Page 3 of For Fake's Sake and other stories

“The annual school charity ball.” I scan the content. He calls me Blinkers again, then drones on about camaraderie and school spirit. “Listen to this.” I put on a not-bad imitation of Monty.

“I should’ve told you when we met. I think you and the man you were with will enjoy the evening with all the gang back together.”

I throw the invitation onto the table. “I’m not fucking going.” I hated that school my overbearing father sent me to to keep up the tradition.

Jack picks up the letter. “I don’t think you can refuse. He’s made you one of the speakers. He says your name came out of the hat.”

“He can kiss my arse if he thinks I’m going to attend, let alone speak.”

“He’s already announced it.”

“Fuck!”

“Are you listening to me?”

“No, because it’s the same thing every time.” I love my mother, but she meddles. Constantly.

“Good, listen now. It’s at Tom Ford. Nancy Palmerston’s daughter is the manager. They’ve recently sacked one of the personal dressers. You need to call in tomorrow at ten. Don’t be late.”

“You’re serious?” Tom Ford? That would be the chance of a lifetime.

“As a heart attack,” she says drily.

“Don’t say that. It’s horrid.” I shudder at the memory of my father’s sudden death and my mother’s matter-of-fact way of dealing with it.

“Don’t be so sensitive. I expect a call tomorrow at five, informing me you have the position. Don’t forget to tidy up your hair.”

She ends the call as she does everything—abruptly. Bloody woman. I hate it when she comes through on something for me. Then I do a little dance. Tom Ford. Fucking hell!

My best friend, Adam, walks in. “Don’t tell me you’ve found it?”

I stop mid-swirl. “What?”

“Horny Blinkers number.” He sighs dramatically.

“His name is Ollie, and no, still nothing.” God, I’ve been so stupid. I’ve tried everywhere to get his phone number. Why the hell did I say it wouldn’t be difficult to find him? The guy must work for MI5 and have an alias. How could I have let that gorgeous man slip through my fingers? Shorter and slimmer than me, he was so exactly my type. Dark hair that was naturally messy as if he had been running his hands through it all day. Dressed in a French navy suit that fitted him perfectly, but with his tie loosened and the top button undone, he looked as if he would be happier in casual clothes. Full lips with the perfect cupid’s bow that were made to be kissed. What I wouldn’t give to tug that plump lower lip between my teeth.

Adam claps me on the back, bringing me back to the present.

“Then what’s with the whole Beyoncé shit?” Adam shucks out of his jacket and undoes his tie.

“Because my bat-crap crazy, pain-in-my-arse mother has me going for a job at…” I drum my hands on the back of the sofa for effect. “Tom, ever the motherfucking god, Ford. Tomorrow at ten.”

“Wow! And your mother did this for you?”

I nod, biting my lip to hold back the shriek.

“Yourmother? The woman who makes gerbils who eat their young look like good parents? She’s done this for you?”

Words have flown out of my head, so I nod again.

“Fred and Rosemary West had better…”

“Yes! I know. But she has done it.”

“Why?”

I frown. Shit, yes, why has she gone out of her way to be nice to me? “Fuck. Why do you have to ruin it? Now I owe herbig time. Bollocks. If I get to work at Tom Ford’s, I don’t care if I have to fuck her bridge partner.”

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