Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Oh, I see. Going to be quiet about your encounter with him the other night? I’ve given you two whole days to keep your little secret.”
“It was nothing,” I insist.
Nothing doesn’t even begin to cover it. In the last two days, he’s popped up in my mind over and over again, like an intrusive thought I’m helpless to avoid. The more I try to stop thinking about him, the more I do. Our walk home on Thursday night was unexpectedly… interesting. He’s so intimidating, so painfully attractive, I assumed if we ever had a chance conversation, I’d turn into a bumbling idiot around him. Instead, I couldn’t shut my mouth to save my life. I couldn’t just be polite.
To be fair, my attitude was partly Cristiano’s fault. Something about him brought out my fiery side, and he obviously liked it because he kept stoking the flames. That smile he wore when we parted ways—that deliciously handsome grin bookended by dimples—has me weak just remembering it.
“Nothing happened the other night,” I tell Simone now. She and Annika have been hounding me for details ever since we left the club on Thursday.
“Cristiano was waiting for you on the sidewalk! I’ve never seen him do anything like that, mind you. The bloke never even chats with the staff outside of ordering a drink or asking after Hugo.” She points an accusing finger at me. “EXPLAIN YOURSELF.”
“There was an issue with my work visa.”
Simone eyes me suspiciously. She sees straight through my lie. “Hugo would have taken care of that.”
“Really? Hmm.”
She crosses her arm to prop up her elbow, then drums her finger against her chin in thought. “The only feasible explanation I’ve been able to come up with is that Cristiano fancies you. If he threw out the visa thing, that was just his poor excuse to get you alone.”
I shrug. “You think? Maybe so. Did you remember to pack the snacks? All this swimming has made me hungry.”
Then, before she can reply, I dive back into the sea and swim to shore like the coward I am. No more talking about Winnie. No more talking about Cristiano!
Chapter Eight
Isabel
When it’s time to pack up at the beach, Simone and Annika have to drag me out of the water. Already, we’re cutting it close if we want to rinse the sand and sea off us before work. My hair’s still damp and wild when I change into my uniform in Aura’s locker room, and Simone forces me to sit so she can give me a quick blowout.
I’m lucky she’s willing to put in the effort; she swears she doesn’t mind. Simone is great with hair, and eventually, she thinks she might try to make it her full-time job. For now, she spends most of her year working as an assistant to a semi-famous hairstylist in London. She’s told me a little about the job, how good the pay is, but then it has to be, because the high-end clientele can be extremely difficult to deal with.
“You should see these ladies, Elle,” she tells me over the loud whirring of the blow-dryer. “They’re dripping in Hermès and Chanel, and you know those De Vere bracelets everyone’s banging on about? This one woman had ten jangling on her wrist the last time she came into the salon.”
I look at my lap, trying to squash the rising guilt over keeping my identity a secret from her. I know so much about Simone. She’s from a suburb of London and has two brothers and a single mum, as well as an absolutely diabolical tabby cat. She bombed her first year of sixth form and decided she’d rather work any job, of any sort, than continue her schooling, which is how she wound up at the hair salon.
A part of me had hoped Simone wouldn’t know of my family or our company. Silly, actually, considering the UK is our second-largest market outside the United States.
“You okay?” she asks, meeting my gaze in the vanity mirror.
“Good. Yeah.”
“Nervous about tonight?” she guesses.
She means because of the big party, but yet again, I think of Cristiano. He wasn’t at the club last night. At least, I never saw him, and everyone I questioned (meaning, every employee on the floor) confirmed they hadn’t seen him, either. I doubt he’ll be here tonight.
I shrug. “Surprisingly, no.”
“Right, good on you, because you look absolutely gorgeous, and word is this DJ they’ve got tonight, Boréal, is quite hot, so one of us better bat our eyelashes. Obviously it needs to be you.”
“Why me?”
“Other than the fact that I’ve really done a fab job on this hair? Well, Annika’s hung up on Ethan, and Thalia has a massive crush on Valentina, and I’m…”
She lets her sentence dwindle as if she’s lost the nerve to continue.
I turn and catch her gaze. “You’re what?”