Wicked Ambition (57 page)
Authors: Victoria Fox
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Women's Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Contemporary Fiction, #Sagas, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Fiction
Elisabeth nodded.
‘Evening, Daniel.’ Robert knew every last one of the Orient’s staff–he had hired them all personally, from pit boss to restroom cleaner. ‘How many for the gala?’
‘Six hundred. They’re waiting for you both in the Lantern Suite.’
Robert checked his watch. ‘Frank Bernstein here yet?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘Make the most of it,’ Elisabeth muttered drily as they stepped into the foyer.
Robert chuckled. ‘Come on, he’s not so bad.’
Elisabeth loved the Orient. It was, in her opinion, the greatest hotel in the city. She’d grown up on the Strip, knew them all like the back of her hand, but the Orient was special, it was different. Huge china urns, big as cars, squatted in the five corners of the pentagonal lobby, overflowing with jade stalks and huge leaves sprayed in gold. Gilt-edged mirrors lined the walls beneath glowing red paper lamps. Below, the marble of the floor gleamed clear as water, like standing on the surface of a silver pool, so that your reflection made it difficult to tell which way was up and which was down. It thrilled Elisabeth to know that soon, once she and Robert were married, she would be its queen.
They swept past Reception to the waiting elevator. As they rose to the sixteenth floor, Robert took her hand.
‘I’m proud you’re on my arm,’ he told her.
‘You’re on mine, St Louis.’ She winked as they alighted.
At news of the couple’s arrival, a reverential hush fell over the assembled investors and Vegas notables. Jowly men with ruddy cheeks and fat wallets stood next to their glamorous wives, whose priceless gems dripped from their fragrant, powdered skin.
The women watched enviously as Elisabeth let the fur drop from her shoulders, revealing a glittering kingfisher-blue
gown that matched her eyes. Every last one of them wanted Robert St Louis and, seeing Elisabeth now, understood why they never would.
Her fiancé took easily to the floor. ‘I’m pleased to see so many of you here,’ he said, clapping his hands together and approaching the waiting lectern. ‘It’s a special night. The Orient has been working closely with the causes here this evening…’
Elisabeth smiled, quietly greeting one of the wives with a brief air kiss.
As she watched Robert, she felt powerful. No longer was she merely Frank Bernstein’s daughter: she was part of a team that had nothing whatsoever to do with him, a team that would lay the foundations of a new Vegas dynasty. This was hers alone–she didn’t have to involve her father at all.
Nothing could come between her and Robert.
If ever it did, she would fight it to the death.
London
Chloe French held her expression as she reclined on the leopard-print chaise longue and followed the photographer’s instructions.
‘That’s gorgeous,’ he told her, clicking away. ‘Anyone ever told you you’ve got the face of an angel?’
They had, actually. At nineteen Chloe French was the sweetheart of London’s fashion circuit–a raw, unaffected beauty and a fledgling star on her way to the top. She was tall, nearly six feet, with a sheet of jet-black hair that fell to her waist and glittering slate-grey eyes.
A make-up girl wearing too-tight denim hot pants rushed over and reapplied pink lipgloss, fanning Chloe’s hair out around her and repositioning the vintage clutch.
‘Thanks,’ Chloe called when she scurried off.
‘Stop saying thanks,’ instructed the photographer, an Emo
guy with thick Elvis-Costello-style glasses, ‘you’re disrupting the shot.’
‘Sorry,’ said Chloe, cringing. The camera popped as she pulled the face.
Chloe French had been spotted four years ago outside Topshop on Oxford Street, feeling rough amid a horrible winter cold and wearing an old hoody with a ketchup stain down the front. She’d been modelling ever since. Over that time she had worked with some of the biggest names in fashion, but she still couldn’t shake the little knots of self-consciousness that accompanied a shoot like this. There just seemed to be so much fuss.
Consulting his assistant on the stills, the photographer grinned. ‘That’s the one.’ Chloe’s slight awkwardness, so unlike the other models he was used to working with, came off brilliantly on camera as coy vulnerability.
‘Have you got what you need?’ she asked, sitting up. ‘I’m meeting Nate.’ She beamed at the mention of her rock-star boyfriend.
‘And all the world’s press?’ The photographer made a face, remembering the last time Nate Reid had come to the studio. He’d been trailed by a troop of devoted paparazzi, supposedly unintentionally, though nothing about Chloe’s boyfriend appeared to be without intention.
She laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Nate’s discreet.’
‘He is?’ The photographer raised an eyebrow. ‘I can’t open a London paper without seeing you two.’
Chloe shrugged. ‘For a musician.’
‘Yeah, the Pied fucking Piper,’ he muttered, remembering the cameras dancing at Nate’s heels.
On cue the studio door opened and a rakish figure appeared in the doorway, a wiry silhouette crowned with artfully tousled hair.
‘Nate!’ cried Chloe, jumping up and running over.
‘Great,’ the photographer said with a roll of his eyes, ‘just what we need.’
Nate Reid, frontman with The Hides, held out his arms to embrace her. Nate was the epitome of rock and roll–or at least he liked to think he was. As the hottest property in British music, he wasn’t conventionally good-looking, a little on the rangy side and quite short, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in charisma. With piercing green eyes, a fuck-you attitude and an anarchic reputation, he was, in Chloe’s eyes, everything that was wonderful in the world.
‘Hey, babe,’ said Nate, kissing her deeply. She tasted of cherries.
Chloe smiled down at him–she tried not to let the height difference bother her.
‘Are you done yet?’ he asked, a tad irritably. ‘I’ve been waiting.’
Chloe gave a hopeful expression to Emo-guy.
‘Yup, we’re done,’ he said, busy with the stills.
When she turned back she was just in time to catch Nate scoping out one of the other models, before his eyes slid swiftly back to her.
‘Let’s go,’ she said, linking his arm tightly.
Unsurprisingly, the press had caught wind of Nate’s arrival. As the couple emerged on to the street, a circus of shouting and flashing bulbs erupted. Nate held up a hand as they bustled through to the waiting car, as if the whole thing was a
massive inconvenience. He parcelled Chloe away and turned to the paps, treating them to a couple of clean shots.
‘You heading out tonight, Nate?’ one of them asked. ‘Chloe going with you?’
‘Classified information, boys,’ said Nate, editing out the tip-off he’d fed through earlier. He turned to get in the car.
‘Is it true Chloe’s moving to LA?’
Nate gritted his teeth. ‘Not true.’
‘There’s talk that—’
He climbed in and slammed the door.
An army of lenses swooped in on the windows, clicking insistently, aimlessly, in the hope of catching a killer shot. The car moved off.
‘You’re so patient with them,’ Chloe said, tying her hair back. ‘I can never be arsed.’
‘‘S no big deal.’
She kissed his cheek. ‘Come on, I’ve got the house to myself this afternoon.’
Nate brightened. He was a little worn out after a marathon bedroom session that morning, but he’d never been able to resist Chloe. ‘Sounds good, babe.’
Chloe gazed across at her boyfriend and felt her heart swell. Nate Reid was her hero–the night they’d met was proof of that.
So what if she caught him checking out other girls from time to time, it didn’t matter. It was her he was committed to and that was the important thing. Right? Relationships required work–she knew that from her own experience. You couldn’t just give up if you loved someone. And she loved Nate Reid. Nothing, and no one, was going to change that.
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Harlequin MIRA is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited, used under licence.
Published in Great Britain 2013
Harlequin MIRA, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR
© Victoria Fox 2013
eISBN 978-1-472-01168-8
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
