Denied
Page 7
Despite my enthusiasm to distract myself with work, I don’t feel comfortable this evening. I’m gliding through the crowds, delivering canapés and champagne, but I feel uneasy. I don’t like it.
When the maître d’ announces dinner, the room soon empties, leaving hundreds of cocktail napkins all over the posh marble floor. They might be people of the legal world, but they’ve littered this stunning room terribly. I rid myself of my tray and start making my way around the room, scooping up the rubbish and stuffing it into a black sack, even finding the remnants of canapés as I go.
‘You okay there, Livy?’ Del calls across the room.
‘Sure. They’re a messy bunch,’ I say, tying my full sack. ‘Do you mind if I use the toilets?’
He laughs, shaking his head. ‘What would you do if I said no?’
The question throws me. ‘Are you going to say no?’
‘God love you. Go to the bloody toilet, woman!’ My boss disappears back into the kitchen, leaving me to find the ladies’.
I take some stairs, following the signs, until I’m wandering down a long stretch of corridor, admiring the paintings flanking either side of me. They are all of historical kings and queens, the earliest being Henry VIII. I stop and take in the portly, bearded man in his later years, wondering, stupidly, what would possess a woman to venture there.
‘He’s not Miller Hart, is he?’
I swing around, coming face to face with Miller’s ‘business associate’. Cassie. What the hell is she doing here? She’s gazing at the picture thoughtfully, arms crossed over the bustier of a stunning silver gown, her glossy black hair tumbling over her shoulders.
‘And he may have been a busy boy in the bedroom, but not as busy as Miller.’ Her sly, hurtful words are like pins shoved viciously into the centre of my heart. ‘Is he as good as everyone claims?’ She turns her cocky expression to me, giving me the once-over with eyes full of satisfaction. I crumble a little, yet find a hidden strength to conceal it.
‘That depends on how good everyone claims he is,’ I retort, meeting her stare and matching her confidence. Her question quickly tells me that she’s asking because she doesn’t know herself, and that satisfies me too much.
‘Very good.’
‘Then they are very right.’
She barely retains her shock, pushing my confidence further. ‘I see,’ she says quietly, nodding mildly.
‘But I’ll tell you something for free.’ I step forward, feeling unreasonably superior with the knowledge that I’ve had him and Cassie hasn’t. I don’t give her the opportunity to ask what. I’m in my stride. ‘He makes love even better than he f**ks with restraints.’
She gasps, backing away from me, and it’s in this moment I comprehend the weight of Miller’s reputation. It makes me feel nauseous. Somehow, though, I manage to cling on to my sass.
‘If your plan was to try and shock me with news of Miller’s business, then it’s wasted bitchiness. I already know.’
‘Right,’ she says slowly, thoughtfully.
‘Are we done, or are you going to enlighten me of his rules, too?’
She laughs, but it’s a surprised laugh. I’ve shocked her even more, startled her with my assertiveness, and she wasn’t prepared for it, which is now making me smug. ‘I guess we’re done.’
‘Good,’ I fire with confidence before finding my way to the toilet and falling apart once I’m safely behind the closed door of the cubicle. I’m not sure why I’m crying when I feel so satisfied with myself. I think I just twisted some balls, and Nan would be so proud . . . if I could tell her.
After spending an eternity pulling myself together, I make my way back to the kitchens and start loading up some trays of champagne in preparation for the return of guests from their meal.
Cassie is one of the first to enter the room, and she is draped all over a mature man, at least thirty years her senior. It’s then that the obviousness hits me like a tornado, making my tray of champagne flutes chink as my palm shakes. She’s a high-class hooker, too!
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, watching her giggle and lap up the attention he’s showering her with. Why? She has a stake in an exclusive nightclub. She surely doesn’t need the cash or gifts. And in this moment, I swiftly realise that I haven’t even considered Miller’s motive for absorbing himself in that world. He owns Ice. He definitely doesn’t need the money. I reflect back to our encounter at the restaurant, scanning my mind for some words I vaguely recall.
Enough to buy a nightclub.
I’m buzzing with curiosity, and I hate being curious. It’s already got me in too deep and more could see me drowning.
‘You gonna stand there all night and daydream?’ Sylvie’s voice snaps me back into the room, which is now filled with guests and happy chatter. My eyes cast slowly across the gatherings of people, all, as usual, impeccably dressed, and I wonder how many are immersed in a world of high-class prostitution. ‘Livy?’
I jump, prompting me to steady my tray with my spare hand. ‘Sorry!’
‘What’s wrong?’ Sylvie asks, looking around the room, and I know it’s because of all the other times during these functions that I’ve had a funny turn.
‘Nothing,’ I blurt. ‘I’d better get serving.’
‘Hey, is that the woman . . .’ She pauses and looks at me, her pink lips pursed tight to stop her from completing her question.
I don’t answer, instead leaving Sylvie to lose myself in the crowd and let her draw her own conclusion. I’ve led my friends to believe that Cassie is Miller’s girlfriend, and I might have got away with it if the slut wasn’t parading around blatantly with another man.
Chapter Four
I walk home from work the next evening, taking a few detours to see some of my favourite landmarks on my way. As always, the diversion is welcome, but when I stop at a street vendor to buy a bottle of water, a picture on the front of a newspaper catapults me back to square one. He did this interview weeks ago. Why is it in print only now? My pulse increases as I absorb the photograph of the beautiful male gracing the front page, and then it pumps relentlessly when I read the headline:
London’s most eligible bachelor opens
London’s most exclusive nightclub.
I gingerly pick up the paper and stare down at the words, being bombarded with images of a happy moment, when he had acknowledged his feelings and seemed to have given up trying to hide from them. He’d told that brash journalist to rethink her plan to title the piece with this. She must have been delighted by the news that Miller Hart is, in fact, a bachelor. The hurt is too much and reading the article will only inflame it, so I force myself to throw it back on the pile, forgetting to collect the water I’d originally stopped for.
He’s still around every corner. I stare blankly down at the pavement, trying to figure out where to head next. In my fog, I step into the road, only to be honked at by an approaching car, but I don’t even jump. If that car were to mow me down, I wouldn’t feel a thing.
It slows and stops a few feet before me. The Lexus is unfamiliar, but the registration plate isn’t. Two letters. Just two.
W A
The driver’s door opens and an unfamiliar man gets out, tipping his hat to me before briskly walking around the car and opening the rear door, holding it and gesturing for me to get in. Refusing would be stupid. He’ll find me, no matter where I hide, so I tentatively step forward and lower myself into the car, keeping my eyes down, working hard to make my tears recede. I don’t need to look to check if I’m alone. I know I’m not. I could feel the power that he wields from outside of the car. Now that I’m within touching distance of him, it’s potent.
When the maître d’ announces dinner, the room soon empties, leaving hundreds of cocktail napkins all over the posh marble floor. They might be people of the legal world, but they’ve littered this stunning room terribly. I rid myself of my tray and start making my way around the room, scooping up the rubbish and stuffing it into a black sack, even finding the remnants of canapés as I go.
‘You okay there, Livy?’ Del calls across the room.
‘Sure. They’re a messy bunch,’ I say, tying my full sack. ‘Do you mind if I use the toilets?’
He laughs, shaking his head. ‘What would you do if I said no?’
The question throws me. ‘Are you going to say no?’
‘God love you. Go to the bloody toilet, woman!’ My boss disappears back into the kitchen, leaving me to find the ladies’.
I take some stairs, following the signs, until I’m wandering down a long stretch of corridor, admiring the paintings flanking either side of me. They are all of historical kings and queens, the earliest being Henry VIII. I stop and take in the portly, bearded man in his later years, wondering, stupidly, what would possess a woman to venture there.
‘He’s not Miller Hart, is he?’
I swing around, coming face to face with Miller’s ‘business associate’. Cassie. What the hell is she doing here? She’s gazing at the picture thoughtfully, arms crossed over the bustier of a stunning silver gown, her glossy black hair tumbling over her shoulders.
‘And he may have been a busy boy in the bedroom, but not as busy as Miller.’ Her sly, hurtful words are like pins shoved viciously into the centre of my heart. ‘Is he as good as everyone claims?’ She turns her cocky expression to me, giving me the once-over with eyes full of satisfaction. I crumble a little, yet find a hidden strength to conceal it.
‘That depends on how good everyone claims he is,’ I retort, meeting her stare and matching her confidence. Her question quickly tells me that she’s asking because she doesn’t know herself, and that satisfies me too much.
‘Very good.’
‘Then they are very right.’
She barely retains her shock, pushing my confidence further. ‘I see,’ she says quietly, nodding mildly.
‘But I’ll tell you something for free.’ I step forward, feeling unreasonably superior with the knowledge that I’ve had him and Cassie hasn’t. I don’t give her the opportunity to ask what. I’m in my stride. ‘He makes love even better than he f**ks with restraints.’
She gasps, backing away from me, and it’s in this moment I comprehend the weight of Miller’s reputation. It makes me feel nauseous. Somehow, though, I manage to cling on to my sass.
‘If your plan was to try and shock me with news of Miller’s business, then it’s wasted bitchiness. I already know.’
‘Right,’ she says slowly, thoughtfully.
‘Are we done, or are you going to enlighten me of his rules, too?’
She laughs, but it’s a surprised laugh. I’ve shocked her even more, startled her with my assertiveness, and she wasn’t prepared for it, which is now making me smug. ‘I guess we’re done.’
‘Good,’ I fire with confidence before finding my way to the toilet and falling apart once I’m safely behind the closed door of the cubicle. I’m not sure why I’m crying when I feel so satisfied with myself. I think I just twisted some balls, and Nan would be so proud . . . if I could tell her.
After spending an eternity pulling myself together, I make my way back to the kitchens and start loading up some trays of champagne in preparation for the return of guests from their meal.
Cassie is one of the first to enter the room, and she is draped all over a mature man, at least thirty years her senior. It’s then that the obviousness hits me like a tornado, making my tray of champagne flutes chink as my palm shakes. She’s a high-class hooker, too!
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, watching her giggle and lap up the attention he’s showering her with. Why? She has a stake in an exclusive nightclub. She surely doesn’t need the cash or gifts. And in this moment, I swiftly realise that I haven’t even considered Miller’s motive for absorbing himself in that world. He owns Ice. He definitely doesn’t need the money. I reflect back to our encounter at the restaurant, scanning my mind for some words I vaguely recall.
Enough to buy a nightclub.
I’m buzzing with curiosity, and I hate being curious. It’s already got me in too deep and more could see me drowning.
‘You gonna stand there all night and daydream?’ Sylvie’s voice snaps me back into the room, which is now filled with guests and happy chatter. My eyes cast slowly across the gatherings of people, all, as usual, impeccably dressed, and I wonder how many are immersed in a world of high-class prostitution. ‘Livy?’
I jump, prompting me to steady my tray with my spare hand. ‘Sorry!’
‘What’s wrong?’ Sylvie asks, looking around the room, and I know it’s because of all the other times during these functions that I’ve had a funny turn.
‘Nothing,’ I blurt. ‘I’d better get serving.’
‘Hey, is that the woman . . .’ She pauses and looks at me, her pink lips pursed tight to stop her from completing her question.
I don’t answer, instead leaving Sylvie to lose myself in the crowd and let her draw her own conclusion. I’ve led my friends to believe that Cassie is Miller’s girlfriend, and I might have got away with it if the slut wasn’t parading around blatantly with another man.
Chapter Four
I walk home from work the next evening, taking a few detours to see some of my favourite landmarks on my way. As always, the diversion is welcome, but when I stop at a street vendor to buy a bottle of water, a picture on the front of a newspaper catapults me back to square one. He did this interview weeks ago. Why is it in print only now? My pulse increases as I absorb the photograph of the beautiful male gracing the front page, and then it pumps relentlessly when I read the headline:
London’s most eligible bachelor opens
London’s most exclusive nightclub.
I gingerly pick up the paper and stare down at the words, being bombarded with images of a happy moment, when he had acknowledged his feelings and seemed to have given up trying to hide from them. He’d told that brash journalist to rethink her plan to title the piece with this. She must have been delighted by the news that Miller Hart is, in fact, a bachelor. The hurt is too much and reading the article will only inflame it, so I force myself to throw it back on the pile, forgetting to collect the water I’d originally stopped for.
He’s still around every corner. I stare blankly down at the pavement, trying to figure out where to head next. In my fog, I step into the road, only to be honked at by an approaching car, but I don’t even jump. If that car were to mow me down, I wouldn’t feel a thing.
It slows and stops a few feet before me. The Lexus is unfamiliar, but the registration plate isn’t. Two letters. Just two.
W A
The driver’s door opens and an unfamiliar man gets out, tipping his hat to me before briskly walking around the car and opening the rear door, holding it and gesturing for me to get in. Refusing would be stupid. He’ll find me, no matter where I hide, so I tentatively step forward and lower myself into the car, keeping my eyes down, working hard to make my tears recede. I don’t need to look to check if I’m alone. I know I’m not. I could feel the power that he wields from outside of the car. Now that I’m within touching distance of him, it’s potent.
