Page 15 of Midnight Kisses
“Thank you! My friend Georgia made it. She does sizes 8 to 28 and just opened a boutique uptown.”
“How fabulous!” This woman wasn’t lean, but she was still straight-sized, so when she patted her hips, I braced myself for her to incorrectly equate our experiences. Instead, she said, “In my opinion, inclusive designers construct well and use good fabrics. I’ll have to stop by.”
“Absolutely! Georgia is amazing and her store is beautiful.”
We swapped introductions. Her name was Helen. She was friendly and talkative, but unfortunately my confession I was here in the hope of meeting an investor for Perry Skinmet a dead end.
“I’m sorry darling, I’m up to my neck with my existing commitments. I couldn’t possibly add another.”
However, I soon discovered Helen was pretty much the human wikipedia of the social scene in Tamaki-makau-rau, Auckland. She knew everything about everyone. Looping her arm through mine, she pulled me along on a guided tour of the cocktail masquerade, whispering names and stopping to make introductions when she thought someone might be open to hearing more about my skincare business.
“Not him,” she said, when I asked about a wiry, grey-haired white man with large ears, wearing jaunty striped pants and a bow tie. He looked how I’d imagined the BFG when my teacher had read it to us in primary school—except rich.
“Why?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t trust him further than I could throw him.”
“Noted. Who’s that?” I nodded towards a glamorous brunette with glowing brown skin, laughing at something her companion had said.
“Lara Savea? She’s the head of Beauty at Phillys and Roller.”
One of the biggest beauty and home product distributors in the world.
My eyes lit up.
Helen shook her head. “She’ll be an excellent connection for you in due course, but you can’tstartwith Lara. You need an investor first—someone loaded enough that they’ll write you a big cheque and leave you to your own devices, but not so loaded that you have to worry it’s blood money. You have to be strategic, darling. Business is not about the moves you make but the order in which you make them.”
For Helen to so completelygetmy vision, and be so generous with her expertise, made me want to fall at her feet. For her to tuck me under her wing and walk me around a party making introductions felt like she was a gift from heaven.
Belatedly, I began to question this.
“I don’t mean to monopolise your time, Helen. You must have other people to talk to.”
“Nonsense, darling.Ialready know all these people, and my son’s forbidden me from setting him up with any women tonight, which was the whole reason I came. He’s heterosexual—which is unfortunate, because I could’ve easily found him the right man by now. Women are proving harder, I think because he has too many options. They’ve thrown themselves at him his entire life.” Helen sighed, the universal sound of put-upon mothers everywhere. “Is it too much to ask for my only son to stop playing the field, marry someone with good teeth, and give me grandbabies? Of course not. But he’s stubborn. Yes, I’ll admit, Rose was a poor decision on my part, but how was I to know she was a fondler? He’s very pissed at me over that. Still. He wasn’t even going totellme he had tickets for tonight’s event, can you believe that? I had to hear about it from his assistant. Thank goodness she called and invited me herself.”Helen motioned to the nearest member of the waitstaff to bring her another champagne.
My eyes landed on the back of a tall man in a suit with mussed brown hair. “What about?—?”
Right then, Helen said, “Ah, there he is now!”
Immediately, I realised I’d made a horrible mistake. I couldn’t suggest Helen’s son as a possible investor—she’d think I was a mercenary wench.
Then he turned around and my problems multiplied by a thousand.
That handsome face with his perfectly tousled hair and cool grey eyes wasintimately familiar.
He sighed heavily when he saw his mother towing a woman towards him, which made the dark circles under his eyes look even more pronounced. Then his gaze landed on me and my breath caught in my throat.
The last time we’d locked eyes, his face was framed by my knees.
I turned on my heel, thinking of the safety of my bathroom. But Helen was stronger than she looked with excellent reflexes. She yanked me back like I was a yoyo on the end of her string.
When I stumbled, a warm hand cupped the soft flesh of my arm and steadied me.
“Hello,” he said.
“Miles, this is Perry.” Finally, Helen released me, placing a proud hand upon her son’s chest instead. “Perry, this is my son, Miles. Perry’s a skincare entrepreneur, Miles. And a model. Her parents are scientists. Her genes are smartandbeautiful.”
The pieces clicked into place.
