The World According to Vince - Jane Harvey-Berrick Page 0,20

show anyone photos of yourself in tighty whiteys.”

He leaned in to me, his cologne clinging to his lightly tanned skin. “You’ve been peeking.”

“You’re my client,” I said coldly. “I need to know the drivel you put on your social media.”

That was probably a little ruder than necessary, but Vince just winked at me and sat back with a satisfied smile. He was irritatingly difficult to annoy.

“Can I show the photo of me in nothing but my Canine Crusader t-shirt and a smile?”

“No.”

“What about the new S&M leisure wear that I’ve been modelling?”

“No!”

“How about those studded diamanté thongs I was gifted by that designer?”

“No, no, no!”

“Spoilsport.”

“And don’t swear,” I said seriously. “The F-bomb is off limits. So is ‘shite’, ‘tits’, ‘knockers’, ‘boobs’, ‘dick/dickhead’ and ‘cock’. Do you think you can manage that for an entire evening?”

“Taken under advisement, Counselor,” he said, grabbing my hand and kissing it.

I pulled away quickly. “This isn’t a date,” I said severely.

He just smiled.

Every time I tried to keep my professional distance, he seemed to slip a little closer. It was annoying. And worrying. But mostly annoying.

As the taxi pulled up outside the bar, Vince surprised me by paying the fare.

“Can you afford it?” I asked. “I wasn’t expecting you to…”

“I can be a gentleman,” he said, then held the door open for me.

Stumped, I stumbled out into the icy street, and Vince held my arm to steady me.

“I’m sure you can,” I lied, “but you told me you haven’t got any money.”

“I got a new sponsorship deal,” he said with a faint smile. “S&M weekend wear. The photos are on my Fans Only site, but I’ll show you. Just say the word. I have free samples, too.”

“Oh,” I said faintly. “Right. Thank you, but no.”

An amused smile brightened his expression and I wasn’t sure if he was teasing me or not. Probably not.

I took a deep breath as we entered the dimly-lit bar, arm in arm.

I hated events like this. At work, I had a role and a purpose and was too busy to worry what anyone thought of me. I was very good at my job, fair to my assistants and polite to everyone. At functions like this, I felt like I was freefalling. I never knew what to say or do. I hated just latching onto a group, but equally I hated circling the room hoping to find a conversation to join. I felt awkward, ill at ease, judged. I was liked, but I wasn’t popular. And I was one of only a handful of other women who were also trying to make partner. Competition was fierce. I competed by being the best at my job. But I was savvy enough to know that was rarely enough. Partners were expected to be expert networkers. I sucked at that.

I glanced at Vince who was pulling faces at himself in one of the highly polished entrance pillars and checking his teeth.

“Oh, God, I’ll never make partner,” I mumbled, feeling my heart begin to race.

“You alright, Gracie?” Vince asked, turning towards me. “You look as though you’re about to be invited to a colonic irrigation party.”

“Do they have those in LA?” I asked distractedly.

He laughed as we checked our coats and snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to me. “I’m glad I moved to the east coast—Lala land is full of nutters.”

“We have enough crazies of our own.”

“Yeah? No wonder I fit right in.”

I was vaguely aware that he was teasing me, but my mouth had gone dry as people started to turn and stare at us.

“How do you want me to introduce you?” I whispered. “As my client or…”

He dropped his voice half an octave and did a passable Sean Connery impersonation, complete with raised eyebrow. “My name is Azzo, Vince Azzo and I’m fookin’ irresistible to women and dogs. Cheers!”

I choked on my champagne as Vince gave his trademark megawatt smile.

Then he bent towards me.

“Relax, Gracie. It’s going to be fine.”

I didn’t like using alcohol as a social prop, but I downed that glass of champagne faster than a pie-eating champion at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Then I saw Melissa, one of my assistants, with her long-term boyfriend, Neil, propping up the bar, as usual. She smiled and waved me over, which instantly made me feel better.

“Hi, Mel, Neil! How are you? This is my … friend and client Vincent Azzo.”

“Oh Em Gee! I know who you are! You’re the Canine Crusader!” she said, giving him a sloppy grin, and I