Unveiling the Bridesmaid (3 page)

But Brenda had also tapped into a worry that Hope had been trying very hard not to think about. Her role in London had been working as a PA for the undoubtedly brilliant if often frustrating Kit Buchanan. Yet in less than three months he had fallen in love with Maddison Carter, her job-swap partner and owner of the tiny if convenient Upper East Side studio Hope was currently living in. And that had changed everything. She hadn't expected to feel so
lost
when she'd heard the news, almost grief stricken. It wasn't that she was jealous exactly. She wasn't in love with Kit. She didn't really have a crush on him either, although he had a nice Scottish accent, was handsome in an ‘absent-minded professor' kind of way and, crucially, was the only single man under thirty she spent any time with. But Kit's resignation meant that in three months she would be returning to a new manager—and possibly a different, less fulfilling role.

It was a long time since Hope had dreamed of archaeology; she'd pushed those dreams and any thought of university aside after her parents died, starting instead as an office junior at a firm of solicitors close to her Stoke Newington home. But when she had moved to DL Media three years ago Kit had been quick to see potential in his PA and ensured there had been a certain amount of editorial training and events work in her duties. There was no guarantee a new manager would feel the same way. But if Brenda was impressed with her then who knew what opportunities would open up? Hope took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. ‘Why does Gael need an assistant from DL Media?'
And why me?
she silently added.

‘Because Gael O'Connor is planning a retrospective of his photographs and the blog that catapulted him into the public eye and I want to make sure that he chooses DL Media as his partner when he does so. I've been courting him and his agent for nearly a year and got nowhere. They say that his archive is incredible, that he could bring down careers, end marriages with his photos,' Brenda's voice was full of longing. ‘I can smell the sales now. This could be huge, Hope, and you could be part of it straight from the start. I want you to get me those photos and the anecdotes that accompany them. Help him sort out his archive and make sure that at the end he is so impressed he signs on the dotted line of the very generous contract we offered him. Take as long as you need, do whatever you have to do but get that signature for me. You have an in. He asked for you, your sister is marrying someone he's close to. Anyone would kill for that kind of connection. Exploit it. If you do then I guarantee you a nice promotion and a secure future here at DL Media...'

Hope didn't need to ask what would happen if she failed—or if she refused. Back to England in ignominy and coffee-making, minute-taking and contract-typing-up for the rest of her days. If she was lucky. But if she agreed then she was not only getting a huge boost up the career ladder but she would also be away from the office, out from under Brenda's eye and could grab the time to sort out Faith's wedding. Damn Gael O'Connor, he had her exactly where he wanted her.

‘Okay,' she said, injecting as much confidence into her voice as she could manage. ‘I'll do it. You don't have to worry, Brenda. I won't let you down.'

* * *

Gael couldn't hear Hope's conversation with her boss but he didn't need to. Hope was as good as his. He'd met Brenda Masterson several times and he knew her type; her eyes were fixed firmly on the prize and she wasn't going to let anything or anyone get in her way.

The kitchen door opened and Hope stalked through, her colour high but her eyes bright with determination. ‘I suppose you think you are very clever,' she said. ‘Of course some might call it blackmail...'

‘Call what blackmail? Your boss wants my archive and I need help organising it. Seems like a fair trade to me.' But Gael couldn't stop the smile playing around his lips. ‘You should thank me. I'm much less of a clock watcher than Brenda. You might even get some wedding organising done while you're here. In fact you can have today to get started. Consider it my wedding gift to the happy couple.'

‘Is there even an archive or is this just some kind of ruse to keep me here?'

Gael stilled. He was so used to people knowing who he was, what he was, that the scorn in her all too candid eyes took him back. Back to the days before
Expose
. The days when he was nothing. ‘I see. You think this is a ploy to get you to pose? Get real, princess. I may have asked you to sit for me but I don't beg and I certainly don't coerce. Every one of those women over there...' He nodded over at the canvases. ‘They came to me freely.'

Her forehead creased. ‘So why did you ask Brenda if I could work for you?'

‘Because I was planning on saying yes to Brenda's offer anyway and this saves me the hassle of finding an assistant. Because I won't mind how you organise your time as long as the archiving work gets done so this way you can pop out to look at venues or cakes or whatever else you need to do. Not to force you into anything. Nobody is keeping you here against your will, Rapunzel, there's no escape ladder needed. You can leave at any time.'

Hope looked over at the chaise, a frown still creasing her forehead. ‘I'm sorry, I just thought...you said you wouldn't help me with the wedding and then this all happened so fast.'

‘I'm
not
helping you. I'm giving you time but that's all you'll get out of me. I have a model to find and paint, an exhibition to put on and an archive to explain to you and oversee. The wedding's your problem, not mine. Unless you change your mind about the picture, in which case I'll keep my end of the bargain and help you but, like I said, your decision. It's not part of your duties here. I have no interest in a reluctant subject.'

She took a visible deep breath, her eyes clouded, her forehead still wrinkled with thought. She was close to a decision but whether that decision was changing her mind and posing or walking out and telling him to go to hell he had no idea.

It was intriguing, this unpredictability.

‘If I said yes...' She stopped, her eyes wary again.

He should be feeling triumphant. He almost had her, he could tell. But Hope McKenzie wasn't like his usual subjects. They were all eager for him to tell their stories with his paintbrush—she was all secrets and disguises. ‘Before we go any further, I need you to know exactly what you're getting into.'

‘I lie there and you paint me. Right?' The words were belligerent but her eyes dark with fear.

‘It's not easy being a life model. It's a skill. You have to keep the same pose for hours. No complaining about being cold, or achy or hungry.'

‘Okay.'

‘I asked each model to wear some jewellery that meant something to them. Something very personal.' He pointed over at one canvas. ‘That girl there, Anna? She's wearing pins in her hair she wore on her wedding day. This lady, Ameena, she's wearing gold necklaces and bangles gifted to her by her parents when she emigrated to the US.'

‘And they have to be naked. I mean, I would have to be. Totally. I couldn't, instead of jewellery have a scarf or something. It's just...'

‘Sorry.' And he was. It wasn't easy for even the most seasoned model to lie there so exposed to him and even though his other models had been enthusiastic about the project they had still found posing difficult, embarrassment covered in a multitude of ways, by jokes, by attempted seduction, by detachment.

‘That's okay.'

It didn't seem okay; her hands were twisting together in an attempt to hide a slight shake.

‘The last thing is probably the most important. If you model then I need you to think about sex. What it means to you, good and bad. I need you to think about that the whole time I paint you. I know that's an odd request but it's the theme of the paintings and it needs to show in your eyes, on your face. If it helps I can play any music you want, audiobooks, relaxation tapes—whatever makes you comfortable.'

It was odd, he'd had this conversation many times before and he had never felt so like some kind of libertine before. Every other model had known exactly why she was there, had volunteered for this. It was business, not personal.

But this time it felt horribly personal and he had no idea why.

‘Think about sex?'

‘Is that a problem?'

‘It might be.' Her colour was even higher, rivalling the red of the chaise. ‘You see, I haven't actually...I don't...I'm not...what I'm trying to say is...' she swallowed ‘...I'm a virgin. So I don't think I can lie there and think about something I know nothing about. Do you?'

CHAPTER THREE

‘T
HANK
YOU
.
N
O
, I see. Yes. Absolutely. Thank you.' Hope clicked her phone off and resisted the urge to throw it off the fire escape and let it smash into smithereens. Another hotel she could cross off her ‘possibles' list. Three hours of calling and emailing and she still hadn't made one appointment.

She scanned the list she'd made the second she'd arrived home. It had all seemed so simple then.

1. Find a dress

2. Sort out flowers

3. Ceremony—where????

4. Read through Brenda's six zillion emails

5. Try and show Gael O'Connor that you're competent and professional and not a complete basket case...

Hope resisted the urge to bang her head on the wrought-iron railing she was propped up against. She might have managed to steal one day of wedding planning from Gael O'Connor's manipulative hands but where had it got her? Every venue she had phoned had either laughed at her incredulously or sounded vaguely scandalised. ‘A wedding? In two weeks? Ma'am, this isn't Vegas. I suggest you try City Hall.' And as for a dress...you would think she had asked them to spin straw into gold, not supply one white dress, US size four.

And yes, she could try City Hall. And she could pop into any one of a dozen shops and pull a dress off the racks and it would do. And she could book a table in a five-star restaurant and the food would be great. But it wouldn't be special. It wouldn't show Faith just how much Hope loved her. It wouldn't make up for the fact that Faith would have no proud father walking her down the aisle, no mother in a preposterous hat wiping away tears and beaming proudly. Faith deserved the best and Hope had vowed nine years ago that she would have it. This wedding wasn't going to beat her, no, not if it killed her. Her baby sister would have the finest and most romantic whirlwind wedding New York had ever seen. She just needed to work out how and where.

Hope took a sip of coffee and stared at her laptop, balancing precariously on her open window ledge, hoping it would give her some much-needed inspiration. Maybe if she had spent a little more time actually in the city itself and less time either in the office or here, sunning herself on the fire escape outside her apartment window, she might actually have some unique and doable ideas. Okay. She was in the greatest city in the world, how could her mind be so blank? ‘New York,' she muttered. ‘New York.'

A ping from her laptop broke her half-hearted reverie and Hope looked across at it, sighing when she saw yet another email from Brenda flashing on her screen. What was going on? She had never seen her famously ice-cool boss this het up over anyone. Hunter had said that Gael knew everybody and what was it Brenda had whispered? He had the power to finish careers and destroy marriages? Remembering the mocking smile and the coldness in the blue-grey eyes, Hope didn't doubt it.

Setting her coffee cup to one side, she scrambled onto her knees and pulled up her internet browser. ‘Who exactly are you, Gael O'Connor?' With a guilty look around, as if the starling on the rail above could see her snooping, Hope pressed Enter and waited. She wasn't sure what to expect but it wasn't the lines and lines of links that immediately filled her screen. Headlines, photos, articles—and a comprehensive Wikipedia entry.

Gael O'Connor. Photographer. Blogger. Society darling. It looked as if he didn't just
know
the New York scene—he dictated it, moving through it, camera at the ready, creating instant stars.

Nowhere would say no to him. Nowhere would tell him that two weeks was impossible. No one would suggest that Gael O'Connor tried City Hall...

Damn.

Her choice was stark. Either she compromised on the wedding or she agreed to Gael's demands and posed for him. If he still wanted her, that was, after her moment of hysterical oversharing. Hope groaned, slumping back again against the sun-hot railing. It was going to be bad enough facing him the next day in a working capacity, how on earth could she bring up the whole naked posing thing? Maybe she should run away instead. Somewhere no one would ever find her—she'd bet Alaska was nice and anonymous and a nice bracing contrast to this never-ending humidity.

At that moment her phone rang. She didn't recognise the number and answered it cautiously. After this morning's ‘blurting out secret personal information to a stranger' debacle she'd probably tell the telemarketer about the time she wet herself in playgroup or when she shoplifted a chocolate bar when she was five—and how her mother made her take it back with a note of apology. ‘Hope speaking.'

‘How's the wedding planning coming along?' A gravelly voice, like the darkest chocolate mixed with espresso.

Hope glared at her laptop. How had Gael known she was thinking of contacting him? Maybe he had sold his soul to the devil and just thinking about him summoned him? ‘Great!' Just a little lie.

‘That's good. I was worried that two weeks' notice might be too tight for any of the really good venues.'

‘How sweet of you to worry but actually I have it all under control.' Another little lie. Any moment her nose was going to start growing.

‘Excellent. So you'll be here nice and early tomorrow to start work?'

‘I can't wait.' Yes, she'd better hope that long noses were going to be fashionable this year because the way she was going hers was going to be longer than her outstretched arm.

‘All you need is your laptop and a lot of patience. I do hope you like cataloguing.'

‘I love it. I'd hate to get in your way though, while you're painting. I could work from the office or from mine if that's more convenient.'
Please let it be more convenient.

‘There's nothing to get in the way of. I haven't found a model yet.' The mockery slipped from Gael's voice, his frustration clear.

‘Oh.'

It was a sign. A big neon sign. He still needed a model and she, like it or not, needed his help. Hope took a deep breath. ‘Look, Gael. I hate to deprive you of the joy of wedding planning and it looks like we're going to be spending some time together anyway so...' It was even harder to say the words than she'd anticipated.

‘So?'

He knew, she could tell, but was no doubt taking some unholy satisfaction from making her spell it out.

‘So I can pose. For your picture. If you still want me after, well, if you still want me...' She wasn't going to own up to her virgin status again. She still couldn't believe she had mentioned it at all, said it out loud. To a complete stranger. A state of affairs she had barely acknowledged over the last few years, pushing the thought away as soon as it occurred. Her own secret shame. Hope McKenzie, old before her time, withered, sexless.

‘An intriguing offer.'

She tried not to grind her teeth. ‘Not really,' she said as breezily as she could. ‘I didn't exactly give you an answer, if you remember.' No, she had backed away, muttered something about needing to get things sorted,
said,
‘Thank you for the offer to take today to start planning and see you tomorrow, thank you very much...' and scarpered as fast as her feet could carry her, out of the studio and back to the safety of her own apartment.

‘I thought your mad dash out of the studio was answer enough. Why the sudden change of heart?'

Hope never admitted to needing anyone; she didn't intend to start now. ‘You need someone to start straight away and spend the next two weeks at your beck and call. Well, whether I like it or not I am already at your beck and call. It makes sense.'

‘How very giving of you. So you're offering because it's convenient?'

Her fingers curled into a fist.
He'd
asked
her
—why on earth was she the one working to convince him? ‘And although I am more than capable of sorting this wedding alone it would be foolish of me not to use all the resources available. I barely know the city but you live here, your input could save me a lot of wasted effort—and this is the only way you'll help. I'm big enough to admit that if I want Faith to have the best wedding possible then I need to involve you.'

‘Another altruistic motive.' Hope's cheeks heated at the sardonic note in Gael's voice. ‘And very laudable but you've seen the other portraits. Sacrificial victim isn't the look I'm going for. It's not enough for you to agree to pose. I need you to want it. Tell me, Hope. Do you want it?' His voice had lowered to a decadent pitch, intimately dark. Hope swallowed.

Did she want to pose for him? Lie on that chaise, his eyes on every exposed inch of skin?

Hope stared out through the black iron railings. She knew the view by heart. The buildings opposite, the tops of the trees. This was where she hung out with a coffee and a book or her laptop, too scared to venture out of the comfort zone she'd carved for herself. She didn't mean to speak but somehow the words came spilling out. Another sad confession. ‘I meant to shake things up when I moved here. New York was my chance to reinvent myself. I started, I bought new clothes and chopped off some of my hair and thought that would be enough. But I'm still the same. I don't know how to talk to people any more, not when it doesn't involve work or superficial stuff. I don't...' She hesitated. ‘I don't know how to make friends, how to have fun. Maybe this will help me loosen up. It'll be a talking point if nothing else.'

‘You want me to help you loosen up?' Her pulse quickened at the velvet in his voice.

‘Yes. No! Not you exactly. What I mean is that I need to try something different, to be different. Posing for you will be new, unexpected.'

‘Okay. Let's try this.'

She hadn't known how tightly she was wound waiting for his answer, how the world had fallen away until it was just the two of them, sharing an intimate space even though they were half a mile apart, until he agreed.

‘Great.' She inhaled a shaky breath. ‘So what now? Do you want me to come over and...?' Her voice trailed off. How was she going to do it if she couldn't even say it?

The laughter in his voice confirmed he was probably thinking the same thing. ‘Not today. I think we need to warm up a little first. You, Hope McKenzie, have just admitted you need me to help you discover new things.'

That wasn't what she had said. Was it? Certainly not in the way she thought he was implying. ‘And you think you can do that for me, do you?'

‘Maybe.'

She didn't have to see him to know that he was smiling. Anger rose, sharp, hot and a welcome antidote to the sudden intimacy—but she wasn't entirely sure if she was more angry with Gael for his presumption or herself for laying herself open like that. ‘How very altruistic of you, and what's in it for you? A better painting or the virtuous glow of helping poor, virginal Hope McKenzie? Sprinkle a little of your privileged, glamorous Upper East Side fairy dust on me and watch me transform? Well, Professor Higgins, this little flower girl doesn't need your patronage, thank you very much.'

‘Are you sure about that?' Before she could respond Gael continued smoothly. ‘In that case why don't we get started on planning this whirlwind wedding? Any venues you want to see?'

Hope glared at the laptop as if it were to blame for her lack of possibilities. There was no way she wanted to admit she didn't have one idea as yet. ‘Yes. Meet me...meet me on top of the Empire State Building in an hour and a half.' Did they do weddings? It almost didn't matter. It was iconic and it was a start.

‘On top of the Empire State Building? How romantic. What a shame it isn't Valentine's Day. Am I Cary Grant or Tom Hanks in this scenario?'

‘Neither, you're not the hero. You're the wisecracking friend who ends up handcuffed to a stripper on the stag night.'

‘I must have missed that scene. Oh, well, there are worse things to be handcuffed to.' And he hung up leaving Hope with a disturbing image involving Gael O'Connor, handcuffs and the red chaise longue. What was more disturbing was the swirl of excitement in her stomach at the very thought...

* * *

It was predictably busy at the top of the Empire State Building, the sun and the wind combining to make the walkway uncomfortable in the early afternoon heat, but none of the tourists seemed to be complaining, too busy taking selfies and pointing out landmarks to notice the conditions.

And they would all be tourists. No self-respecting New Yorker would be up here at this time, during the height of the sightseeing buzz. In fact Gael couldn't remember the last time he had set foot up here. It had probably been for a photo shoot—that was why he visited most tourist locations.

Which was a shame because, even hardened local that he was, he had to admit the view was pretty spectacular, the blue of the ocean merging with the blue of the sky and the city rising from the ocean's depths like some mythological Atlantis.

Gael walked around three sides of the viewing platform before he spotted Hope, bright in the same red dress she'd been wearing earlier. She was standing half turned away from him, leaning on the railing staring out over the city, the dark strands of her hair whipping in the wind. It was odd, he'd only met her this morning but her image was indelibly printed on him—probably because most women didn't gatecrash his studio, demand he help them with a wedding and then blurt out their sexual history—or lack of—before nine a.m.

A smile tugged at his lips. He hadn't seen that one coming and at this stage in the game he could have sworn he'd seen it all. Dammit, he had to admit he was intrigued. How old was Hope? He looked at her assessingly. Somewhere in her mid to late twenties, he'd guess. Which meant she had to be either holding out for true love or had a considerable amount of baggage and neither of those things appealed to him. Not that he was interested in Hope in that way. He just needed a model.