The Right Mr. Wrong (2 page)

ONE

‘No. No, no,
no, no, no.’ Vivi Grace shook her head at the woman who owned every minute of her existence.

‘Too bad,’ Gianetta growled, stretching out her hand, her fingers crab-snapping. ‘No option. She’s throwing one of her worst.’

No kidding. The current hissy fit would be heard three streets away and Vivi was only five feet from ground zero, her ears basically bleeding. Gritting back a helpless giggle, Vivi unclasped her bra and wriggled the straps out from the sleeves of her shirt. Good thing she stayed out back—she’d never be seen in public without boob containment. ‘The things I do for you.’ And for the spoilt brat who was the bane of her life.

‘You’re paid ridiculous amounts of money to do them.’ Gia took the bra and glided across the room in her inimitable hovercraft style.

Vivi watched, grinning at the woman’s
élan
. Impossible as it was, Gia was more mesmerising and unique than her million-dollar creations. But what she’d said was true and, not only did Vivi need the money, she was driven to nail every aspect of this job. It might be completely crazy at times, but she loved her work. And given her relative youth and inexperience, Vivi still felt compelled to prove herself. She had to be better than brilliant and she worked hard to be—twenty-four/three-sixty-five.

So if the brat wanted to wear Vivi’s bra, she’d wear her bra. Definitely one of the more mortifying things Vivi’d been asked to offer up in the last four years, but no real surprise. For the biggest events of the season—New York, Paris, London and this, Milan—she did whatever it took. Tonight Alannah Dixon, global supermodel
du jour
, would wear the ultimate haute couture design of Gianetta Forli, supreme fashion queen and Vivi’s ‘every-minute-you’re-breathing’ boss. It was the grande finale of the most fab collection and not a thing would go wrong. Not on Vivi’s watch.

As Gia handed Alannah the bra Vivi was unable to stop herself from stating the obvious. ‘You’ll need to sew it or something, I’m way wider round the ribs.’ She really shouldn’t apologise. Only an eight-year-old starving orphan would be narrower.

‘The point is you’re fuller,’ Gia muttered, already working a needle. ‘The dress needs breasts.’

So why had Gia designed it for boobs when she’d known it would be ironing-board Alannah wearing it? Vivi bit back the bitchy thought. ‘Got some stuffing?’

‘Plenty.’ Gia growled. ‘You’ve lost weight, Alannah.’

‘I couldn’t help it,’ Alannah whined as Gia deftly sewed a few last stitches into the fantasy frock. ‘I couldn’t eat last week.’

Vivi rolled her eyes. It was a guy. Alannah had lost her heart and her appetite with it. Again. She was master of the ‘crush from afar’, actors or musicians her favourite
objets de lust
, but when she actually met the guy in question, she was invariably disappointed in the reality. As a result, the world knew she was impossibly hard to please—which made her all the more attractive to many,
many
successful and overly assured men. Alannah the Unattainable.

If anyone bothered to think about it, they might call Vivi unattainable too. She didn’t do crushes, flings or full-blown affairs. She didn’t do anything. Definitely not during Milan Fashion Week. And she’d not eaten that much these last few days either, she’d been wired on nervous energy and a ‘to do’ list centuries long.

Braless and feeling as if she were bouncing all over the place, she stepped out to the main changing area to ensure everything else was going to plan. Some of the stylists saw her and immediately straightened and moved faster.

Good.

As Gia’s personal secretary she had serious kudos. She was the person responsible for organising absolutely everything and everyone knew it. If anyone wanted to get to Gia, to impress Gia, even talk to Gia, they had to get through Vivi first. She was Girl Friday, Bouncer, Therapist, Exercise Buddy, Travel Agent, Punch Bag, Publicist, Chauffeur, Cook, Calendar, Cleaner, Censor, Enforcer, Enabler, Receptionist and more, all rolled into one.

Vivi turned away from the hordes of hairdressers and stylists, mentally preparing for the clean-up and post-show party mayhem. She rolled her shoulders, uncomfortable without her bra. Not physically, but because she worked hard to maintain her scary ‘fail-me-and-you-die’ persona. There was only success or failure and she ensured all staff and contractors knew it—from her attitude, speech and image. Her crisp white shirt and tailored black skirt reflected her all-business approach. Inoffensive, unobtrusive, efficient—it wasn’t her job to look outrageous. Although just this second Vivi wished she’d worn some scarlet lace number that would’ve shown through the dress. But Gia knew Vivi always wore skin-coloured support under her starched exterior. She was nothing if not reliable.

Right now A-listers lined the front row, trying not to rip into the goody bags Vivi had ordered. She always had her pick of gifts to include; many companies sought an affiliation with Gia’s label. Most were rejected. Only the elite were accepted—ensuring they became even more sought after. For another company, getting Gia’s nod was like striking gold. Vivi didn’t go to watch their glee, she stayed out back, clipboard, laptop and phone in hand—one eye on the security screens, one eye on the models before they went to Gia for final inspection, one eye on the technicians, one eye on the clean-up already. Yeah, she needed a lot of eyes, a few ears and several extra arms as well.

Quickly checking the nearest monitor, Vivi saw the models strutting evening-wear. One second ’til Alannah claimed centre-stage with her Vivi-bra boobs. She walked back to the private dressing room to get ready for the next phase. The monitor in there didn’t capture audio but she could hear the applause thundering through the walls anyway. She paused from her manic paper-shuffling and smiled at the screen as Gia then appeared, owning the catwalk alongside Alannah, taking the adulation.

Vivi frequently pinched herself, still unable to believe she’d had the luck to land a job with Gia and then be promoted to such a coveted position. Hundreds would kill—or worse—for her job. She met amazing people, went to incredible places. But as the applause faded she sat on the leather sofa, more than a little tired. Her post-show crash was hitting too soon.

‘Vivi!’ Gia’s strident tones echoed down the corridor. ‘I need you.’

Naturally. Vivi inhaled deep, hoping for a hit of energy. Gianetta needed her for the most basic things. Not merely organisational skills and people management—being secretary to a creative genius meant hand-holding on a whole new level.

Other voices grew louder. A burst of Alannah giggles was underscored by deep male laughter. Great. Vivi frowned. Guests were coming already too? She glanced round for her jacket but it was nowhere to be seen and her bra was still sewn to Alannah’s dress.

‘We need drinks, Vivi!’ Alannah sang. ‘I’ve found a friend.’

Of course. Vivi shook her head. Time to forget about her boobs’ bounceability. She lifted one of the already opened bottles and filled a couple of the flutes on the nearby tray, briefly wondering about Alannah’s human appetite suppressant. Was he her usual elite A-list actor type, or an extremely wealthy benefactor? To be invited into the exclusive room meant he was
someone
. But still, he ought to have been vetted by security.

The door opened.

‘Champagne?’ Glasses in hand, she turned to offer one to the latest five-minute-flirt—and nearly fainted with shock.

Oh, no. Oh, definitely no, no,
no
.

Rigid—to stop her faint—she stared at the tall figure who’d stepped in after Alannah.

‘Thanks.’ Alannah pried one of the glasses from Vivi’s clawed fingers.

Vivi didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She just kept on staring.

‘This is Vivi. She does everything.’ Sweeping past, Alannah didn’t bother to tell Vivi her date’s name—managing to compliment and insult Vivi at the same time. But Vivi didn’t need Alannah to tell her who he was.

Liam Wilson.

Her long-time-ago lover. The one she’d worked relentlessly hard to forget about.
Entirely
. Yet faster than the burst of a champagne bubble, every memory, every sensation, every sigh, flooded back.

They’d run away together. A reckless, passionate impulse. She’d turned her back on everything—her family, her almost fiancé, her carefully planned future. And for what?

Her affair with Liam Wilson had changed the course of her life. Mostly for the better, right? But it had also brought heartbreak.

He’d
broken her heart.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ Alannah purred, walking further into the room and pulling across a small screen that she’d get changed behind. Gia disappeared behind the screen too. Alannah was usually completely at ease with nudity, but never with a possible flirt in tow. She knew how to work mystery.

So Liam was Alannah’s latest crush? That’d be right—because Liam loved nothing more than a challenge. And that was fine. Of course. Because Vivi was so over him—light years over him. She’d not given him a thought in aeons.

But now he was right in front of her, a smile slowly curving his lips. Vivi remembered that smile and it hit her exactly as it had five years ago. Like the loud beat of a bass drum, one stroke set her heart on a new rhythm—led by him. But she wasn’t listening to it this time, certainly not dancing.

She turned, looked at the glass in her hand, tempted to lift the thing and drain it—and then the rest of the bottle. But that would be telling and she wasn’t letting him know how much his appearance had thrown her. Nor was she ever letting him know how badly he’d hurt her—not when he was here chasing someone else. Not when he was looking so, so...
fine
.

She turned back and offered him the glass. ‘Champagne?’ she repeated, pleased her voice sounded almost normal.

He was still looking right at her and his smile deepened. ‘Thank you.’

The tips of his fingers brushed hers as he took the glass. She suppressed the shiver, turning to pour herself a glass with a slow, careful hand. She took a very small, very controlled sip. She drew a breath but her throat was totally dry—as if the liquid she’d just swallowed had evaporated. Actually it probably had, because she was unbearably hot.

So hot.

It would be rude not to look at him, right? Not to talk. Swallowing, she went back to staring.

Tall, dark—and, you got it, handsomer than any of those pretty guys who’d been strutting it down the catwalk all week—Liam Wilson exuded more masculinity than all of them put together. More rugged, more raw—nothing but muscle and determination, all but breathing fire. He was slightly thinner than when she’d last seen him and his hair might be longer, but his edges had hardened—leaving him leaner and, yeah, meaner. His smarts were still visible—splinter sharp in his gold-flecked brown eyes. More than intelligent, he’d been calculating. And, in the end, ruthless. Doubtless he still was.

Mr All or Nothing. The ‘all’ had been fierce intensity. The ‘nothing’ had meant absolute abandonment. He’d enticed her—claimed her completely. And then ditched her.

Well, that was okay. She’d moved on—higher, further than she’d ever imagined she would. So she had pride, right? Good defence. She’d argue the heat in her cheeks was because she’d been working hard.

‘Hold still,’ Gia snapped louder than the steel scissors she was using to free Alannah from the frock.

Neither Liam nor Vivi moved. But the amusement in his eyes deepened, as did the intensity of colour. Too gorgeous for any woman’s good.

‘Did you enjoy the show?’ she asked, trying to suck back some cool. Failing.

‘It was stunning.’

How had he come to Alannah’s attention? Vivi didn’t know what he did any more. Five years ago he’d been on the competitive sailing circuit. Teaching on the side, taking wealthy types like Oliver out, getting them some skills and himself money, status—building a reputation that led to demand. Alannah didn’t seem the type to want to learn to sail.

But Liam had other talents. And he was clearly good at whatever he did now, given the fabric and fit of his suit. Bespoke. Emphasising the bold, beautiful body beneath.

Hot enough to combust, Vivi wrenched her gaze from him, hideously aware that beneath her white shirt her breasts were unfettered and right this second straining towards him.

Stupid body
.

But it remembered. Everything. She’d had the hottest sex of her life with this guy—incandescent passion fraught with guilt. Three weeks of burning up bedroom after bedroom, barely surfacing to breathe and travel on. Intense. Insane.

Unsustainable.

Because it ought to have been forbidden. She’d broken all the rules and she knew it. Doubt had wormed its way into her heart. In the end the old cliché was true: lust was not enough. It was no foundation for anything solid to be built on. Even though she’d given him everything. Given up everything for him.

But he hadn’t wanted it. All he’d wanted was—

‘Don’t move too fast—you’ll wreck it.’ Gia’s words rang in the scorching room. Vivi snapped back to the present.

‘Gia’s work is incredible.’ She produced a smile, determined to break the hot-ice moment and fill in the wait for the others to re-emerge.

‘Yes, she’s amazing.’

‘As are the models, of course.’ Vivi couldn’t help an acidic tinge filtering through.

‘Indeed,’ he agreed, his voice deepening.

Of course. Back then she should have known he was nothing but a flirt, but she’d been so young—she’d believed in the happy-ever-after fairy tale. Fool.

‘So, you’re Vivi now?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She lifted her chin. It had taken a long time and a lot of effort to become Vivi and she was proud of what she’d achieved.

He angled his head, watching her far too close for comfort. ‘You’ll always be Victoria to me.’

She froze at the friendly tease. ‘Naturally you’d be unable to do something that I’d prefer. You’ve only ever done what
you
wanted to.’ She covered the slight bite with a laugh and a superglued-on smile.