and I feel the tension in him now that Callan has arrived. Callan’s black eyes nearly match the darkened sky, and they are trained on me. He inclines his head but says little else. I never really expected him to attend at all. Surely, if he needed to work, he could have come in unseen. His office is a level down. As expected, women all pump out their chests and offer their best sides for him. He has one destination, one person on his mind. Me. He walks with purpose, smiling politely, if not a little stale to those around us. With us standing on one of the lower couch tables, even with my heels, he finally hits eye level. He lifts his hand, and I throw on a fixed smile whilst he helps me down. There are people nearby, so I worry about what he will say.
“Everything going smoothly? I’ve been informed there have been no mishaps.” His voice, deep and gravelly, makes my toes curl in my shoes.
“It’s all been perfect. Just what Oscar likes. Thank you for all this.” I try to act neutrally. Unaffected, professional, but his fingers dance down my spine, and he keeps his head angled. He reaches into his jacket as though going for his phone but says into my ear.
“You’re not off the hook, angel.” His hostile tone rankles me. I’m about to tell him we are both done when he adds quickly, quietly, “Russians are making noise.” I think I may prefer the noise, the not knowing, as the silence from them has given me no peace all these years. At least this way, I may finally know what it is that they want.
I twist to face him, putting a little distance between us, whilst throwing the brightest smile on my face, and I shake his hand.
“Again, Mr Scott, thank you for all you’ve done.” He looks momentarily shocked by my nonchalance. Pulling my hand free, I turn and walk away, aware of the eyes on me: the guests, his. That one touch has sent a crackle of electricity travelling through my limbs. I don't want to be photographed with him again or give people the impression we were, or are, more than just business. That one encounter has left my breath choppy, and I find myself pulling a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, but soon replace it on another passing tray, exasperated with myself. I’m ready to go home. I know this party will roll on for hours, but it’s not my scene, never has been. I’m in two minds to make my excuses and kiss Oscar goodbye, but a drunken Chloe appears in front of me and takes my hand.
“Come and dance!” She blinks pleadingly at me. I decide to indulge her and Oscar, who is moving freely about the inside bar. The party is in full swing, people are up dancing, swaying, kissing, and all I can think is less than four metres away is a man who has ensnared my whole soul, who is being fawned over by a large hoard of women, and like me, he has chosen to stay and indulge. Well, bugger him and his sexy tattooed body if he thinks he can make me jealous by wrapping women up in conversation. I watch in silent horror as he disarms them with a full wattage Callan Scott panty-wetting smile. Damn him, just fucking damn him. I allow Chloe to pull me into the throng, where I begin to dance. Not for fun, but to send Callan into a sweat-induced jealous feud. Two can play that game.
I sway and roll my hips. I even go as far as occasionally running my fingers through the ends of my hair to draw attention to my face. When a male hand lands on my hip, I don’t shrug it off. I move and dance to both beats, the music and him, my mystery partner. He’s a good dancer, light and rhythmic. Rocking my hips, I venture a look at Callan and catch sight of him standing abruptly, his face a dark mask of rage. I jolt, shaken by his open dislike of me dancing with a man. Is he going to drag me away? He stalks off back to the elevator, and shame washes over me. How childish can I be? I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing here. None. I’m an irrevocable mess. No wonder he left. He is more than likely disgusted with me. He was being nothing more than a businessman and a professional. The same hand squeezes my hip, and I shrug him off.
“Sorry, I actually have a headache.” Frowning, I look back and see an attractive older man, tall, lean, salt and pepper hair, and a twinkle in his eyes. I give him an apologetic smile.
“It is rather loud in here. Would you like some fresh air?” His offer does nothing for me. I don't want to converse with this man or anyone else.
“I think I’m going to head home, actually,” I reply, stepping away and going in search of Oscar and Chloe. I find them smooching in a corner.
“I hate to break the celebration up,” I chuckle. Oscar grins and prises himself away from Chloe’s lips.