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“You’ve got three minutes, and I’m already counting down,” Joel Elliot boomed as Gregory walked into the office. He sat behind a huge aluminum desk, one hand resting on an open laptop, the other holding a pen with which he indicated a clock on the wall. He was dressed in a short-sleeved open-necked shirt, as if he was about to drive off into the green belt for a round of golf.
Gregory cleared his throat and hurried forward. “Okay, you got my email about the Zoë Mac story?” He took the seat, resting uneasily in the low leather ensemble. It put the visitor at a distinct height disadvantage to the head honcho on the other side of the desk.
“That’s why you’re here.” Joel put the pen down and folded his hands under his chin, scrutinizing Greg with steely gray eyes. “Are we talking kiss and tell?”
“Kiss and tell, with photographic evidence. Nude shots ... potentially.”
“‘Potentially’ isn’t good enough.” Joel snorted. “We need hard copy, and we need it fast. If you don’t get the story, someone else will. Give me better than ‘potentially,’ and I can put appetite-wetters out on the streets by this evening’s edition and build up their anticipation for the big one. But you have to give me something solid to work with.”
“There is evidence, and it’s very close to home. In fact, it was my cousin who was involved with her.” He paused for effect. He saw the flicker of interest in Joel’s expression.
“Your cousin?”
“That’s right. I just have to get the goods from him ... it shouldn’t be a problem.” Gregory’s thoughts were running riot. Should he take the gamble and make a definite promise? The stakes were high, but he was pretty sure of himself, and this scam might just be the one to guarantee him a taste of the major action. He was sick to death of his little cousin Jason living the charmed life while Gregory scraped by on the leavings. It was about time Jason shared out some of the goodies he’d had, and what better way than this? Gregory smiled smugly. Jason got the girl the other lads could only dream about, but maybe he would live to regret it. Jealousy and revenge were powerful motivators. The possibility of visiting Zoë and seeing her in the flesh again would be an added bonus. He licked his lips lasciviously. He would just love to see her beg him not to publish. On her knees, preferably. “Give me ten days, t
wo weeks tops. I’ll deliver.”
“Good man. The nation’s gagging for something screwy about Miss Squeaky Clean Mac.” He stood up and put his hand out, glancing at the clock. “Less than ninety seconds. I’m impressed.”
Gregory shook his hand and turned toward the door.
“Be sure to deliver your kiss-and-tell with as much momentum, and we may be able to do more business with each other in the future.”
Gregory gave a salute as he left, grinning broadly as he heard the door close behind him. He’d had a couple of minor successes with Joel Elliot before, sniffing out stories for the hungry machine. This one might just assure him of a regular audience at Jordan Publications. . That was just the sort of cushy little number he wanted.
It was amazing what you could find out hanging out in the right bars with the right people, people who loved to name drop celebrities and were far too glib with any snippets of gossip they might have. He was just the type of bloke who could hang around, talk them up a storm, and make something entirely edible for the press machine out of what they had said.
Elliot was interested, even more so than he had anticipated. Greg began to feel very smug. He could even take it to another paper, to see what sort of rival bids might come in. He just had to make sure that cousin Jason would play along, and Greg was sure he could. He could be pretty persuasive. He stepped into the lift and flexed his hands, drawing the attention of the other two occupants as he slowly cracked the knuckles of one fist. He gave the occupants a smirk and a dismissive glance, and then cracked the knuckles on the other fist. He didn’t doubt for a second that his little scam was going to work. It was going to work like a dream.
* * * * *
The soundtrack pumped up and beat out a jagged riff as the DJ mixed into a new track. The Chemical Brothers’ “Hey Boy Hey Girl” began to feed in, signaling an imminent changeover on the catwalk. It was the night of the end-of-term fashion show, and adrenaline coursed through Georgie. She stepped toward the curtains, silently mouthing the words of the track, her body moving with the rhythm. Justine rushed past her from the stage, wearing a silver cyber-chick outfit, panting.
“He’s out there!” she declared. “Calvin. He’s watching.” Her eyes were sparkling, silver-flecked blonde pigtails bobbing.
Georgie smiled. Of course he was out there.
Justine looked like Jane Fonda in her Barbarella incarnation, a real cutie in the wacky cyber outfit. Her silver domed bra was visible beneath a see-through, cling-wrapped top. Her silver miniskirt and boots gleamed in the fall out of light from the stage. She was bouncing up and down with energy and excitement like a demonic little sex robot that could probably go all night.
Just at that moment, Georgie caught sight of Drusilla’s raised hand from the other side of the stage; it was the signal for the next two models to go on.
“Hey, girl, here we go,” she sang. “I’m on.” She winked at Justine, smoothed her hands over the snug waistline of her latex bodice, and pivoted on one steep red-and-black stiletto heel, starting to move off as Drusilla’s hand fell slowly down through the air.
She stepped out into the dazzle of lights and stalked onto the first part of the stage, pausing for eight beats so that her opposite number could step out onto the stage beside her. An appreciative murmur and the odd gasp rumbled around the audience. Georgie purred to herself. Her outfit was definitely the most stunning of the show, and she’d done her make-up in a Japanese manga style, with her hair twisted and spiked with chopsticks so that it splayed out in a dramatic swirl on top of her head, to catch the lights.
When she set off down the catwalk, her heart was thumping out a fierce, excited rhythm. The stage lights fell out across the first two or three rows of seats, where she noticed many of the college tutors sat, clapping their protégées on. Alongside them, several junior members of the national press scribbled in their notepads, keeping a watchful eye on the up-and-coming talent at the most prolific fashion design college in London.
As she neared the end of the catwalk, she caught sight of Cal, just inside the fall of the light, standing between the seating areas in one of the aisles. She strode purposefully toward his corner. A cascade of camera flashes blinded her momentarily. When they faded and she prepared to turn on her heel, she saw that he was standing with his hands loosely in the pockets of his dapper shot-silk suit trousers. He was looking right at her with an arrogant stare, as if she were parading for his benefit alone. Georgie caught her breath. The way he looked at her was such a turn-on.
Her nipples chaffed within the surface of the black latex. They were already visible inside the sheer bodice she had designed. Twin curved spikes, tipped in red to look like devil horns, rose up from her breasts toward her collarbone, drawing attention to their outline beneath the snug, body-hugging material. The bodice had been laced within an inch of her being able to breathe. Right now it was tightening all the time as her breasts swelled up against the tight surface. The constriction felt so good, Georgie almost groaned aloud. She looked away from him and prepared to do her complicated turn.
The matching rubber leggings she wore growled imperceptibly as her thighs brushed together when she pivoted on her heel. She flashed front and back profiles and then stood with her legs splayed and her hands resting on the jutting hipbones that were so beautifully exposed against the shiny latex-covered surface of her hips. She counted to four, breathed deep, then kicked up one steep heel and leapt sideways, coming to rest with her hands on the floor in the cat-woman pose that Drusilla had let her choreograph in to demonstrate the lacing on her back and the flexibility of her chosen fabric. The pose also demonstrated the supple flexibility of her body, and she allowed herself a naughty smile at the thought of Cal and the rest of the audience noticing that fact.
A second round of applause rose up in response to her actions, along with another round of camera flashes. Georgie stared them out while she counted out another eight beats. Then she bounded up, turned, and set off. She strode back down the catwalk toward the poor girl in combat gear who waited forlornly to take her turn, in the certain knowledge that she had already been completely upstaged before she’d even started.
“You were stellar.” Justine hugged her as she went backstage.
“Cheers. You weren’t so bad yourself, Barbarella.” Georgie winked and they linked each other’s waists as they headed off toward the make-up room, where they knew a glass of bubbly would be waiting for each of them.
