Dream a Little Dream (28 page)

I get ready for the evening in my own room at the hotel – a lovely treat for Julie and me, from Jonathan and Derek, for all the help we’ve given them this year. I’d rather have had the money as a nice little bonus for the work I’ve pulled off in Development, but I know I shouldn’t be such a cheeky bitch and that I should be thankful for the gesture – especially as the hotel room is all kinds of epic.

‘What have you decided to wear?’ asks Carly as she lounges on the lavish white sheets of the humongous bed in my enormous room.

I called her as soon as I got here and, seeing as she only works up the road, she decided to come check it out. I’ve been amazed at her strength. Sure, I still see the glimmer of sadness in her eyes when she’s looking thoughtfully off into a world of her own, but she seems brighter eighty per cent of the time – and she appears to have stopped crying … at least in front of me.

‘It’s got to be the black number,’ I say to her, opening the wardrobe and pulling out a slinky floor-length gown.

‘Eurgh,’ she groans, flinging herself into the piles of pillows placed on the bed.

‘What? Is it awful?’

‘It’s fucking amazing,’ she cries. ‘It’s just totally unfair
that I’d look like a total goth if I tried that with my blonde hair. I bet you look stunning in it though with your dark mane and eyes.’

I flash her a cheeky smile because, for once, I know I do. I look hot … shit hot! The way the material cascades down and around my curves makes me feel sexier than ever – and the dainty, barely there straps give the illusion that my body is doing all the work to keep this dress on – but that it might just slip off with ease if I wanted it to. The dress might cover up ninety per cent of my body, but it really brings my sex appeal up to a whole new level.

‘You’re going to sleep with Brett!’ Carly exclaims, her jaw dropping as though the thought has just entered her head.

‘What? No I’m not!’ I exclaim.

‘You’re smirking – you so are.’

‘Carly!’

‘Okay, fine,’ she says walking around the bed and standing by my side to inspect the dress a little closer. ‘Oh this hem is lovely …’ she mumbles, bending down to touch what I’m sure is a normal seam with nothing special, before whipping out a hand and stroking my smooth leg. ‘I knew it!’ she yells.

‘What?’ I ask, running away from her with a squeal.

‘You’ve shaved your legs! Girls only shave their legs if they’re going to have sex. It’s a fact.’

‘Carly, I can’t remember the last time I had sex – if that were the rule then I’d be like a chimp by now.’

‘But you’ve also put cream on them.’

‘They were dry,’ I shrug, willing my cheeks not to redden.

‘It’s the expensive smelly stuff you asked for last Christmas.’

‘I’m allowed to treat myself,’ I whine.

‘Fine,’ she huffs, crossing her arms and scrutinizing me with her eyes. ‘Show us your foof.’

‘What?!’ I laugh, pulling the gorgeous white hotel bathrobe around me a little tighter.

‘You definitely wouldn’t bother shaving that unless you were hoping for some action,’ she decides, lunging for me, her hands grabbing at the white material.

‘Carly, get off!’ I scream, slapping her hands away.

‘Show me your foof,’ she demands, continuing to reach for my clothes.

‘No, you twat.’

‘I want to see it.’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Because … because I look like a pubic hair model from the seventies. It’s a proper bush down there. Big. Bushy … nasty. A forest! Can barely see through the trees.’

‘You fucking liar,’ she giggles, as we grapple around on the floor and slap each other some more before coming to a breathless giggling mess of a heap in the middle of the room.

‘You’re nuts,’ I breathe, closing my eyes and wiping the laughter tears from my face – thank God I hadn’t started putting on my make-up yet, it would’ve been totally ruined.

With my hands preoccupied, Carly laughs and whips open my robe, catching a good view of my freshly shaved bikini line.

‘I knew it!’ she shrieks.

‘You bitch,’ I laugh in shock, pulling the material back around me.

‘You’re gonna get some, you’re gonna get some,’ she sings, while waving her arms and shaking her hips around in a way that I hope is not how she performs in the bedroom.

‘It doesn’t mean we’re going to have sex,’ I exclaim.

‘It means you’d like to.’

‘It means that if we were to be totally unprofessional and ended up making the most of this fucking amazing room then at least I would be prepared.’

‘Slut,’ she grins.

‘It would be such a bad idea though,’ I groan, hating myself for thinking through the matter logically and wondering whether the champagne at lunch might’ve gone to my head for the thought to even be in there anyway.

‘Why?’

‘Because, we’re going to Australia together for three whole weeks. Imagine if it’s really shit sex and horribly awkward – we’re then going to have to pretend it didn’t happen and the whole thing would be so embarrassing.’

‘That could happen. Or it could be mind-blowingly good and you could spend that whole three weeks doing more of the same.’

‘Carly!’ I say, giving her arm a slap.

‘Don’t act like the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.’

‘It could just be really disappointing and awful.’

‘Because you’re used to having space sex?’ she asks smugly, raising both her eyebrows at me. ‘Babe, everything is going to be shit compared to that – you just have to face facts there.’

‘Thanks.’

‘It’s the truth. You’re rusty and he’s not the guy you’ve
been fantasizing about. Doesn’t mean it can’t be orgasmic, though,’ she grins.

‘It won’t happen … it really shouldn’t.’

Before Carly can retort with a reply there’s a loud banging from above and the sound of distant groaning.

‘Well, looks like someone’s getting it,’ she shrugs. ‘Now, what’s on the room service menu? I’m starving.’

Over the next hour, Carly sits on the bed (wearing the other white dressing gown she’s found in the wardrobe) and eats her burger and fries while watching me get ready. When my make-up is as near to perfect as it’s going to be (it’s drastically flawed, but it’s a smudgy black eye look so I think I’ll get away with it), I put on my dress and step into my heels.

‘Holy shit!’ Carly gawps when I walk out of the bathroom. ‘I’m so glad Josh can’t see you right now – he totally picked the wrong friend to shag. I need to take a picture.’

She grabs her phone and starts clicking.

‘Stand over here,’ she bosses, while I walk around and pose like a model, grabbing on to the chair, table and bed – using them all as my props as I giggle my way across the room. ‘So stunning.’

‘Thanks,’ I gush, feeling giddy. ‘Right, I’d better get downstairs and check everything’s ready for everyone – I’d planned to do it before people started arriving but someone’s made getting ready a task and a half.’

‘Or you spent too long shaving your fanny hair into a heart shape and lost track of the time?’ she suggests with a cheeky grin.

‘Ha-de-ha,’ I say, rolling my eyes at her while chucking a pillow in her direction.

She catches it and hugs it to her chest.

‘Are you going to stay here?’ I ask. ‘You’re more than welcome to – I’m going to be downstairs anyway.’

‘Only for a bit,’ she sighs, stuffing a chip into her mouth – her face screwing up when she realizes it’s cold. ‘Josh is going to come pick me up and we’re going to head back to ours.’

‘Nice.’

‘God, this has been fun,’ she says, sliding the room service tray away from her and climbing into the bed. ‘Feel like I haven’t laughed like that in ages.’

‘You foof hunter!’

‘You should totally pitch that as a new TV show,’ she gasps.

‘Bye, Carly,’ I sing, giving her a kiss on the forehead, grabbing my bag and walking out of the door.

I’m not even at the lift before my phone bleeps, telling me I have a new Facebook notification ‘Carly Pearson has added a photo of you’. I click on the link to see it’s one of me from minutes ago – laughing while holding on to the chair, my shoulders forward, highlighting my collarbones and giving a great view of my ample cleavage. ‘A beauty, inside and out,’ is what she’s written alongside it.

‘Love you,’ I comment, to which she replies with a big red heart.

I’m delighted when I see the function room. Battered brown leather sofas have been moved to the edges of the room, all gathered in groups for people to sit on, with miniature twinkly Christmas trees used as the centrepieces for each of the wooden coffee tables placed amongst them. Along the bar
there’s a garland of holly and ivy – stuffed with festive chocolates and sweets for people to pick and nibble at while waiting to be served. Above the makeshift black and white dance floor, in the centre of the room, is a collection of beautiful arrangements made out of mistletoe – far more pleasing on the eye than haphazardly sticking springs of the stuff up here and there, which is what Jonathan suggested doing when Julie insisted we needed the kiss-inducing twigs. The room is dark, atmospheric and subtly festive.

I love it.

Watching my colleagues already lapping up the party I’d planned for them, I reach for a celebratory glass of champagne from the waiter stood at the entrance greeting all the guests, and breathe a sigh of relief that it’s all come together so seamlessly and without any drama.

‘Wow,’ I hear from behind me as soon as the glass touches my lips.

I turn to see Real Brett walking in, looking unbelievably fit in a dark green velvet blazer over black trousers and shiny black patent shoes.

‘I did good,’ I nod, gesturing around the room.

‘On both counts,’ he says, his eyes looking me up and down. ‘You look sensational.’

Suddenly I feel very naked, and sexily so. I look down in what I hope is a demure manner (move over Marilyn), failing to hide a smile at his praise.

‘Well … thank you. You look pretty suave yourself.’

He nods his head to accept the compliment.

‘Brett, where’s your drink?’ gasps Julie, galloping over, grabbing him by the arm and giving it a squeeze. ‘Ooh, haven’t you two scrubbed up well.’

‘So have you,’ Real Brett smiles, looking down at her heavily beaded pink dress and matching kitten heels – she still looks mumsy, but at least now she looks like a mum at a wedding.

‘She’s quite the minx, aren’t you, Julie,’ I tease.

Come on,’ she says, tugging on Real Brett’s blazer and looping her arm through his. ‘Let’s get to the bar. Time to start the party.’

‘Here she comes,’ I laugh. ‘Shot-pusher Julie.’

‘God help us all,’ replies Real Brett with a look of panic as Julie whisks him off.

I grin at them as they go, laughing as he reaches an arm out to me as though he needs saving.

‘I’ll see you in a bit,’ I whisper, flashing him a wink.

Turning back to look at the room, I spot Poutmouth Louisa living up to her name – holding her iPhone high in the air and doing her best duck impression whilst opening her eyes as wide as possible (stopping the moment before her forehead would crease up – that would not be a good look). She’s dressed in a tiny neon orange bandeau bodycon dress, and is wearing the highest and brightest electric blue shoes I’ve ever seen. Hanging off her arm, rather appropriately, is a dark red bag in the shape of giant lips.

We look like we should be at completely different events.

She spots me watching and smiles. ‘Great work.’

‘Thanks.’

‘How are the plans coming along for Oz?’ she asks, tottering over and sipping on her champagne.

‘Really good. I think we’re on top of it all,’ I nod politely – still irked from our conversation in the loos at work. I’ve managed to largely avoid her ever since.

‘Good, good,’ she smarms, her eyes narrowing slightly. ‘Such a shame you didn’t want me on the recce with you.’

‘It’s not that I didn’t want you there,’ I say, rolling my eyes.

‘It’s okay,’ she stops me, looking over at Julie and Real Brett at the bar downing shots together. ‘I totally understand why …’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Isn’t it? I mean, I’d probably do the same thing if given the opportunity to spend three weeks away from the office with a hot bloke.’

‘You said you thought he was a drip.’

‘Did I? Must’ve changed my mind,’ she says slowly, pouting her lips at me.

‘Louisa, give it a rest. It was all Jonathan. He’s the one who pushed all this forward.’

‘Hmm …’ she sounds. ‘Officially you’re still just his PA though, right?’

‘Well, yeah …’

‘So who’s going to be looking after him when you go away? It’s a long time to be absent from the office.’

‘Julie, I guess,’ I say, realizing it’s not actually been addressed with me, although I’m sure Jonathan would’ve spoken to her about it and cleared it with Derek.

‘Gosh. I wonder if she minds …’ Louisa says. ‘It’s a lot to take on.’

‘She’s not said anything.’

‘No, I expect she hasn’t,’ she sings, widening her eyes and looking over at Julie as though she’s finding the situation amusing.

‘She’d say if she wasn’t happy,’ I say firmly.

‘I’m sure she would. Well, well done. You’ve done really well for yourself,’ she says without a hint of sincerity before strutting off to chat to Siobhan from Research.