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“I’m just having fun,” I comment. That’s what the press believes so naturally, what everyone else believes, so no point single-handedly denying it when the world is against you. He pecks my cheek, standing, and in answer to his question, my head screams no! No one has ever caught my attention or turned my head. I seem to be unaffected by the male race—maybe because I know just how cruel and inhumane they can be.
I force a blank expression on my face when he pulls back.
“I look forward to seeing you next month. I’ll send across some possible tracks, and Margie will pull something together, alluring, seductive.” His eyes twinkle.
“I trust her. Scout more models and make sure we’re all as different as possible,” I tell him. He nods and collects up his bag, stuffing some papers inside.
“Take care, Zara.”
I smile accommodatingly and allow him to settle the bill, thanking every god known to man that I’m alone. I stay behind and finish my tea, taking my time and enjoying watching the morning rush hurtle past me as I stay in the calm confines of the restaurant. For a moment, I allow myself the luxury to think I’m one of them. Just a regular person bogged down by the stress of work and home life, rushing to meet a client, panicking about some meeting or how I’m going to pay a bill. Hell, at this point, I’d welcome an argument with a disorderly husband over the fraudulent life I’m living, wondering, waiting to see if this is finally going to be it for me. Iftheywill finally come.
I told Oscar I would meet him mid-morning for a quick shop before I meet with my agent this afternoon.
It’s a little while before I decide to leave the sanctuary of Cobo. I take an Uber to Oscar, who is leaning casually against the wall outside a small boutique I frequent. His face lights up as I pull up, and he gives me a discreet nod over the top of the car, so I know we have company. I plaster a smile on my face as I step free. He meets me on the curb and pecks my cheek—hiskiss I welcome.
“I never understood why they are called paparazzi, but I get it now,” he declares, threading his arm through mine.
“Oh really?” I feign interest, but my lips twitch.
“Well, it sounds like rats, doesn't it? Razzi? And they are like rats, slinking in the dark, stealing scraps, snivelling, weaselly things.” His face twists, but mine breaks into a wide smile, and my laugh is throaty. “I already had a poke around and asked Charlene to put some things aside for you,” he tells me as we step in.
“Thanks, you’re too good to me.” I peck his cheek, and Charlene welcomes me with a broad smile.
“Miss Reid. It’s lovely to see you.” Her hands are pressed together at her front,and her suit is an ensemble of coral and cream. It’s the polar opposite of my dark wet-look trousers and silk camisole peeking out beneath my dark blazer.
I throw her a smile.
“You too. Holiday good?” I ask, knowing she recently went to Mexico.
“Stunning, thank you. I’ve put some items in your usual cubicle.” She motions to the back, and I smile. “Can I get you a drink?Bollinger,maybe?” She looks at Oscar, as she knows I don't drink.
“Always.” My friend grins and pulls at a silk champagne open back dress, and my eyes light up. “Divine.” He smiles broadly, holding it up at my front. “Z, this will look flawless.”
“Water, Zara?” Charlene asks.
“Please, can we add this to the selection?” I say as Oscar holds it out to her, and she replaces it with a fizzing flute.
“Bottoms up,” he drawls. The dress is added to the growing pile of garments, and over the next hour, I catwalk for Oscar, who helps me decide which to keep. His flute has long since been forgotten, and he is fluffing my hair whilst I model the champagne dress.
“If you did that loose curl, the bed-hair look with this dress would look the absolute shit,” he grins over my shoulder, “you could pair it with those studded open toe boots, give it an edge.”
“Remind me why you aren’t a personal shopper.”
“I have a job,” he pouts, his eyes full of playful delight.
“No, you don’t,” I laugh.
“I’m a stay-at-home son. Besides, mother dearest would be lost without me.” He gives my hair one more plump and sighs happily with his work. Oscar’s mother is living off her dead husband’s fortune whilst she drinks herself into oblivion.
“Aren’t you worried she will just spend all the money until she is broke?” I say. It’s something I have worried about for a while now.
“God no, she is still slowly ploughing her way through the interest. Honestly, there is rich, then there is Anita Winters,” he scoffs. “Keep this. You look like a virgin on the prowl,” he sniggers. I tut and slip out of it, holding it out for him to give to Charlene.
“Plans this afternoon?” I ask, pulling the curtain over so I can get dressed.
“I’ll prob hit the bars later.”
“Thirsty Thursday,” I muse.
