Chapter Ten

 

Four weeks after Chloe’s photo-shoot, at the end of November, the issue of Glitz carrying her interview had hit the shops and Ashleigh was in Tom’s office, about to find out how the change of theme for the shoot had really gone down.

‘Can’t the two of you ever just do what you’re asked?’ Tom stood with his back to her, a note of exasperation in his voice.

‘I think they work.’ Ashleigh was on the defensive. It was a chain reaction; get treated like a truculent teenager and you start to act like one.

‘Luckily for you they do, circulation’s up 120 per cent, but it would have been nice to be consulted.’ Tom turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers briefly. Her stomach did a weird sort of dip, like when you go over a humped-back bridge too fast. ‘Where is your partner in crime anyway?’

‘Looking at some wedding dresses by a new designer in Camden.’ Ashleigh watched an unreadable expression cross Tom’s face.

‘Anything I should know about?’ He seemed to visibly relax all of a sudden. ‘Mavericks that you are, I don’t want to wake up tomorrow to read in the papers that Stevie’s helped Ryan Murray come out as a transvestite and styled him in a vintage wedding dress just to make the point.’ They both laughed. Ryan Murray was a reality TV star. A walking, talking, wall of testosterone and there’d never been a wedding dress made that could take the strain of stretching across his sixty inch chest.

‘I don’t think even Stevie would go that far.’ She crossed her fingers underneath the desk so that Tom couldn’t see.

‘Mmm,’ Raising an eyebrow, he looked doubtful. ‘In that case, would you like to have lunch?’

‘What me? Here?’ She couldn’t have been more shocked if Ryan Murray had turned out to be a wedding-gown wearing cross-dresser. Tom had his nice head on again. Good job he wasn’t always like this; that would be dangerous.

‘Yes, you. But, no, not here.’ Tom was struggling to suppress a grin. ‘How about Grant’s?’

She nodded, still shocked at the invitation, when she’d expected a lecture about sticking to the brief. Grant’s was a wine bar around the corner from Rushworth Associates. It had a laid back atmosphere, didn’t try too hard to be trendy and the Spanish chef created tapas to die for. And, what’s more, Tom was taking her there for lunch.

****

Ashleigh disappeared into the cloakroom of the restaurant as soon as they arrived, muttering something about the November weather playing havoc with her hair and telling him to go ahead without her.

Tom had no problem getting a table, even without a booking. Making a living from sorting out celebrities’ lives had its downsides, but it opened a lot of doors too. He ordered a bottle of red wine and waited. The restaurant clientele were almost all trying to get noticed, one way or another. The women were well dressed in the main, although there were more than enough who were willing to wear a lot less to stand out from the crowd.

Ashleigh walked across the restaurant towards him; her red silk dress and knee-high boots were elegant and understated. Funny how tantalising a knee could be, when you were surrounded on all sides by women literally spilling out of their clothes. She was looking down at her feet, as though she wasn’t worthy of making eye contact with the other diners. There was something incredibly sexy about her complete lack of ego. He was definitely up for having some fun, but there was no way of knowing if she was too. There was only one way to find out.

****

‘So, how have you been?’ Ashleigh fidgeted in her seat, a large glass of red wine taking the edge off the nerves that always seemed to come from sharing a space with Tom.

‘What, apart from having a stylist and photographer who can’t seem to follow simple instructions?’ He was smiling though. ‘I’m fine. To be honest, for the most part it’s a relief. Susie-Anne isn’t the most relaxing of people to be around.’

‘Really?’ Ashleigh feigned surprise. ‘And there was me thinking she was low maintenance.’

‘Talking of relationships. How’s it going with Zac?’ Tom kept his tone light, but there was an almost indistinguishable tightening of his jaw.

‘It isn’t.’ Suddenly it was really important that he knew there was nothing going on. ‘It never was. Of course I’m excited to be shooting his album cover and we’ve met up once or twice to discuss his ideas, but that’s it. We’re not…’

‘Having sex?’ He cut in. The thought clearly bothered him, although she couldn’t understand why. Maybe he thought she’d be bad for Zac’s image.

‘I was going to say compatible.’ Ashleigh grinned and tore off a hunk of bread. ‘I don’t think I’m really his type.’

‘Somehow I doubt that.’ Tom’s voice was warm and, if it had been anyone else, she might have read something into the way he was looking at her. ‘Has Zac even got a type? I don’t recall any of his fiancées bearing a striking resemblance to one another. Although if he goes on much longer, he’s bound to go full-circle eventually. Did it disappoint you?’ He topped up their wine glasses. ‘That you weren’t his type, I mean?’

‘No. Although given the fact that most women in my age bracket seem to have been engaged to Zac, perhaps I should be offended!’ She raked a hand through her hair. Now wasn’t the time to mention how Zac’s hands always seemed to wander when they met up. Given the slightest inclination of interest, she could quite easily become Zac’s type, for one night at least.

‘I think you might challenge him too much. Conversation hasn’t been top of his agenda in the past.’ Tom didn’t miss a beat; he must have known what she was thinking. After all, Susie-Anne wasn’t exactly a noted raconteur.

They fell silent while the waiter laid the tapas out in front of them. The ambience of Grant’s, and the warmth of the red wine, was starting to work its magic. She was less scared she might say the wrong thing and cause Tom to give her one of his infamous looks. He had an aura of power and there was no denying it was sexy, but, when he also had the power to decide whether or not you could make your mortgage payments, it was pretty scary too.

‘Sorry!’ She laughed awkwardly as their hands brushed reaching for the same plate of prawns. If it had happened before the wine, she’d have snatched her hand away and flushed to match the Spanish tomatoes on her plate.

‘I’m not.’ He laid his hand over hers and she didn’t move away. They’d already kissed for heaven’s sake; that ought to count for something. So why did she feel so much like a teenager on her first date?

‘Is this a good idea?’ Ashleigh spoke quietly, afraid of how he might respond. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from his lips, suddenly wanting to relive that kiss more than anything.

‘I don’t know, but I don’t care either. We’re both adults and I need to be honest with you.’ He waited until she made eye contact. ‘If you’re going into this thinking it might be love, then I have to tell you that I don’t believe in all that. I like you and I’m really attracted to you, but I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I just have a feeling we could have some really good times together.’

‘Right.’ Ashleigh paused for a moment, not sure what to say. ‘Well I’m pretty crap at relationships anyway, so perhaps a no strings approach is the best all round?’ It was a daring thing for her. This wasn’t like anything she’d ever done before, but with her track record she had nothing to lose and it was a long time since she’d had that kind of fun.

The food had completely lost its appeal and Ashleigh was relieved when Tom signalled to the waiter. ‘In that case, would you mind if I got the bill?’

Within minutes they were outside the restaurant and Tom had hailed a taxi, giving the driver his home address. As they tumbled into the back seat, his mobile started to ring and he switched it off without even looking at it.

‘It might be important.’ She bit her lip again, the Dutch courage had dissipated and those first date nerves were back with a vengeance.

‘Nothing’s that important.’ He moved towards her, taking her face in his hands. ‘This isn’t something I do all the time. I’m not Zac.’

‘I know, I know.’ She murmured until their lips finally met, their urgency and intensity apparent in the kiss. She was oblivious to everyone else in the world, including the cab driver sitting only a few feet away.

****

Funny how finding half the world’s press camped on your doorstep could immediately cool things off. Pulling up outside his double-fronted town house, the huge wrought iron gates seemed to have grown human creepers, climbing to look into the garden and clinging to the metal work like ivy.

‘For Christ’s sake, what is it now?’ Tom spotted the press pack, seconds before they spotted him. Dread prickled his scalp. What the hell were they all here for? He pulled out his mobile and listened to the urgent message from Francine, as photographers, journalists and camera crews began to surge like a tidal wave towards the taxi.

‘Tom, Tom.’ A young redhead in faded jeans, clutching a digital recorder hammered on the window. ‘How are you feeling about Susie-Anne and Michael, now that there’s a baby on the way?’ Tom didn’t respond. Even if he had it would have been drowned out by the shouts of the paparazzi, as they fought to get the scoop on his response to the news. His former fiancée getting knocked-up by a premiership footballer, barely a month after their split, would be front-page fodder.

‘Just drive, before they swallow us up. We’ll worry about where later. If we don’t get out of here now, we never will.’ Tom shouted to the cabbie, who performed wheel spins that an experienced getaway driver would have been proud of.