Girl in a Vintage Dress. Nicola Marsh
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her hand in his, and his fingers curled over hers, firm and warm and comforting, she almost believed for a fleeting second she was.
CHAPTER THREE
IN DESPERATE need of a calming cup of chamomile tea, Lola had just flicked the kettle switch on when Imogen breezed back in from her break, her face flushed as she clasped her hands to her chest.
‘Was that the Chase Etheridge just leaving?’
She craned her neck, trying to get a last glimpse while Lola wrinkled her nose, more than happy to see the back of him.
‘What was he doing here? He is sooo hot! Melbourne’s most eligible bachelor for the third year running. No wonder, with those blue eyes, all year round tan, great smile, broad chest, cute butt—’
‘Enough all ready.’
The last thing she needed right now was for her co-worker to list the guy’s impressive attributes. Sadly, she’d noted them in minute detail herself and her nerves hadn’t recovered despite him exiting the building.
Imogen sighed, her green eyes twinkling as she clapped her hands. ‘Spill. What was he doing here?’
For a moment she wanted to tease her best friend but no way would Immy believe for one second that Chase was here on anything other than business. As if a guy like him would be interested in a girl like her for any other reason.
‘He wants to use our services.’
‘I can help service—’
‘His sister’s getting married and he wants Go Retro to do the hen’s night.’
‘Cool.’
Imogen edged into the tiny kitchen, grabbed her favourite ‘I’m too sexy’ mug and placed it next to hers. ‘While you’re weaving your magic with the hen and her posse, I’ll entertain Chase.’
Imogen did a little shimmy as she spooned decaf into her cup. ‘This is going to be fun.’
‘It is,’ Lola said, biting back a smile. ‘Though this gig’s a bit different.’
‘How so?’ Imogen added a shoulder wiggle to her hip shimmy. ‘Does Chase need me to sleep over? Do some serious preparation for the hen’s night? Because I’ll do it, you know. I’m that kind of gal, totally dedicated to getting the job done whatever’s required and—’
‘Not you. Me.’
Lola often had to interrupt her friend mid-sentence otherwise the simplest of questions elicited a five minute long response.
This time, she enjoyed the confusion crinkling Immy’s brow.
‘You?’
The kettle clicked off and she poured boiling water into their cups.
‘I’m the one that’ll be staying over.’
Immy’s jaw dropped, her mouth a perfect crimson glossed circle.
Enjoying her friend’s momentary silence—it wouldn’t last long—she dangled the chamomile bag.
‘Apparently he’s willing to pay for the privilege of having Go Retro run a week-long hen’s party for his sis, no expenses spared, so while I’m doing that you’ll be running the shop here.’
Imogen snapped her mouth shut into a mutinous line.
‘Come on, Immy, we’re a team. I run the workshops, you run this place when I’m not around. It works.’
The corners of Imogen’s mouth twitched. ‘Yeah, I know, but the thought of you rather than me getting up close and personal with that scrummy bachelor of the year makes me greener than Kermit.’
‘I won’t be getting up close and personal with anyone.’
Let alone an overconfident, overbearing workaholic who wouldn’t know a hatbox from a pin curl. They had absolutely nothing in common and the fact she was even thinking along these lines meant she needed to get back to work before Immy made her more nervous.
And she was nervous, terrified in fact, for she’d agreed to meet Chase in a few hours to run through a proposed itinerary.
Her nerves had nothing to do with a lack of confidence in her work and everything to do with her irrational, erratic physical reaction to a guy who made her pulse race just by looking at her.
Imogen winked and tapped the side of her nose.
‘Sure, you’re going to concentrate on work and forget the fact Melbourne’s hottest bachelor is looking over your shoulder. Just think, all those one on one consultations to ensure the hen’s party runs smoothly, all those late night meetings, all those cosy chats to—’
‘Don’t you have mannequins to dress?’
Imogen’s grin widened. ‘Oh yeah, you’re just dying to do this.’
She was dying all right but not for the reason Immy thought. While this may be just another job on paper the reality was far different. People like Chase, who moved in moneyed circles, had different expectations to the rest of them. What if the service she provided wasn’t good enough? What if she wasn’t good enough?
And that was bothering her the most, that she’d be found wanting in the same disheartening, discouraging, confidence sapping way she had been every day growing up.
‘Want some help planning your wardrobe?’
Lola took a sip of tea and sighed with pleasure. ‘Don’t you mean the wardrobe for the party?’
Imogen cupped her mug and raised an eyebrow over the rim.
‘Honey, you’re likely to run into the sexiest guy in Melbourne on a regular basis for a week straight. Who cares what dress ups the brats play around with? It’s you who needs to dazzle.’
Dazzle.
Her hands trembled as she clutched her cup more tightly. The thought of meeting Chase at Dazzle, his workplace, in a few hours set loose a bunch of rampaging butterflies on speed in her belly.
Taking a few sips of her soothing tea and finding it did nothing for her increasingly prevalent nerves she tipped the rest in the sink and rinsed the cup.
‘Can you hold the fort for the next hour while I nip upstairs and do some serious planning for this party?’
‘Sure, it’ll be good practice for when I hold the fort on my own for a week while you’re swanning around with chiselled Chase.’
‘It’s not like that,’ she said, managing a wry smile at the thought of her swanning around with a guy like Chase.
Imogen cocked a hip as she leaned against the fridge. ‘Then what’s it like?’
‘I’ll let you know by the end of the week,’ she said, her grin widening as Immy stuck out her tongue, the sound of childish smooching noises following her as she headed for the stairs.
Chase stared at his computer screen, trying to assimilate an inordinate amount of nonsensical information from the Go Retro website in an effort to be prepared for this meeting with Lola.
But the harder he tried to concentrate, the more the words blurred before his eyes, his attention constantly snagged by a small picture of Go Retro’s proprietor in the top right hand corner.
A scoop-necked cherry dress cinched at the waist hugged her hourglass figure in all the right places, her hair falling in soft golden waves around a heart-shaped face dominated by those big brown eyes and ruby-slicked lips.
She looked incredible; and the picture didn’t do her justice.
Lola Lombard in the flesh was something else.
He should know. He’d spent the last few hours replaying their encounter: the way her lips pursed when she wasn’t pleased, the feisty way she’d