The Bad Boy Wants Me(11)

‘Of course.’

‘Oh, and can you make sure it’s not Eileen that does my hair. She drives me mad talking about Cash all the time.’

‘Oh? Yeah, I’ll make sure you get someone else.’

‘Thank you,’ she sings and is gone from my room. My brain starts ticking again. In a funny sort of way I feel numb and detached from the weird situation I have gotten myself into.

The bad boy kissed me. And I kissed him back.

The water is cold. I really should get out.





Chapter Six


Tori

I dry myself and look at my reflection in the mirror. Tori Diamond. Blonde with a really guilty look in her cornflower blue eyes. OK, so the big plan is basically in tatters. Leah will have a fit when she hears where the plan has gone.

I look at my watch. It’s too early to call her. She will still be sleeping. She’s an author and she works at night and sleeps until noon.

I put the hairbrush down and wander over to my bedside table. Picking my cell phone up I call Mr. Wong and yeah, no problems. He’ll take Britney at 9.00am. Then I call the hairdresser.

‘Er … is Eileen around tomorrow afternoon?’

‘No, it’s her day off tomorrow,’ the receptionist says, after checking their roster.

‘Shame. Never mind, can I book an appointment for Britney tomorrow afternoon? Anything available about threeish?’

‘She’s booked with Pauline at three,’ she says crisply.

‘Wonderful.’

‘The nail technician will be around tomorrow. Do you want to book her at the same time?’

‘Why not?’’

‘Manicure & pedicure?’

‘Excellent. See you tomorrow,’ I say and ring off.

I throw my phone on the bed and take Monstrosity out of my bedside table. Monstrosity is my diary. I call it that because there is a long fanged monster made with furry blue material on the cover. I sit cross-legged on the bed, unlock him, and flip the pages to today’s date.

Dear Monstrosity,

I think it’s safe to assume I f**ked up.

Out of sheer spite the enemy kissed me and I, well, I kind of kissed him back.

In my defense:

There is no logic to a crush.

I was in a weakened state.

I was caught woefully unprepared, and

The enemy is, while clearly rude, crude, vulgar, unrefined, whorish, cocky and just low, also very experienced. On a side note I suspect he may be sugarcoating his lips on the sly. Seriously, no man should taste that sweet. Either that, or it could be some dark magic.



It’s true he won this round, but I will take heart from the fact that one battle does not make a war. All is not lost. If I get desperate I might even invest in body armor for the lower half of my body. By hook or by crook I will try to release myself from this torment. As a last resort I will even considering initiating Plan B.

It is now four in the afternoon and to console myself I’m going down to the kitchen to eat some scones. I deserve it.

I will start over tomorrow.

Wish me luck.

I lock my diary, put it back into the bedside drawer and go out of my room.

The Hunter residence is a five-storey, London town house decorated in a limited color palate of white and grey, black, and an occasional splash of bright color to add glamour to the contemporary feel. I take the stairs with its black runner carpet, my hand sliding down the smooth intricately patterned wrought iron banister.

I walk past Crittal style windows that serve to section off the living room where there are fabulous sixteenth-century antiques brought in from Milan, canary yellow sofas and a seventies chandelier by Seguso.

The kitchen is behind a door with a black and white mural. I push it and enter a large rectangular space done up in walnut and cream. Simple, clean, and smelling like a food lover’s paradise.

Cora, a tiny woman with sandy hair and warm hazel eyes, is sitting at the island watching TV. I glance at the screen and notice it is not one of the usual shows she watches. Cora is a fierce romantic. Occasionally it will be Cake Boss, but more often than not, she will be watching Say Yes To The Dress, I Found The Gown, or something that features a happy bride in it.

‘Whatcha watching?’ I ask as I take the seat next to her.

‘The Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills,’ she says without taking her eyes off the screen.

‘How come?’

‘I missed last Sunday night’s show so I’m watching the repeat.’

‘Is it any good?’

‘There’s only ten minutes left. Watch it with me. See this bitch talking now. She’s the one I hate the most. Everyone else thinks that Lisa Vanderpump is the bitch, but this is the real bitch. She’s always causing trouble.’

I smile at how involved and mad Cora is. The camera pans to a beautiful, flawlessly made up blonde.