“What now?”
“This … you, me, standing here … it’s just so … weird.”
Obviously, Sebastian Clarke didn’t ping-pong from one disaster to the next in his life like she did in hers. No surprise that this situation was freaking him out—yet another reason not to tell him she suspected Nazir had set her up.
Helen went back to ribbing him. “Does this mean you’ll object to me using your razor?”
His nose scrunched up. “I’ll buy a new one tomorrow.”
Sniggering, Helen closed the door behind him then jumped into the shower. There hadn’t been many men in her life, but Sebastian Clarke was by far one of the most uptight she’d ever met. She liked him—mostly—but he was a pedant. Rules, contracts, schedules. Slippers. And who stated the exact number of minutes when reading the time?
Helen scrubbed the day’s grit from around her neck and ears, careful not to get her hair too wet—a frizz ball no one wanted to see—then reached for Sebastian’s razor, which had been placed at a right angle on the side of the sink. She ripped open a disk of hotel soap, shaved her legs and under her arms. When she turned off the water, her phone was vibrating on the bathroom floor next to her bag. It was her sister-in-law.
“I can’t talk now, Emma.” Helen grabbed the towel with her free hand. “Having a shower.”
“You don’t have a shower”—shit—“and why aren’t you with Tom?”
“Change of plan. I got the bus, and I really—”
“Where are you?”
Helen winced. “At my friend Liz’s hotel.”
“Did you sneak in again?”
“No, no, it’s okay. I’ve got permission. I’ll tell you all about it later. What’s up?” Helen pulled the phone away from her ear as her baby niece, Lucy, squawked down the line.
“Sorry, I think she’s windy.” Defeat laced Emma’s heavy sigh. “I thought Tom would be giving you a lift back now. I didn’t want to call him if he was driving. He needs to get milk on the way home.” The baby cried louder, and in the background, her two-year-old nephew, Harry, had also begun to wail for his mum. “Oh. My. God. I’m so desperate for Tom to be home!”
“I’m sorry, Em.” Helen grimaced at the increasing noise level currently driving her sister-in-law nuts. On days like this, Helen would normally cycle up to their house to help. “Come out and see me tomorrow morning,” was all Helen could say now. “I’ll have more strawberries for Harry, and you can leave the kids with me if you and Tom want to go out for a walk, just the two of you.”
“Thanks, Hel, we’ll do that.”
Helen disconnected. Poor Emma. At least babysitting tomorrow morning would give her and Tom a break—and hopefully distract them from interrogating her about tonight.
Helen stuffed her phone and dirty clothes in her bag then quickly set about fixing her blotchy face. She slapped on foundation, smudging it into her hairline and down her neck, then rubbed a little of the rosy pink lipstick on her cheeks because she’d forgotten to buy any blusher. She then ran some dark eyeshadow over her eyelids with her finger, applied a couple of coats of mascara, then tugged the comb she’d found by the sink, perpendicular to the razor, through her tangled hair.
Fifteen minutes later, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in Sebastian’s room. Lips glossy, cheeks rosy, lashes dark, and eyelids smoky—well, that’s how the box described it anyway. Helen didn’t look anything like a frigid, turn-of-the-century school teacher now.
The black dress was a good fit, but—yikes!—it was short. And clingy. And so low-cut at the front and back that she’d had to ditch her bra to avoid the straps showing across her shoulders. Grateful to be flat-chested enough to get away with not wearing one anyway, Helen strapped on her new shoes, twirled for one last check, then headed downstairs.
“Not bad,” Sebastian said when she approached him, but as he was staring at his watch again, probably noting the time to the nearest fraction of a second, he’d obviously been referring to her timekeeping. “The car’s outside.”
He barely looked at her as they strode out, but she certainly looked at him—and so did everyone else. He wasflawless.
The black of his tuxedo set off the sea-blue of his eyes, and his crisp white shirt, which clung to that sculpted chest of his, reflected the early evening sun. He looked the proverbial million dollars, and the first sign of doubt crept into Helen’s core. Out here, in broad daylight, her dress looked exactly like what it was, a £7.99 basic that most women wore around the house.
Apples and oranges.Ha! Was that the North American equivalent of saying chalk and cheese? Either way, Sebastian was right. No one would believe someone like him had fallen for someone like her. They’d both look like fools and he’d hate her even more. She ran her hand up the back of her neck where her hair was still damp from her shower, then brushed her fingers over her cheeks, not a hundred percent sure she’d even picked the right foundation for her skin tone. She blew out a breath, her stomach churning.
Sebastian opened the car door for her. “Ready?”
She nodded. She could do this. As Dad used to sayconfidence is the key to faking anything.
Chapter 10
Ifthosecrazylonglegs of hers weren’t a distraction, the nipples puckering under the thin material of that cheap dress certainly were. Sebastian diverted his gaze from the two protruding buds as he slid in next to Helen on the backseat.
He’d just spoken to Mikey to explain, using the same bullshit that Brenda had heard earlier, about why Cassie was now called Helen. Seb had apologized for the bad timing of his revelation—jeez, but his new boss had other things on his mind right now—but Mikey had been understanding, and Seb had vowed to make this year’s campaign a success. He’d do everything in his power to make things right, which included pretending that this stranger beside him was the love of his life.
