Lucy squeezed Carlos’s arm.
‘Can you believe we’re here?’ she asked him.
‘It’s amazing, Luce. You are, officially, my favourite friend.’
Kirk had explained that his lawyer, Al, who ran a huge practice specializing in representing celebrities on both coasts – New York and Los Angeles – as well as London, held an annual party for clients and their guests. A thank you for all the money they’d spent. What with the number of libel cases against newspapers, magazines, film companies, not to mention their speciality of representing multimillionaire clients in their divorce cases, that amount of cash was not inconsiderable. Normally, Al threw the bash in LA but had decided on London this year. Many of his American-based clients had flown over for it. Kirk had told Lucy that some stars had been known to dump their attorney in favour of Al’s firm after hearing about the ridiculously extravagant parties. That and the fact Al and his two partners were known for their balls of steel in court.
Al had hired Home House, the exclusive London members’ club, for the night. It was a huge venue over several floors. Lucy and Carlos had been there before – on shoots or for parties, but tonight it was hardly recognizable. Each floor was themed. Everything on the first floor was purple. From the body paint on the near-naked waitresses serving canapés, to the silk sheets draped on the walls. A four-piece jazz band played in purple suits, their music soothing and mellow. Lilac bubbles floated around the room, making it seem other-worldly – like the guests had floated to heaven for a party.
On the second floor, where Lucy was standing with Carlos, the theme was orange. There was a huge glass tank of orange balls in a corner, like the ones you used to dive in as a kid. The room was fragranced with orange blossom and cocktails were clear with twists of orange peel. Waiters with amazing torsos wore shorts like Baywatch lifeguards, with orange Santa hats on their head to get into the spirit of Christmas, now just days away.
‘This is awesome,’ Lucy whispered to Carlos. She was used to extravagant parties but this really was something else. She kept spotting new intricate details. She must remember to find out who the party planner was. Maybe she could hire them for a big shoot.
Lucy waited until Kirk had excused himself to her and gone off with Al, to be introduced to a few guests. Al’s decision to hold a pre-Christmas bash in London was in no small part down to Kirk. He was set to spend a fortune with Al’s firm in a very high-profile divorce case and Al was keen to let him know how much he valued his custom. As Kirk had based himself in London for the last few months, what better way to demonstrate his generosity than bringing the party to him? It also did wonders for his relations with employees at his London branch – a relatively new office with a small staff. Slowly they were starting to take big clients from established rival English firms.
‘You are never going to believe what just happened.’ Lucy was leaning into Carlos’s ear, her voice dripping with dramatic urgency.
It was all the encouragement Carlos needed. His eyes wide, he half whispered and half hissed back: ‘Tell me, tell me. Have you already had sex in his hotel room? Is that why he asked you to meet him there? Did he fling you on the bed and make wild passionate love? Tell me he did.’
Lucy controlled her fit of giggles by taking a deep breath, then placed her hand on her chest as though vowing what she was about to tell him was true.
‘I walked in on him sitting on a chair facing me with his trousers round his ankles, his legs apart, getting a blow job from a girl. I think she was an escort.’
‘Nooooo,’ he half shouted.
Lucy put her finger to her lips: ‘Shhh.’
‘Fuck. Me. Hard. That is insane.’
Lucy was laughing so hard, she was almost crying. She couldn’t find the breath to explain any more to Carlos. Spotting an empty orange sofa he moved over to it and tugged on Lucy’s arm so she followed. She looked fabulous. Carlos could never imagine her having anything other than the curvaceously perfect frame that made her look good enough to eat no matter what she wore, even if all the office girls were obsessed with being stick thin. Lucy was tall and elegant and that little Chanel black dress was divine, showing a hint of cleavage with a hem just above her knees. Perfectly refined and yet so sexy. She had gone for the classic Chanel look, with bold red lipstick and pearls.
Carlos clapped his hands and ooohed and aaahed through Lucy’s tale of what had happened. This beat any story on Popbitch or Holy Moly.
Kirk had been gone for at least twenty minutes. Lucy didn’t mind one bit. She loved telling Carlos everything and had to admit it was hilarious. When he’d got every last detail out of her – doing so in a huge rush in case Kirk came back – he settled contentedly back on the sofa and took in the hot waiters surrounding him.
‘Ah, heaven,’ he sighed.
‘You’re taken. Raymondo, remember?’
‘No harm in window-shopping, sweets,’ he told her sternly.
As always, Carlos looked remarkably dapper. A chocolate-brown Prada suit was set off perfectly against a lemon shirt and fashionably thin brown tie.
She had settled into a comfortable silence with her friend, sipping their Cointreau cocktails and soaking up the scene of decadence around them. The female guests looked so spangly and festive – women always made a special effort when Christmas was approaching. Lucy spotted the new Dior party gown, skimming the floor in rose-petal silk, before realizing its owner was none other than supermodel Agyness Deyn, who had fronted recent campaigns for Armani and Burberry.
The music mogul Simon Fuller, who had discovered the Spice Girls, was chatting in a corner to Emma Bunton, who was keeping it real in a glittery, girly, gold prom-style dress from Monsoon, with the new and not-so-affordable Jimmy Choo gold wedges.
And there was Simon Cowell, pretty short in the flesh with surprisingly broad, square-ish shoulders.
Lucy spotted Kirk, who had dressed down in navy Armani jeans, brown lace-up shoes and a black-lambswool V-necked jumper. Perhaps he had intended to put on a suit before Lucy had caught him unawares. He’d left his room to chase her straight away, after all. She found the sight of him rather surreal. Here he was, looking every inch as gorgeous as he did on the billboards and magazine covers – his tousled dark blond hair, that flawless lightly bronzed skin, all-American smile and perfect body. And she was his date. But was she? The body language of every woman in the room screamed they wanted him – they stood with their feet pointing slightly in his direction, their heads thrown back to laugh in an attempt to look like they were the life and soul of the party while desperately trying to catch his eye. The truth was that Kirk Kelner was everyone’s date at a party. Women would replay the smouldering look he gave them – imagined or not – for months or years to come. And there was no getting away from it: Kirk loved the attention.
She was aware he kept looking over at her, checking she was OK. Of course she was flattered. But really, how could she ever date this guy? Many a woman would put up with anything to date him, but Lucy had met him just twice and already knew he paid for blow jobs. Hardly a way to kick off a honeymoon period for any relationship.
Lucy remembered something Marj had told her: you should never judge your success by your pay packet. The same could be applied to partners. It was wrong to somehow think yourself important or special because of the guy on your arm.
As much as she enjoyed his company – not to mention the admitted ego boost of Kirk Kelner pursuing her – she could imagine life would be far from easy with him. No guy looked that hot without dedicating a huge part of his waking hours to his image. Having your boyfriend spend more time in front of the mirror and in beauty spas than most high-maintenance women wasn’t the sexiest thought in the world, but then it was in his job description to look the best he possibly could. There was something else that bothered Lucy. It wasn’t the attention he got from girls; it was the fact that he clearly wasn’t ready to give that up. He thrived on it, like a drug. She couldn’t help but find that deeply unattractive, in spite of his heavenly looks.
Lucy had no doubt he had told her the truth when he said he desperately wanted to settle down and that he could be faithful. Whether or not he’d admit it, though, a bigger part of him wasn’t ready.
Lucy sighed. ‘Tell me, Carlos, could you ever be with a man you’d seen getting a blow job from a prostitute?’
Carlos mulled the question over in his head, as if considering whether Burberry had outshone Prada at London Fashion Week.
‘No. But in the case of that little stud muffin,’ he said, nodding his head in Kirk’s direction, ‘I might have to make an exception.’
‘Well, I don’t think I can,’ she told him quietly, soaking in every inch of Kirk Kelner – the man she would never sleep with. She couldn’t, not now.
She smiled brightly as Kirk approached, apologizing profusely for taking so long.
‘Al insisted I meet everyone. I’m so sorry,’ he said, addressing Lucy and Carlos. She couldn’t fault his manners.
‘Not at all, Kirk,’ Lucy said, standing up from the sofa she’d been sharing with Carlos, who immediately headed for a tray full of cocktails held by a near-naked waiter.
‘Kirk,’ she said, looking at her watch, ‘it’s midnight and I’ve got an early start at work. Would you think me a terrible bore if I went home?’
Kirk’s shoulders sank. ‘I really did blow it.’
Lucy put a hand on his shoulder, aware she was being watched like a hawk by Takira Freshwater, the pretty party girl and socialite who had dated a famous singer among others.
She was oddly reassured that Kirk would at least get laid. If Carli was anything to go by, that’s just what he needed.
‘No. Not at all. But some of us have a day job.’ She smiled.
‘OK,’ Kirk said, brightening slightly. ‘But let me call you a car.’
Lucy squeezed his arm. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Carlos. ‘Carlos, I’m going to head off. Do you want to come?’
Carlos looked from Lucy to Kirk.
‘Please,’ Kirk told him, ‘stay and party with me – you’re more than welcome.’
Carlos mock-sighed. ‘Well, if you insist, I suppose I could manage another hour or two.’
‘Excellent,’ Kirk replied, swiping an orange-tinged drink with tangerine feathers from a passing waiter. Any friend of Lucy’s was a friend of his. After all, the way to a girl’s heart was through her gay best friend. Admittedly, that ship may well and truly have sailed after Lucy’s little discovery earlier that evening.
Even so, this particular gay friend was one of the best-dressed men Kirk had ever seen – maybe he could pick up a few tips.
Kirk excused himself to walk Lucy downstairs. He would ask his driver to take her home then return and wait for him to stumble out and on to another club or back to his hotel suite.
‘Lucy, I really am very sorry. Not to mention embarrassed,’ he told her as the driver held open the car door.
‘Please don’t be,’ she told him, kissing his cheek. A kiss on the lips would be a step too far – God knew where they’d been. ‘You’re Kirk Kelner and you can get away with more than most.’
Kirk couldn’t help but laugh.
Slipping into the back seat of the Jaguar, she said: ‘Don’t worry. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’ll call you later in the week, OK?’
Kirk beamed back. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’
Excellent, he thought as she pulled away. Not only do I still have an albeit remote shot with the lovely Lucy Summers, there is a hot one-night stand this very evening to look forward to. What’s her name? Takira? Clearly up for it. In fact, there are so many girls gagging for me at the party that a threesome or foursome may not be out of the question.