Page 17 of Just Like You (Square Mile Rogues #2)

Kieron

I understood. Of course I did, because in a way?

I felt it too. The way I could relax, back in my own surroundings, if only for a minute or two.

But I had an event tonight, and I looked wrecked.

Which is how Gina greeted me two hours later, despite me being freshly showered, shaved and dressed exactly as per her instructions.

“On time. Impressed.” She smiled. “But you look awful and your skin is a disaster.”

Was it? I couldn’t tell, but Gina was Gina, and she gifted me a peck on the cheek before instructing her makeup artist to give me an overhaul.

The life of a well-paid celebrity influencer. She probably earned more money than me, and I honestly didn’t care, sat here with a glass of champagne in my hand as some poor girl feathered my face with bronzer to apparently even out my blotchy skin tone.

“We need to do a red carpet, and I will need you to hang around for a bit. Can’t be seen standing on my own like some Billy-no-mates, Kieron. Keep up and don’t smile. We need that chiselled look, stern and stoic, living the dream.”

I had no idea what she was on about, but I did as I was told. I always did.

“So where you been?” she questioned, still with her phone pressed to her ear.

“Maldives.” I grinned.

“Wanker.” She tutted, yet looking suitably impressed. “Assuming you didn’t go on your own.”

“Nope.” I took another sip of the bubbles. Nice. Vintage. Gina might look like a total airhead, but the truth was: Underneath the ridiculous dress and the caked-on make-up? Was one smart chick.

Which was why I was here and why she wasn’t married and popping out babies somewhere in a suburb. Not that that kind of thing had ever been on the cards.

I shuddered, then had to smile to myself. Which of course Gina picked up on .

“Spill,” she demanded. “Who’s the girl this time?”

“Gina,” I whined. “Not a girl.”

“Oh.” She knew. Of course she did. We had no secrets here. “Now I am interested. Who’s this guy who’s caught your eye, eh? Little twink again?”

“Actually.” I leaned forward, making her lean in. We did this. Creatures of habit, the two of us. “I might keep this one under wraps for a bit. See where it goes.”

“Serious,” she mused, raising her glass, letting it clink against mine. “I like it.”

“It’s a nice one,” I said quietly. “Worth something.”

“Just don’t leave me.” She did that thing, where her face softened.

It wasn’t often I got to see her like this, allowing the real her to shine through.

Most of the time she was so plastic even I struggled to see past the ginormous breasts she was currently trying to contain within the polyester gown she was strapped into.

“Never,” I promised. “How are the lips?”

“Sore as fuck. Boobs are killing my back, but they look perfect right now. I’m a bit concerned that I’ll have to get them redone again because it’s either constant painkillers or really unattractive bras.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a bra,” I said, letting my finger stroke down her shoulder. “You’re a woman. It’s expected.”

“But no bra is going to win me the Lads Mags perfect breasts competition. I’ve won three years in a row. I can’t suddenly show up in a bra. ”

“Gina.” I sighed. “You’re perfect.”

“I know. I have the awards to prove it.”

“So, chill.”

“Can’t. I have next year’s income riding on these girls holding up in a dress. I need you to keep an eye on the straps. Don’t let anything slide. I’ve got everything taped down, but you know.”

“I know. You’ve trained me well.”

“Kieron.” She cocked her head. “I want you to be happy. You know this, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” I smiled.

“Then, make me look good. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“No. You won’t.”

She laughed. I did too.

“Remember when I made you take me for that job interview and paid you with a blowie behind Tesco’s?”

“Almost got caught by a bunch of grannies.”

“And then you made me walk around the park with your hand down my knickers. You were such a terror.”

“I was just young and horny. And you?”

“Was a weird-ass little slut. Thank God we’ve grown up now.”

“Have we, though?” I wasn’t too sure about that. Neither was she, as she rolled her eyes .

“I had my roots done yesterday, and I can still see them. Crap job. I’m this close to posting something about that bloody salon. They do me for free, but it’s getting ridiculous.”

I didn’t even bother responding to that, just sat there watching her preening in front of the mirror. Her hair, mostly fake, was coiffed into perfect swirls down her back, and despite all the work she’d had done to her face? She was still my Gina.

“You’re not even going to give me a name?” She winked at me, her hand once again down her dress, re-adjusting her bosom.

“Just stick a hoodie on top. Saves all that hassle,” I teased as she rolled her eyes.

“Name,” she demanded.

“Julian.” I liked how it rolled off my tongue. “He’s thirty-one. Good job. Makes me smile.”

“Good start.” She nodded. “And?”

“That’s it.”

“There must be more. You took him to the Maldives.”

“He took me.” I drained my glass.

“And was it worth it?”

“That, my darling, is for me to think about and you to find out. We need to go.”

“Oh.” She tapped a manicured finger on my nose. “I’ll find out. But for now? Make me look good. ”

“Always.” I tapped my finger back against her perfectly pert little nose.

“Careful,” she warned.

“Always am.” Truth. Right there.

I was a professional at work. I could also escort Gina to events in my sleep.

To be honest, I didn’t mind. These events were boring as anything, but I quite enjoyed watching her work the crowds, always in the background, my hand perfectly placed on her waist. Flanking her at the right angles, and yes.

Keeping an eye on those straps. I’d done this enough times that I could do a discreet adjustment of fabric in the blink of an eye, a small stage whisper to fix a strand of hair.

And of course, smile. Fucking smile, Gina.

I’d met her in my teens, and we’d… Well. I hadn’t been very experienced, but neither had she. I owed her a lot. An awful fucking lot.

“To the right,” she whispered as we turned in sync, allowing the photographer on the side to get the perfect shot. Me with my finger under her chin. She? The perfect angle to accentuate that dress. The boobs taking centre stage as I discreetly looked away.

“Now we need a break,” she decided. “Find me a glass of champagne. The good stuff.”

I agreed, again checking my phone. I missed him.

I was weirdly desperate just to hear his voice.

If I knew where he lived? I would have made my excuses and gone straight there.

Watched him open the door to wherever his house was, and then I would just have walked straight in.

Pressed him up against the wall and kissed him .

Fuck.

I was getting horny, and this was not the place. Definitely not the time.

I grabbed a drink for Gina, then swiftly made my excuses and went outside, dialling his number as my hands shook.

He’d become a drug. Something in my system that I couldn’t soothe. I needed him. Just to hear his voice. Please.

No response. I’d bet he was still asleep. Instead, I sent him a text, just a row of hearts.

Soppy as anything, but that was me. He made me like this. Weird. Soft. Needy. Ridiculous.

I kept trying his number throughout the evening, hoping he’d wake up from his sleep at some point and call me back.

Give me something, anything, to hold on to.

The slow panic building in my chest was uncomfortable.

I was missing him, and it hurt the very core of my soul because this wasn’t me.

I didn’t miss Gina every second of the day.

I knew where she lived, and she always answered her phone.

If she didn’t? She called me straight back.

Julian? I suddenly didn’t know where I stood.

I tried to analyse every conversation we’d shared, every moment on that beach.

I knew him, yet I knew very little about him.

I knew he was an only child. His mother had passed.

He had friends in the industry and tended to prefer a one-night stand over building something that could last. I understood because I had always been exactly the same.

But this? This was different, and I thought he’d agreed to that.

Understood how I felt, because somewhere? I thought he’d felt the same .

The days passed, and I knew I was fighting a futile battle here.

There was no other way for me to contact him, and when I had asked Maura, for the umpteenth time, if she had any connections in the airline industry?

She’d shot me an evil look and threatened to hit me over the head with the bottle of whiskey still sat next to her desk.

I was reeling, and she knew it. I was also bereft and irrationally short-tempered, shouting at some intern scurrying past my door.

I hated it. Hated everyone. Absolutely detested Faye, the woman who worked with Bash Dewaert. Hated him too. And here was Faye outside my door wrapping up a phone call, her fist ready to rap a knock on my door.

Bash was a colleague. One that was happy and thriving and not wallowing in a deep, dark hole like I was. And this Faye? Too sharp. Too perfect. Always smiling, apart from when she saw me. The feeling between us was a hundred per cent mutual. I hated her. She hated me. Easy.

“Kieron,” she said, rapping her knuckles against my door just as I’d anticipated. “Juliet wants to see you.”

Did she now?

“You’re morphing into Juliet, Faye,” I grumbled. “Stop copying the way she knocks on doors. Makes you look like a twat.”

That? That was me in a nutshell. Still a playground bully at heart.