She had no idea what she’d been expecting: from the general dilapidation of the café below, she’d half assumed Pepe had made her dress up as a joke, but she certainly hadn’t been expecting this.
The party was being held in a loft conversion. Except it was nothing like any loft she’d ever been in. Extremely large and airy, simply decorated with what she would refer to as faux shabby chic, it must have covered the length of the entire terrace.
‘So do you own this loft too?’
He raised a brow.
‘I know; a silly question. But this place...’ Her voice trailed off.
‘A little different from the café on the ground floor?’
‘Yes. Exactly.’
‘The café is a fixture in Montmartre. I didn’t want to make any changes other than have it fitted with a kitchen that wasn’t liable to catch fire at any moment. This loft, on the other hand, was begging to be converted into a proper work and living space.’
‘Is it a studio?’ There might be so many people crammed into the space that she couldn’t see any art paraphernalia, but she’d recognise the smell of turps anywhere—with an artist for best friend, that was a given.
‘Sì.’ He nodded at a diminutive man holding court to a large crowd of glamorous people. ‘That is the tenant, Georges Ramirez.’
‘I know him,’ she said, awed. ‘Well, I know of him. We’ve auctioned his work before.’
‘He’s an old friend. The loft was designed with him in mind.’
As he spoke, Georges looked in their direction and spotted Pepe. His little gang looked too and in the click of a finger two dozen pairs of eyes had widened and two dozen sets of lips had curled into smiles. A few people, including Georges and the pretty woman clutching his hand, broke from the crowd and headed towards them.
In a whirl of French and English, and some Italian and Spanish, Pepe presented her to people who were clearly his friends, introducing her simply as Cara with no further explanation. Names were thrown at her, hands shaken and embraces exchanged—well, embraces with Pepe were exchanged. All the while she stood there wishing the floor would open up and swallow her, whisk her away to somewhere familiar and calming.
Her hands had gone clammy, her pulse racing. ‘I need to use the bathroom,’ she whispered for Pepe’s ears only, trying to keep any trace of panic from her voice.
He stared at her with a quizzical expression before inclining his head. ‘The bathroom is through that door on the left of the bar,’ he said, pointing at a long table pushed against a far wall, piled high with all manner of alcohol and soft drinks. ‘Go through it and then it’s the second door on the right.’
The door by the bar led into another enormous, brightly lit space. Canvases and sculptures were crammed inside, protected by a large stand-up sign that read ‘Any Person Found Touching The Work Will Be Chemically Castrated’. An unexpected giggle escaped from her mouth.
Luckily the bathroom was empty and gave her time to collect herself.
She hated crowds. Hated large parties. Especially hated crowds and large parties where she didn’t know anyone. It was that new girl feeling all over again, the knowledge that everyone was already acquainted with their own little friendship bands. Outsiders were most definitely not welcome. Outsiders on the arm of the man who was definitely the alpha male of the pack were as welcome as anthrax.
When she finally left her sanctuary, a tall brunette with the most amazing hazel eyes blocked her way. ‘Ah, so you’re my replacement,’ she said with a dazzling smile.
CHAPTER NINE
‘SORRY?’ CARA DIDN’T have the faintest idea what she was talking about.
‘I was Pepe’s original date for the evening,’ the beauty said without the slightest trace of rancour.
Cara didn’t know what to say, could feel herself shrinking from the inside out.
‘It is not a problem,’ the beauty assured her. ‘We used to date but it was over a long time ago. I’m sure we’ll hook up again some other time when he’s back on the market and in need of a semi-platonic date for the evening. In the meantime, you should enjoy him while you have him.’
Cara searched for signs the woman was having a joke at her expense but saw nothing but open friendliness in those hazel eyes. She swallowed and forced her rooted tongue to work. ‘What does semi-platonic mean?’
‘Oh, you know—what is the English expression?’ Her eyes scrunched up as she thought, then another beaming smile broke out on her spectacularly pretty face. ‘I know—it means “friends with benefits”!’