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“Darling, you’re here. Thank God. We’ve got you in the Stella McCartney,” Elvira Pepin, organizer of the event, dressed in an electric pink suit caught Max by the arms. “You’re over there.” She nodded towards a dressing area in the centre of the tent. “The necklace will have to go for the show.” She nodded at Max’s diamond, a piece she always wore. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a seventeen-year-old coked out of her brains I need to deal with.”
Max grimaced. “Good luck with that.”
She looked up at Noah, wondering how this must seem to him, and got nothing from his expression. He was like a stone at her side, his eyes flicking the room, scanning, always scanning, so she felt uneasy and wished, for a moment, that he’d stop doing that. She knew he was there to keep her safe, but she wanted to forget there was any risk, just for a little while.
“I’m fine here, Noah. You saw the security outside, right?”
His response was a tightening of his lips, a sardonic half-smile. “Pretend I’m not here.”
Easier said than done. It took a monumental effort to act as though she wasn’t aware of him, dressing into the stunning gown and sky high heels before hair and make up set to transforming her into something other worldly. When she was at home, Max preferred to wipe all her make up off and scrape her hair into a pony tail, but for events like this, she was painted like artwork, the eye make up smoky and thick, fake lashes applied so her eyes were impossible to ignore.
As the stylist chatted inanely and fashioned her hair into a teased, curled masterpiece, her eyes strayed to the mirror; specifically to Noah, who stood just to her right, his eyes roaming the room in an impersonal, watchful way.
“You’re up, babe!” Elvira was back. “Holy shit. You look smoking hot. How do you do it?”
Max deflected the praise. “This dress is amazing.”
“And how you wear it is,” she pinched her fingers to her lips in a gesture that said perfection. “Now go, go, go.”
“I’m going.” Max stood, appraising her own reflection for a moment, straightening the dress over her stomach and fluffing it at her thighs, then glancing at Noah on autopilot. Now he was looking at her, and just the briefest clash of their eyes sent her pulse into a dangerous rhythm.
“I’ll be watching,” he said quietly, an arm on her elbow as he led her to the door all the models were filing in and out of.
She nodded, a kaleidoscope of butterflies overtaking her stomach. It was ridiculous. She’d done this dozens of times – not because she had any secret penchant for modelling but because she was a sucker for a good cause and a charity fashion show always raised a small fortune. At one time, she’d believed that no publicity was bad publicity, hence the never-ending way she’d torn up the red carpet in her teens and early twenties, but it had never occurred to her she’d end up with some stalker obsessively watching over her, tracking her every movement.
Someone who’d broken into her garage, vandalised her car, who knew everything about her, who could be in the audience even now, watching her, fantasizing about her, wanting to hurt her.
Huge eyes flew to Noah’s face. His jaw was locked, his features an impenetrable mask.
“I’m here.” The words throbbed through her, firm, reassuring. “I’m watching. I’ve got you.”
It was everything she’d needed to hear. “I’ll be quick.”
“Don’t fall.” One side of his lips quirked, and her heart skipped a beat.
She opened her mouth to respond tartly then remembered her necklace. “Shoot.” She unclipped it hurriedly, handing it over to him. “Can you mind this?”
She didn’t have time to hear his reply.
“Go, go, go,” Elvira urged, appearing as if from nowhere.
Max jerked her eyes away from Noah’s face and focused on the runway and the walk she had to do. She waited for the music cue then took her step. She’d done this before. She knew what it entailed. A thousand flashes, like torches being shone in her face, murmured voices, more flashes, loud music, blood pounding through her body and finally it was over. It was ninety seconds at most, but the most electric, jolting ninety seconds Max could imagine. At some fashion shows, the crowds gave standing ovations, but not in Paris. Here it was all so tres chic, but there was muted applause, and that was saying something.
She stepped back into the tent, then the second she saw Noah, expelled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, before moving close enough to him that if anyone were to reach for her he could stop them, his arms would move quickly, blocking them, holding her, keeping her safe.
She was desperate to get out of the tent, away from the people, hundreds of people she didn’t know, any one of whom could wish her ill.
“I just need to get changed,” she said quickly, quietly, so he leaned closer to hear and she was hit with a wave of desire radiating from the pit of her stomach through all her nerve endings.
“You were phenomenal,” Elvira squeezed Max’s arm and she flinched at the unexpected contact.
“Thank you,” she recovered quickly.
“Sticking around for the after party?”
Max wanted to be in her apartment, away from the throng of celebrities, the noise, the lights, the attention, the risk, but she also wanted to run as hard as she could from fear, from allowing anyone to taunt and control her. She glanced at Noah; his face gave nothing away.
“Not tonight.”
