The Bridesmaid's Secret. Sophie Weston
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you sort it?’
‘Yes,’ said Gil with cold fury. ‘I only have to divert my attention from important stuff. Work my butt off getting additional funding. Spend hours with corporate lawyers. Lie.’
Paco was amused. ‘That’s what makes business a fun world.’
‘I trusted her.’
‘Big mistake.’ Paco gave him a beer. ‘But we all do it. Don’t beat yourself up.’
‘She’s got some big investors moving in to take over the company. I only found out who today. And how they’re going to do it.’
‘Bad. But you’re sure you can handle it?’
‘Yes,’ said Gil. He showed his teeth. ‘Oh, yes.’
Paco was briefly sorry for the unknown marketing director. ‘If anyone can, you can. You were always the most focused guy in the class. Wish you luck, buddy.’ He took a swig of his own beer. ‘Now, what do you want to do? Stick around or go back to the hotel to wheel and deal?’
‘Wheeling and dealing is tomorrow. Tonight I want to release some major adrenaline.’
Paco was enthusiastic. ‘Right on. Have a meal, then boogie. The food’s Brazilian tonight. Chef does a mean feijouada.’
‘Great,’ said Gil, getting to his feet.
‘We got a great couple of DJs tonight. Real enthusiasts, know what I mean? We’ve got the PR crowd, too. Some of those kids can really move.’ He punched Gil lightly on the shoulder. ‘You want to channel aggression, you’re in the right place. Let’s party!’
They ate the spicy food, talking about old friends and new businesses. It was just like being back in college, Gil thought. The same jokes, the same heady sense they could do anything they wanted if they put their minds to it. All the time, the noise from the dance floor rose steadily.
Eventually Paco pushed back his chair. ‘Time I showed myself. Time you hit the floor. Let’s prowl.’
On the floor of the club Paco was different, Gil saw with amusement. The homely beer was gone. Instead he strolled around holding a glass of colourless liquid awash with chunks of lime and some anonymous leaves. Gil knew that the leaves were basil and the liquid was mineral water but it looked dangerous.
‘Mountebank,’ he said affectionately.
‘That’s what the punters expect,’ said Paco. He struck a fencer’s attack attitude.
They said in unison, ‘Renegade, you will die at the bite of good Corsican steel,’ and made a couple of imaginary passes in the air, ending with a high five. Paco looked momentarily startled.
Gil laughed. It seemed like the first time for weeks. He took off his jacket and tossed it behind the bar.
‘Enjoy,’ said Paco and went to talk to the barman.
Gil strolled round the floor. Paco was right, the dancing was good. The nightclub pulsed with Latin beat. Unbelievably rapid maracas warred with a rock base as physical as a hand closing round the heart. He danced with a dark woman, lithe as a jaguar; then a girl who looked as if she’d just come from the office; a glamorous redhead; a laughing Cuban girl who knew the steps so well she did not have to concentrate and even tried to talk to him a little; another office girl.
And then he saw her. She did not look Latin. She was blonde. Golden hair, luminous skin in the club’s hectic lighting. Not tall. Not at all one of the athletic semi-professionals that crowded the floor. But the way she moved—
Gil stopped dead. Something caught in his throat as he watched.
She was dancing alone, quite unselfconscious. Her concentration was total. She moved like a mettlesome horse, graceful yet powerful, and just on the edge of danger. She even stamped like a horse pawing the ground. Gil felt himself break out in a cold sweat.
She was unaware of anyone looking at her. She gave her whole body to the music. Her shoulder-length hair swung from shoulder to naked shoulder. But she did not have the overt sexuality of most of the dancers. Her dancing was spiky, even savage. Was she angry with someone? Maybe herself?
Gil took rapid stock. Paco should know. It was his club. If he was half as good a businessman as he had promised to be, he would know his clientele in depth. Gil eased round the dance floor to the bar where Paco was watching the floor.
‘Who is she?’ Gil said with an urgent undertone.
Paco did not have to ask. Gil could not take his eyes off her. Neither could plenty of other men. Which, in a lively New York club, was unheard of.
She was light as thistledown. Elusive as quicksilver. Fierce as fire. And oblivious to the hungry stares.
Gil was not oblivious. He saw the stares, recognised the hunger and it infuriated him. More than that, it filled him with a desire to shake the girl awake and make her see what she was doing. So much concentration, so much passion was dangerous. Why couldn’t she see that?
Paco looked across at the blonde and pursed his lips.
‘She comes with the fashion crowd. New. Been around since Christmas. Don’t know her name. Could be a dancer.’
Gil was still watching the vital figure. She was never still, not for a moment.
‘She looks like it.’ There was a husky note in his voice. The abandoned blonde was magnetic.
Paco raised his eyebrows. ‘Want me to ask around?’
Gil smiled. Paco could not quite keep the surprise out of his voice. Gil knew why. Paco knew him very well. He knew that Gil was not into instant lust.
And he wasn’t. Not even now, though his pulses were pounding. The girl, writhing and punching the air, was much more than a lust object. She looked difficult. And demanding. A conundrum and a challenge and—
Mine, thought Gil.
He felt exultant yet oddly calm.
‘I can find out about her,’ offered Paco.
Gil did not take his eyes off the dancer but he reached behind him along the bar and picked up a small bottle of water by touch.
‘I think it’s time I did that,’ he said amused, intent.
He did not even look at Paco before heading out onto the seething dance floor.
Bella was having a wonderful time. She always had a wonderful time. That’s what she was known for. The original party girl, ready for anything. She was always laughing. She made everyone else laugh, too. You knew you were going to have a great time when you went out in a group with Bella Carew. Under her lively magic, gloom and despondency turned into stardust.
Tonight the Japanese fashion editorial team, slowly unbuttoning to the Cuban beat, would have endorsed that enthusiastically. They let their long day of meetings dissolve in the rhythm. Seeing that they were happy, Bella allowed herself to relax. She let the stomping beat take over.
The music changed. One of the boys she had danced with before, caught her by the hand. Matching her steps to his, Bella went into a near perfect copy of the singer’s videoed routine. Her partner laughed in delight. She laughed back at him.
I am enjoying myself. That’s what I do best.
Except that these days it was getting harder and harder to enjoy herself. Oh, she could stay out late, dancing or talking with her friends. But eventually they wanted to go home. And when Bella got back to her rented loft apartment she was cold. The central heating system was American and efficient. But that had nothing to do with it. This was the cold of loneliness and it bit to the bone. And it was going to be worse tonight, with the prospect of that discussion with Annis tomorrow.
Still, no need to think about that yet. No need to think about that for hours. She slid both hands into her hair and swung it, letting her shoulders keep the rhythm as she turned