Maddie stared back in a daze, at last understanding what skyfire meant. Fireworks.
“To make your lady of the many flowers green.” Natalii grinned against her ear. “Something to make her think about what she is missing, yes? You are very welcome.” She cupped her cheek. “Au revoir.”
And with that, she was gone, sliding inside the limousine after her mother, who was still berating her and being thoroughly ignored.
“Hey, love. Dave Stevens, Daily Tele,” a masculine voice said near her ear. “Can we get your name? How long have you been on with Véronique’s kid? What’s she like in bed?”
* * *
SYDNEY CONFIDENTIAL
French Connections
It turns out the eccentric and elusive French designer Véronique Duchamp, in town for Australian Fashion Week, may not be one to party, but her daughter certainly is. Natalii Duchamp, 31, hotly tipped to be taking over her mother’s global design empire this year, was spotted romancing a mystery woman outside Grrl Fantasy. The Oxford Street nightclub, famous for plenty of celeb lesbian hook-ups, saw Ms Duchamp pucker up with the redhead, pictured above, while her mother offered a shrill, French and English running commentary that dented all eardrums and didn’t sound in the least bit flattering. (Unless “gutter wench” has a new meaning.) So who is this lucky lady being wooed by Ms Duchamp? Let us know. We’re all ears, dears!
* * *
“You are SO unbelievably dead!”
Maddie groaned, pulling the phone away from her ear to better manage the chai latte, garment bag, and bulging folder of “highly urgent” proof sheets she was juggling, as she rushed down Elizabeth Street.
“I mean it,” Felicity continued. “She’s on the war path. She fired two models at the Whale Beach shoot before seven—one for being too tall and one for being too too, whatever the hell that means—and I think Aleisha is about three seconds away from a nervous breakdown, because how’s she supposed to manage a shoot showcasing different swimwear body shapes with only one model? Perry’s trying to calm Elena down. So where the hell are you? Where’s her damn calming tea? And, oh yes—what on God’s green earth were you thinking!”
“Hey,” Maddie said in protest, “Natalii kissed me! And I’m almost there.”
“Do you think I care who braided whose hair? It was unprofessional! You let that French devil spawn try to swallow your tonsils in front of cameras, and Elena threw the Tele so hard across the room I think the headline is now imprinted on the glass.”
“She what!”
“Oh God! No! She’s just threatened to fire Perry. We’re all doomed. No one’s safe. Get your pathetic ass up those stairs in two minutes or so help me, I’ll kill you myself. Oh, and for the record, I’m not helping you clean out your desk. Because you brought this on yourself. You and your stupid wandering lips.”
Maddie sighed. “But I didn’t…” She waved her pass at the security guard. Her call ended just as the elevator opened.
She scurried into the steel box, pushed the button, and waited impatiently as it counted up the floors. Okay, so she might be about to be unemployed. Again. She needed a strategy. Something not involving catering. With her parents. She wouldn’t ever be that desperate.
Her mind went blank.
Crap.
When the elevator opened, she raced out. The editorial staff milling around their desks stopped mid-conversation and averted their eyes. Great. So no chance they hadn’t spotted the twenty-seven news stories and forty-one blog references that had circled the globe about the Sapphic-smooching daughter of fashion’s most elusive family.
Not that she was counting.
That wasn’t even the half of it. Simon had been sending her text after text. “I left you alone for five minutes!” he’d bleated at her in the first message that seemed to gasp all on its own thanks to all his shocked emoticons. It was followed by, “Okay, five hours, give or take. But not the point! Mads, call me!”
She had not. Nor had she returned the calls from her parents, her brother, or Lisa, the gossipy former Hudson Metro News secretary in New York. That one read:
OH! So THATS why u didnt like Jake? :)Whatevs floats ur boat. Call me!
“Finally!” Felicity said in a hiss, as Maddie rounded the corner. The chief of staff snatched the tea out of her fingers. “She’s only asked for it, like, ten times.” Felicity scrambled into Elena’s office like a highly strung poodle, teetering on her nose-bleed-high Manolo Blahniks.
Maddie put down the folder of proof sheets and hung the garment bag she’d picked up for her boss in the small closet outside Elena’s office. She plopped in her seat and turned on her computer.
“Ms Grey…” a voice floated from the other room.
Maddie’s head snapped up at the use of her surname. Uh-oh.
Felicity exited Elena’s glass office with an I-told-you-so look.
Maddie grabbed a notebook and headed inside.
She saw Perry first, looking dashing in a lilac shirt, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark grey Armani jacket. His thumbs tapped the outside of them in a nervous beat. He turned fully to watch her enter, a curious look on his face.
Relief coursed through her. He still seemed employed, so that was a start.
“Yes, Elena?” She focused on her boss’s narrowed eyes, Maddie’s pen poised for notes.
“Well, well, look what the gossip columnists dragged in.” She raked her gaze over Maddie. “You know, Ms Grey, when I predicted your abject humiliation, I had no idea you’d take me so literally.” Her voice dripped with ridicule.
“I can explain!”
Perry began to edge past them towards the door.
Smart man.
“Explain?” Elena plucked a worse-for-wear newspaper off her desk and held it up. It showed Véronique jabbing a finger towards Maddie while screaming in her face. A face that was covered in the soft lips of a certain sexy, young Frenchwoman. “While I did not expect you to win our bet, I never expected you to do the polar opposite. I don’t recall asking you to antagonise the world’s leading fashion designer into an aneurysm.”
Perry froze, and his head whipped around, intrigue lighting his eyes. “Bet? What bet?”
