Girl in a Vintage Dress

Imogen did a little shimmy as she spooned decaf into her cup. ‘This is going to be fun.’

‘It is,’ Lola said, biting back a smile. ‘Though this gig’s a bit different.’

‘How so?’ Imogen added a shoulder wiggle to her hip shimmy. ‘Does Chase need me to sleep over? Do some serious preparation for the hen’s night? Because I’ll do it, you know. I’m that kind of gal, totally dedicated to getting the job done whatever’s required and—’

‘Not you. Me.’

Lola often had to interrupt her friend mid-sentence otherwise the simplest of questions elicited a five minute long response.

This time, she enjoyed the confusion crinkling Immy’s brow.

‘You?’

The kettle clicked off and she poured boiling water into their cups.

‘I’m the one that’ll be staying over.’

Immy’s jaw dropped, her mouth a perfect crimson glossed circle.

Enjoying her friend’s momentary silence—it wouldn’t last long—she dangled the chamomile bag.

‘Apparently he’s willing to pay for the privilege of having Go Retro run a week-long hen’s party for his sis, no expenses spared, so while I’m doing that you’ll be running the shop here.’

Imogen snapped her mouth shut into a mutinous line.

‘Come on, Immy, we’re a team. I run the workshops, you run this place when I’m not around. It works.’

The corners of Imogen’s mouth twitched. ‘Yeah, I know, but the thought of you rather than me getting up close and personal with that scrummy bachelor of the year makes me greener than Kermit.’

‘I won’t be getting up close and personal with anyone.’

Let alone an overconfident, overbearing workaholic who wouldn’t know a hatbox from a pin curl. They had absolutely nothing in common and the fact she was even thinking along these lines meant she needed to get back to work before Immy made her more nervous.

And she was nervous, terrified in fact, for she’d agreed to meet Chase in a few hours to run through a proposed itinerary.

Her nerves had nothing to do with a lack of confidence in her work and everything to do with her irrational, erratic physical reaction to a guy who made her pulse race just by looking at her.

Imogen winked and tapped the side of her nose.

‘Sure, you’re going to concentrate on work and forget the fact Melbourne’s hottest bachelor is looking over your shoulder. Just think, all those one on one consultations to ensure the hen’s party runs smoothly, all those late night meetings, all those cosy chats to—’

‘Don’t you have mannequins to dress?’

Imogen’s grin widened. ‘Oh yeah, you’re just dying to do this.’

She was dying all right but not for the reason Immy thought. While this may be just another job on paper the reality was far different. People like Chase, who moved in moneyed circles, had different expectations to the rest of them. What if the service she provided wasn’t good enough? What if she wasn’t good enough?

And that was bothering her the most, that she’d be found wanting in the same disheartening, discouraging, confidence sapping way she had been every day growing up.

‘Want some help planning your wardrobe?’

Lola took a sip of tea and sighed with pleasure. ‘Don’t you mean the wardrobe for the party?’

Imogen cupped her mug and raised an eyebrow over the rim.

‘Honey, you’re likely to run into the sexiest guy in Melbourne on a regular basis for a week straight. Who cares what dress ups the brats play around with? It’s you who needs to dazzle.’

Dazzle.

Her hands trembled as she clutched her cup more tightly. The thought of meeting Chase at Dazzle, his workplace, in a few hours set loose a bunch of rampaging butterflies on speed in her belly.

Taking a few sips of her soothing tea and finding it did nothing for her increasingly prevalent nerves she tipped the rest in the sink and rinsed the cup.

‘Can you hold the fort for the next hour while I nip upstairs and do some serious planning for this party?’

‘Sure, it’ll be good practice for when I hold the fort on my own for a week while you’re swanning around with chiselled Chase.’

‘It’s not like that,’ she said, managing a wry smile at the thought of her swanning around with a guy like Chase.

Imogen cocked a hip as she leaned against the fridge. ‘Then what’s it like?’

‘I’ll let you know by the end of the week,’ she said, her grin widening as Immy stuck out her tongue, the sound of childish smooching noises following her as she headed for the stairs.

Chase stared at his computer screen, trying to assimilate an inordinate amount of nonsensical information from the Go Retro website in an effort to be prepared for this meeting with Lola.

But the harder he tried to concentrate, the more the words blurred before his eyes, his attention constantly snagged by a small picture of Go Retro’s proprietor in the top right hand corner.

A scoop-necked cherry dress cinched at the waist hugged her hourglass figure in all the right places, her hair falling in soft golden waves around a heart-shaped face dominated by those big brown eyes and ruby-slicked lips.

She looked incredible; and the picture didn’t do her justice.

Lola Lombard in the flesh was something else.

He should know. He’d spent the last few hours replaying their encounter: the way her lips pursed when she wasn’t pleased, the feisty way she’d snatched his phone, the nervous flick of her tongue when she damped her lips when their fingers touched.

She was so not his type but there’d been a moment in that shop, surrounded by all those bows and whistles he’d wanted her to be.

The intercom on his desk buzzed and he clicked back onto his home screen. Lola Lombard had distracted him enough for one day.

‘What is it, Jerrie?’

‘Your sister to see you.’

‘Send her in.’

He loved the way Cari dropped by to see him despite her manic schedule and today he was especially glad. She may not want a fancy wedding but he’d make sure she enjoyed his gift.

He stood and made it halfway across his office before she strode into the room, her black business suit creaseless, her hair and make-up immaculate for someone who’d hit the courts ten hours earlier.

He’d always been immensely proud of Cari and all she’d achieved and while she was getting married he couldn’t help but wonder if she was slotting in her marriage among the rest of her appointments in the meticulous diary she kept.

‘Hey, sis. Glad you could make it.’

He kissed her cheek, smiling when she barely paused en route to his desk, where she started searching it.

‘Where’s this surprise you mentioned on the phone?’

‘Ah…so that’s why you dropped in. And here I was, thinking you missed seeing your amazing brother who you haven’t had time for all week.’

‘I don’t have time for this so cut to the chase.’

She tempered her brisk tone with a cheeky smile, the same one she’d given him every time she used the well worn phrase; she’d been telling him to cut to the chase for a long time now.

‘Fine. I won’t bore you with details so here’s the low-down.’

He perched on his desk, enjoying himself immensely. ‘You know how you’ve cleared your schedule for a month for the wedding?’

‘Yeah, I don’t know how Hugh talked me into that.’ She blew out an exasperated little huff but the corners of her mouth curving into a smile belied her belligerence. Hugh Hoffman was the only guy who’d come close to taming his strong-willed sister and it had been nothing short of a miracle that he’d coerced her into taking a whole month off from her precious job.

‘I’ve talked to Hugh and he’s given me the go-ahead to snaffle a week of your time.’

She frowned and glared at him over the top of her rimless spectacles.

‘Not that Hugh has any say in what I do and how I spend my time, but what are you raving on about?’

Grinning, he spun around his computer screen. ‘I’m throwing you a hen’s party, sis. Not just a night, a whole week’s worth.’

‘You’re insane…’ The rest of her protest died on her lips as she focused on the screen, the spark of interest obvious as she caught sight of the Go Retro home page.

‘Wow, check out those clothes,’ she murmured, edging closer to the screen, squinting to get a better look.

‘You will be,’ he said, pulling up two chairs so they could sit. ‘I know you love this old stuff and you’d never take time out to check it out yourself so I’m kidnapping you and that ratbag motley crew you call friends and locking you away in my Mount Macedon place for a week, with Go Retro throwing you a hen’s bash you’ll never forget.’

Dragging her gaze away from the screen, she stared at him with wide eyes.

‘I take it back. You’re not insane. You’re certifiable. How on earth… Where did you get the idea… I don’t believe this…’

He laughed at her lack of words, something his garrulous sister never had a problem with.

‘Consider it my wedding present to you.’

He jerked his thumb at the screen, relieved when she bought his distraction. She’d honed that death glare to a fine art as a kid and it had been perfected with age. ‘You and Hugh have everything, so this is a special something you’d never buy yourself.’

When she didn’t speak, trepidation shot through him. Cari was his only sibling, the only person on the planet he truly cared about and he’d do anything to make her happy.

She’d done so much for him growing up: giving him a home, some semblance of family, when their parents were too busy indoctrinating their students rather than caring for the kids they had waiting futilely for them at home every night.

How many nights had they made macaroni cheese together, studied together, watched Tom and Jerry reruns until sleep had claimed them and their folks still hadn’t made it home from Melbourne University? Too many and their closeness was as much about enforced dependency as blood ties.

‘Come on, sis, say something.’

This time when she looked at him, every muscle in his body relaxed, for those weren’t tears of anger in her eyes. They were tears of joy.

‘This is the most brilliant gift anyone has ever given me and I can’t thank you enough.’

She launched herself into his arms and hugged him until he could barely breathe, the two of them laughing as they disentangled.

‘So I get to play dress ups with all that gorgeous gear for a week?’

‘Yeah, and a whole bunch of other stuff, which I’ll tell you about once I get the itinerary straight with Lola.’

‘Lola?’

He deliberately kept his tone devoid of any emotion; too little too late if Cari’s quirked eyebrow was any indication.

‘Lola Lombard, the owner. She’ll be running your hen’s party.’

Cari’s astute gaze bored into him. ‘Can’t believe a woman who owns a shop like that would take a week out of her schedule to run a private party.’

‘It’s part of her business, running parties.’

Along with her sideline of pilfering phones and distracting men.

‘Uh-huh.’ Cari tapped her bottom lip with a perfectly manicured fingernail. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?’

‘Because you’re naturally suspicious?’

Swivelling the screen back towards him, he shut down the notebook.

‘So now you know the big secret you can head back to your glass office in the sky and sue a few more corporations.’

When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up a finger.

‘But remember, a fortnight from today, get ready to party.’

With a rueful smile, she patted his cheek and sailed out the door, her fingers already glued to her smartphone as she checked for emails from clients.

They were so alike: busy, driven, ambitious, thriving on the challenge of business at a high level.

The lawyer and the CEO; as far removed from their parents, the English Lit professors, as could be.

He often wondered if that was what drove them—the unspoken urge to be nothing like the parents who hadn’t given a toss about them.

It sure had spurred him on, to enter an industry filled with fun and parties and light-heartedness, as far removed from his sterile childhood and his parents’ academic snobbery.

Not that he and Cari ever discussed it. Instead, they paid the obligatory visits at birthdays and Christmases, made perfunctory small talk with the people who were more strangers than family, before escaping for another few months.

Though not a strained visit went by without him wishing they’d show some interest: in his career, his success, his life. Futile wishes, considering his folks continued to be absorbed by their students, their timetables and themselves, in that order.

Whatever the motivation driving himself and Cari he was proud of how far they’d come and, swiping a hand over his face, he flipped up the screen with the other, instantly drawn to Lola’s picture again.

Time to concentrate on more important matters; like seeing what luscious Lola Lombard could come up with for Cari’s hen’s party.

And getting a grip on why she held such an unwanted fascination for him.

CHAPTER FOUR

LOLA clutched her monstrous cerise crushed velvet holdall against her chest as she strode along Collins Street.

While the Dazzle offices might be at the elegant bustling Paris end of the street, walking through the central business district after dark always made her nervous.

The fairy lights strung through tree branches twinkled as commuters rushed past her, heading for the underground train stations, oblivious to their surroundings, caught up in the rat race.

She eased her grip on her bag and tucked it under her arm, her fear receding. Being a business drone like these commuters was far scarier to her than any imagined bogeymen lurking in the shadows.

She hated that lifestyle: the pace, the relentlessness, the frenetic whirlwind to be bigger and better and brighter than everyone else.

She’d tried it once, had been caught up in it against her will. After all, what choice did she have when her mum was a former Miss Australia finalist and her sister a catwalk supermodel?

They’d dragged her along to countless parties and Fashion Weeks and make-up launches, no doubt hoping some of that glamour would rub off on her, the lacklustre fat Lombard of the trio.

While she’d enjoyed the fashion shows and make-up giveaways, she didn’t belong in that world and never would. The fake-ness, the schmoozing, the air kisses while everyone sized up everyone else behind their backs… Nah, she’d leave that to people who thrived on it, like her gorgeous waiflike sister Shareen—yeah, she was that famous she had a single name, like Cher and Madonna—and her mum, Darla, who still graced the glossy magazines every few weeks.

The sad thing was, she could now match them for poise and fashion-consciousness yet they rarely acknowledged her transformation, they were so caught up in their own lives. And what was worse? That she still cared what they thought, after all this time.

Just once, she’d like her mum to say, Darling, you look gorgeous, a compliment often thrown out to Shareen. The closest she got these days was, ‘That’s an interesting outfit,’ which was better than nothing but not a patch on what she wanted, what she deserved.

Annoyed at dredging up memories guaranteed to sap her confidence, she picked up the pace and as she reached the offices of Dazzle, enclosed in a modern glass monstrosity reaching for the sky, she knew Chase Etheridge belonged in the group of go-getters she’d just shouldered through.

He oozed class that money couldn’t buy, an innate assurance evident in those slashed cheekbones, square jaw and sensual mouth.

The way he’d barged into her shop, overpowering her personal space with his brand of charisma, never doubting for a second she’d fall in line with his plans… Yeah, he had confidence to burn and, despite her private vow made a long time ago to never fall for the falseness of that glamorous world, she found herself looking forward to seeing him again.

Irritated, she marched through the glass doors, ignoring the inevitable stares from business drones leaving the building.

She was used to the stares, used to people taking a second look when she walked past. Hadn’t she cultivated this image for that very reason all those years ago, turning her personal penchant for vintage into a unique look all her own?

She liked being admired, liked standing out from Shareen and Darla and the more people complimented her the further she honed her image to the point where she never stepped out of her bedroom without her retro mask in place.

Lola Lombard was striking, different, distinctive and a far cry from frumpy, mousy Louise Lombard who’d slunk in her gorgeous family’s footsteps, wishing she could be just like them.

The ten second ride in a supersonic elevator made her ears pop and, increasingly grumpy she strode along the plush thirtieth floor corridor and into the flashy Dazzle offices.

She’d expected glitz to the max but the understated elegance of the place surprised her: cinnamon carpet, mushroom walls and a simple mahogany front desk bordered on antique. The whole front office had an old world charm rather than the modern slant she’d expected after meeting Chase and her misconception rattled her. What other surprises did Chase Etheridge hide up his Armani sleeves?

A suitably sleek receptionist glanced up as she approached and to her credit the woman didn’t balk or stare at her appearance, offering a genuine smile instead.

‘Hi, you must be Lola. Chase is expecting you. Last door on the left; go straight in.’

Acutely aware of her nineteen-fifties dress next to the receptionist’s black Dolce and Gabbana power suit, she headed off down the hallway where Miss D&G had pointed.

She hesitated outside a monstrous ebony door, wishing she didn’t have to do this. Then she remembered that latest mortgage rise notification and her teetering finances, took a deep breath and raised her fist to knock.

Her knuckles had barely grazed the door when it opened and she bit back a wistful sigh.

Because that was how seeing Chase again made her feel: pensive, yearning for something she knew wasn’t good for her yet craved anyway. Kind of like her favourite double choc fudge brownies.

‘Glad you could make it.’

As if she’d had any choice. Apart from her dire financial straits, the minute he’d barged into Go Retro he would never have taken no for an answer; he was that kind of guy.

‘I’ve got a rough presentation for you to take a look at.’

‘Great, come on in.’

He opened the door wider but didn’t move and as she slid past him she could’ve sworn a bolt of electricity zapped her. How else could she explain her wobbly knees and shaky hands and boneless spine?

Striding across the office as if she was used to being in fancy executive suites every day of the week, her eyes widened when she neared the desk, a gargantuan glass and chrome concoction that would’ve served half a call centre.

It was covered with fancy gadgets and neat document stacks, with a gleaming stainless steel pen holder housing gold pens. A laptop as thin as a wafer sat side by side with a huge PC screen bigger than her television.

The desk spoke volumes about Chase: modern, efficient, smooth. So what did her chipped, scratched antique roll top say about her?

‘Have a seat.’

Oh-oh. She’d expected him to retreat behind his well organised desk and leave her a welcome few metres away on the other side. Instead, he gestured to a low ochre suede sofa nearby—a sofa without matching chairs, which meant he’d be sitting next to her, nice and cosy, while she gave her presentation.

When he cast a quizzical glance she perched on the edge of the sofa, smoothing her full skirt before delving into her bag for her notes, concentrating on gathering her documents and trying not to stiffen when he sat next to her, so temptingly close.

‘Looks like you’ve got an office in that bag.’

‘I like to be prepared,’ she said, yanking the folder from her bag and brandishing it like a protective shield.

‘Let me guess. You were in Girl Scouts.’

His mouth kicked into a teasing smile and she swore her heart kicked back.

‘Not a chance.’

She’d been too busy traipsing around after her sister as a kid, fetching costumes and tights and mascara wands, hanging around backstage killing time at countless talent and fashion shows. While she’d loved the clothes she’d hated the condescending pity stares from people in the industry who knew she was Shareen’s fat baby sister.

Exasperated she’d let more memories distract her at a time like this, she flipped open the folder.

‘This is a very basic outline of the week, which I’ll flesh out later…’

The rest of her pitch faded into oblivion as he leaned towards her to look at the folder, his shoulder brushing hers and setting off a bunch of internal fireworks that rocketed and pinwheeled and spiralled until she was dizzy.

This out of control physical reaction to a guy who embodied everything she didn’t like was crazy, a purely hormonal reaction for a girl who hadn’t had a date in a while. Okay, a long while.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t make this any easier and, gritting her teeth against blue-eyed, wicked, smiling, rich rogues, she rattled the paper and stabbed her finger at the first point.

‘The gist of the hen’s party is pampering for the bride-to-be, including manicures, pedicures, facials, massages, makeovers. Then I throw in deportment lessons, etiquette, dance and home-style cooking classes.’

Chase snorted and she raised an eyebrow.

‘The thought of Cari in the kitchen, let alone cooking anything beyond microwaving a frozen dinner is mind-boggling.’

‘She doesn’t cook at all?’

Lola never understood how anyone couldn’t at least scramble eggs or make a basic chicken salad. She loved the warmth of a well-used, well-loved kitchen: the aromas, the fresh herbs, the spices, the fun of throwing stuff together and creating a delicious surprise.

Guess that explained why she’d been the size of a blimp growing up and her mum and sister never ventured to the fridge for more than to grab iced water and a lettuce leaf.

Chase grinned and once again her heart performed some weird dance ritual halfway between tap and mambo.

‘Cari’s a take-out kind of gal.’

He pointed at her presentation. ‘So the cooking? This I’ve got to see.’

Her heart did a final pirouette and sank into the splits as she realised what that meant.

‘You’ll be at the house?’

A slight frown creased his brow and she silently cursed her abrupt question complete with horrified undertone.

‘We’ll see. I have enough work here to keep me busy so I’ll be staying in town most likely.’

The guy had two houses? She could barely afford the mortgage on one. Another reason why she was here—the thought of her precious two bedroom Californian bungalow a street away from Go Retro being ripped away from her was too much to bear.

She’d put it up as collateral when she’d gone from leasing the Errol Street storefront to buying it as an investment in her business and now that interest rates were on the rise and consumer spending was down and Go Retro wasn’t doing so well…

Panic flared, lurching from the darkest recesses where she clamped down on it on a daily basis, doing everything in her power to make Go Retro a roaring success and saving her business, her livelihood and her home.

‘I’ve got a penthouse not far from here, but get away to the Mount Macedon house when I can.’

‘Great.’

Her response sounded forced and before he could pick up on it, she rushed on. ‘I’ll need to know if there are any food allergies, that sort of thing.’

He nodded and slipped his trusty smartphone from his jacket pocket, tapping away at the miniature keyboard with his thumb.