Married by Midnight (The BAD BOY BILLIONAIRES Series, #12) (2 page)

To her utter mortification the audience began to clap, whether in sympathy or to mock, she didn’t know.  All she knew was that she needed to get out of there and, pay or no pay, she would not be returning to that cursed stage.

The MC took the stage again, his rich bass voice booming as he invited the models back on stage for the grand finale.  The girls filed past her as she ducked her head and ran in the opposite direction.  To their credit, she didn’t hear a single snicker or jeer as she dashed by but she didn’t turn to look nor did she wait for what would come next.

Before any of the managers could grab her and chew her out for the mess she’d made of their show she would be out of there.  She wasted no time in stripping off the elegant gown and throwing her clothes back on.

Then, dressed in her discount store garb she slipped out the back door, leaving the haute-couture show behind, a major production she had just succeeded in ruining.  ***

Who in the blue blazes is that
?  From his seat at the head of the runway Reed Davidoff stared at the girl as, head down and eyes averted, she walked onto the stage, trailing behind the line of tall, willowy models.  She stood out like a wild Marigold among a bevy of hothouse flowers.  Well-trained and confident, they strode down the catwalk, heads high, all except for one – the girl he’d never seen before. 

She was trying her best to look composed but behind the overly bright smile and the perfectly made-up face he could clearly see that inside she was pure panic.  The quick rise and fall of her breasts from her rapid breathing and the deer-in-the-headlights quality of her wide-eyed gaze said it all. Who was she, anyway?  Clearly not model material.

And then the unthinkable happened.  The girl got to the front of the stage, turned and tumbled onto her knees, right there in front of the audience.  Reed felt his body jerk, an involuntary response to seeing her fall, but then she got up and ran for the curtains, moving so fast that all he could see was a flash of gold dress and a swathe of red-gold hair disappearing behind the curtains.

Johnny O, his master of ceremonies and ever the professional, immediately re-entered the stage and waved for music and lights and then he brought the models back to the runway to close the show with the pomp and panache that always brought the house down.  And tonight more than ever Reed was grateful he had such a showman on his team because, after the way that girl almost brought the show to a halt, right now what the audience needed was a major distraction.  What better way than with a finale that would put all others to shame.

And the Davidoff fashion team did not disappoint.  Whatever mishap had just taken place was soon forgotten in the swirl of colors that hit the stage when the entire crew of models floated down the runway in all the glory of the Davidoff Fall Collection.  And if the whoops and cheers from the audience was anything to go by, the crowd loved it.  Hopefully, so would the media and the reviewers.

And maybe, if he was really lucky, no-one would remember the lone butterfly that had fumbled and fallen on stage.

But, to Reed’s chagrin, there was one person in the audience who could not just dismiss the accident and move on like it never happened.  That person was Reed himself.

Amidst the applause, whistles and cheers what Reed wanted to do was head for the dressing rooms to find the mystery girl who had almost turned his launch into a disaster.  The only thing stopping him was that, at that very moment, he was being called on stage to stand beside his chief designer.  From the way Frank Santana was grinning ear to ear it was clear that he felt they’d done it again – a successful launch and hopefully a season of superb sales to follow.

It was another fifteen minutes before Reed was able to escape to the back.  He pushed through the crowd of models, some changing in the hallways, all in various stages of undress, none of them seeming the least bit perturbed that a man was striding past.

His eyes skimmed the crowd but there was no sign of the petite waif with the copper-gold hair.  Frowning, he headed for the show director’s office.  “Where is she?”

He had to shout above the din inside the room which was so full of people he could hardly find the director in the crowd.  “The girl who fell on stage.  Where can I find her?”

At his words Ali Messam extricated himself from the mass of bodies surrounding him and pushed to the front of the room.  “Mr. Davidoff.  My humblest apologies, sir.”  He clasped his hands in front of his chest and gave Reed a look of deep regret.  “It was my fault.  One of the models suddenly fell ill and I was forced to grab whoever was available. That dress, it had to be shown.  Do you not agree?”

“Yes, yes.”  Reed frowned, his eyes searching the room. He had no interest in the ‘whys and wherefores’.  He just wanted to find the girl.  “Now where is she?”

Ali lifted his shoulders and shook his head.  “I do not know, Mr. Davidoff.  After she fell down she ran back to the dressing room and then she disappeared.”

“How can I find her, then?  What’s her name?”

“I do not know that either.”  Ali lowered his brows.  “But if I may say so, sir, it will make no use to find her.  This girl, she has nothing.  You should have seen the clothes she was wearing.  What sense would it make to sue?”

Reed glared at the man who was beginning to try his patience.  “What’s her name, dammit?  And don’t tell me who I can and can’t sue.”

Ali jerked back, obviously surprised by Reed’s aggressive tone, then he gave a curt nod.  “Let me get you the list,” he said and turned away.  In less than a minute he was hurrying back with a clipboard on which a sheet of paper was secured.  He shoved it under Reed’s nose.  “We hired forty-three temps for this show, some as models, some as dressers, some as make-up artists.  I believe she must have been one of the dressers.  Definitely not a model.”

Reed’s eyes skimmed the paper.  “So which one is she?”

The man looked distressed.  “I don’t know.  I just grabbed whoever was closest at that moment.  I didn’t ask her name.  Maybe when she comes to pick up her check...”

“And when’s that?  A week or two down the road?  Not good enough.”  Reed snatched the clipboard from the director’s hand.  “Find her and bring her to me.”  With that he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Ali Messam staring open-mouthed after him.

Reed strode through the milling crowd and headed back to the stage.  Maybe someone in that area could tell him where she’d turned.  Or maybe she hadn’t even left.  Could she still be there, hiding behind the heavy curtains?  A stretch, he knew, but he was willing to give it a try.

When he got to the now deserted stage there was no-one to be seen. But there, lying to one side on the catwalk lay the gold slipper that the runaway model had abandoned.  Someone must have kicked it to the side and out of the way.

Reed walked down the runway and bent to pick up the slipper.  Now he understood.  These slippers were way too big for a girl as tiny as the one he’d seen on stage.  No wonder she’d stumbled in them.

He turned it over in his hand, realizing that a way-too-big abandoned slipper was of absolutely no use to him in this situation.  All he had to go on was a list of names, possibly an address that he could only hope was her real one, and the hope that she’d show up in a week to collect her pay.

Reed gave a grunt and turned to leave the platform, the gold slipper still in his hand.  He knew he should just let this thing go.  What girl was worth all this trouble?

But as his mind went to the memory of her guileless face, the cascade of golden hair floating behind her, he knew he couldn’t.

He couldn’t explain it but he knew he would not stop until he’d found her.

G
olden was almost halfway home before her heart stopped slamming against her ribs and slowed to its normal rhythm.  Finally, she was beginning to breathe easier.  She still couldn’t believe what had just happened to her.  She’d never been more humiliated in her life.

How do you get from accepting the simple job of putting clothes on models to ending up on a catwalk in front of an audience of thousands?  She, who’d always been shy and reserved, suddenly pushed into the limelight – literally.  If she’d only known, she would never have even shown up.  But then how could she have anticipated this?  It could have happened to anybody.  She was just in the wrong place at the worst possible time, a time that made her the perfect target for a drive-by recruitment for the runway.

But never again.  As desperate as she was for the money she was still not planning to go anywhere near that place, not even to collect the thirty-five pounds they’d said each temp would get.  And, as much as she hated it, she had to admit it – she was desperate...

Since leaving sixth form and then doing a two-year diploma in business administration all she’d been able to find were odd jobs, none of which provided more than the minimum wage.  She knew she was at a disadvantage, twenty years old and fast approaching twenty-one, not having entered a bachelor’s degree program.  She needed to get moving on her plan but how could she leave for the university of her choice when it was almost a hundred miles away?  That would require her boarding on campus and that would never do.  How could she leave her mother behind?

Golden gritted her teeth as she thought about it.  She would just have to hang in there a little longer, maybe just one more year.  She had to keep trying to convince her mother to make that big step toward independence.  It was the only thing that would save them both.

By the time she drove along the gravelly road and parked in front of the country house where she lived with her mother and stepfather it was already almost ten o’clock at night.  Tired and hungry she climbed out of her twelve year old Vauxhall Corsa and closed the door gently behind her. She didn’t want to wake her mother and she definitely didn’t want to risk the wrath of the man who now fancied himself her guardian.

As quietly as she could Golden turned the key in the lock and pushed the front door open.  Typical creepy old house, the heavy mahogany door groaned as she pushed it open.  Holding her breath she paused, listening for the sounds of approaching footsteps, but when all she could hear was silence she let out her breath and pushed the door all the way in.

There was a single light glowing on the entrance table.  Her mother’s doing, of course.  It was little acts of love like these that strengthened Golden’s resolve to do everything in her power to get her mother out of this prison into which she’d unwittingly trapped herself but, as much as she knew it was the right thing to do, there was a major issue that first had to be resolved.  There was hardly anything she could do until her mother realized that she’d married a man who meant her no good.

Golden was crossing the hallway on the way to her room when she heard a soft meow coming from the kitchen.  Immediately the crease in her brow disappeared and a smile softened her lips.  If there was one thing in the world guaranteed to lift her spirits it was a quick cuddle with Sir Winston Churchill.  She headed off in search of her beloved cat.

She found him by the back door, his head down as he lapped the remaining drops of milk from his saucer.  “Hey there, my love.  How are you?”  Kneeling beside him, she reached out to stroke his snow-white back.  “How was your day?”

The fluffy Persian lifted his head and gave her a milk-mustache smile – at least it looked like a smile to Golden – then he put out a pink tongue to lick the remnants of milk from his mouth.  Only then did he come to her, rubbing his head against her leg until she sat back on her heels and took him onto her lap.  When she stroked his head and tickled him behind the ear she was rewarded with the gentle vibration of his deep-throated purrs.

“You’re my best friend.  You know that, don’t you?”  Her voice was a soft whisper, almost as if she were sharing a very special secret with her one true friend.  And, like she’d said, he was just that – her best and only friend, the only one who would ever hear her fears or complaints or triumphs.

“Where were you?”

Golden jumped.  She turned to see her mother, her hair full of rollers, standing in the doorway blinking sleepily at her.

“Mother, I didn’t wake you, did I?”  She pushed Sir Winston off her lap and stood up.  “I tried to be quiet.”

“No, you didn’t wake me.  When I got up to go to the loo I peeked out and saw your car was here.  That’s how I knew you were home.”  She blinked then narrowed her eyes as she gave Golden a closer look.  “Why do you look like that?  You never wear make-up.”  Then her frown deepened.  “Where were you, Golden?”

“I...” Golden paused, wondering how much she could share.  Her mother loved her, she knew, but the reality was, she was so concerned about pleasing her husband that she put his needs before anyone else’s.  And she didn’t know how to keep secrets from him either.  “I was just...somewhere.”  It sounded lame but for the life of her she couldn’t come up with anything better.  She’d never been one to lie so when it came to making up stories she was hopeless.

She gave a shrug and turned to go.  “Well, it’s late.  Time to get my beauty sleep.  Goodnight, Mother.”

She didn’t get far.  Eugenia reached out and caught her by the arm.  “Golden, why is your face made up like that?  Were you out on the town...with men?”  The last two words came out in a hiss.  “You know your father would not approve.”

“He’s not my father.”  Golden almost dragged her arm out of her mother’s grasp but she didn’t.  No matter how angry she was she would not show disrespect.  But she would not perpetuate the lie her mother was living.  “He’s not my father,” she said again.  “He’s your husband.  I do not answer to Dunstan Manchester.”

“As long as you’re under his roof, you have to.”

“This is not his roof,” Golden said through gritted teeth and this time she did pull her arm away, albeit gently.  “This is the house my father bought when he brought us here from Atlanta.  This is the house he left for you.  For us.”

“I know all that, honey, but I have another husband now-”

“A husband who wants to control everything,” Golden bit back. “Even me.”