Tilly Bagshawe 3-book Bundle: Scandalous, Fame, Friends and Rivals. Tilly Bagshawe

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      ‘Really? I slept like a baby. The service here is shit, but I must say that sofa bed was damn comfortable. Now look, the planning meeting’s been pushed back to ten a.m., so we’ve got an extra hour to polish our presentation.’

      ‘I don’t need it,’ said Lottie. ‘I’ve got it down.’

      Jackson raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? I can run over things with you if you like, I have the time.’

      ‘I’m sure.’ If she couldn’t seduce him sexually, she was damn well going to impress him professionally. The planning committee would be eating out of her hand.

      ‘That was amazing!’ Jackson hugged Lottie as they left the meeting. ‘They loved you.’

      Walking down Park Avenue towards the golf course, in downtown Park City, beneath a blazing bright winter sun, he felt elated. The deal would go through now, no question. Lottie had dazzled the committee with figures, and melted them with charm. Jack Brannigan, the chairman, a dour, fat, self-important little man, was notoriously difficult to please, but Lottie had joked and cajoled and – there was only one word for it – flirted with him until he rolled over like a puppy. It was a side to her Jackson had never really seen before. He’d always thought of her as so sweet, so pure. But she’d manipulated old man Brannigan like a pro.

      ‘I’m serious, Lottie, you nailed it. I half expected Jack to propose marriage to you by the end of the meeting. He was drooling.’

      Lottie blushed. ‘He was not.’

      ‘He was too. Man, I’m on a high! Of course, you realize this means we’re going to have to extend our trip. Now we have verbal approval, I want to do as many on-site meetings as we can. Talk to all the bidders, the primary contractors, the subs. Can you stay?’

      Lottie thought about her desk in New York and the mountain of work waiting for her. Then she thought about Jackson last night, and this morning, his utter sexual indifference. Did she really want to put herself through two, three, four more nights of mental and physical torture, lying awake, alone, while he ignored her?

      ‘Of course I can stay,’ she heard herself staying. ‘No problem.’

      ‘Great. We’ll have dinner tonight and work out a schedule. In the meantime, I think we’ve both earned the afternoon off.’

      Lottie beamed. ‘Fantastic! Maybe we could go for a hike up in the pine forest? I’ve heard that the area right above our hotel has some stunning trails.’

      ‘Sounds great,’ said Jackson. ‘You have fun. I’ll see you at dinner. Eight o’clock, Mastro’s.’

      Before Lottie could say another word, he’d hailed a cab and disappeared.

      Lottie tried to look on the bright side. At least he wants to have dinner with me. She looked at her watch. One o’clock. Seven hours in which to transform herself into a Jackson Dupree-worthy sex-siren. Last night had been a washout, but that was no reason to abandon hope. Tonight. Tonight was the night.

      Mastro’s was a bustling, modern steak and ribs joint attached to an achingly trendy bar. The place to see and be seen in the mountain resort, it was the sort of restaurant that Lottie Grainger usually avoided like the plague. Tonight, however, she felt confident and sexy and fierce. I am one of the beautiful people. I belong here, just as much as the silicone-lipped twigs propping up the bar.

      In one afternoon, she had succeeded in effecting a very dramatic transformation. Marching into an expensive salon, she’d demanded the ultra-camp stylist cut her already short hair even shorter, into a spiky, boyish crop, then dye it from Lottie’s natural chestnut to a shocking, peroxide-white blonde.

      ‘Take a deep breath,’ said the stylist, proudly handing Lottie a mirror. ‘Ta da! What do you think?’

      Lottie opened her eyes and burst into tears.

      The poor stylist was horrified. ‘Oh, no!’ he wailed. ‘Oh, please, don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s OK. We can soften the colour if it’s too much for you. It’s not a big deal, honestly.’

      ‘It’s OK,’ laughed Lottie, wiping away the tears. ‘It’s a shock, that’s all. I love it. I look … I look …’

      ‘Fucking gorgeous?’ the stylist preened. ‘Yes you do, my angel. Yes you do.’

      Next stop was the beauty salon, to get her nails painted the latest, hippest shade of gleaming, gothic black and to wax every hair on her body into oblivion. Finally, still smarting from the hot wax torture, Lottie bought a tight-fitting pair of black hipster jeans from Chloe Lane on Main Street, and a matching black mink cropped fur jacket from Alaska Furs that cost more than her last three months’ salary, but that completed the glam-rock look perfectly. Dashing back to the hotel for make-up – smoky eyes were most definitely called for – and her highest pair of Louboutin spiky boots, Lottie finally arrived at Mastro’s twenty minutes late with her adrenaline pumping.

      ‘I’m here for dinner,’ she announced to the hostess confidently. ‘The table’s booked under Dupree.’

      ‘Oh yes, of course. Most of your party are already here, if you’d like to follow me.’

      Most of my party? Lottie looked confused. Her bewilderment intensified as the hostess led her to a large, round table in the middle of the restaurant. A handsome man in a beanie hat was arguing loudly and pretentiously about art with two very young girls, both of whom looked like models and hung off his every word. Next to him, an older man in a crumpled suit looked up and smiled at Lottie. ‘I’m Francis. I’m a friend of Jackson’s. And you are?’

      ‘Lottie. Lottie Grainger.’ Lottie shook his hand and sat down, biting her lip hard to stop herself from crying. How could she have misread the situation so badly? Jackson didn’t want to take her out for a romantic dinner. He’d simply invited her along to join a group evening. He probably felt sorry for me, stuck in the hotel on my own. He was being kind. ‘Jackson and I are …’ What were they? ‘… colleagues.’

      ‘Lucky Jackson.’ Francis smiled wolfishly. ‘And unlucky you. It’s bad enough having to deal with his bullshit as a friend. If I worked with the arrogant son of a bitch, I’d shoot myself. What are you drinking?’

      The table was already lavishly supplied with red and white wine, plus a jug of some sweet, fruity-looking cocktail. Lottie was about to say, ‘Nothing thanks, I’m fine,’ but then suddenly changed her mind. Fuck it. Why not? Jackson might not want her, but she was looking drop dead gorgeous tonight, she’d just won Wrexall Dupree a vital piece of business, and someone else was paying. She deserved to celebrate.

      ‘I’ll take one of those.’ She pointed to the red jug. ‘A large one.’

      Francis grinned. Pouring the drink he handed it to Lottie. ‘That’s the spirit. Thank God you’ve arrived. If I had to listen to this idiot spout one more line of crap about Kandinsky’s genius, I swear to God I would have drunk the whole pitcher myself.’ He looked at handsome beanie guy the same way he might look at a cockroach in his soup. ‘They’re all AA you know, this crowd, even the children. Nothing more boring than an ex-addict. I mean, really, who wears a fucking snowcap indoors?’

      Lottie giggled. She enjoyed talking to Francis. It turned out he was an architect, rather a СКАЧАТЬ