envelope on the pillow and picked it up, flinging herself casually onto the bed, completely oblivious to the scene change.
Sophie blanched, just as her boss coloured. ‘What’s wrong? What does it say?’ she asked after a moment.
Pia shrieked indignantly. ‘
Dah!
That man! How
dare
he speak to me like this? After all his insults and
still
he assumes he will get me? I hate him! Hate
him!’
She flung the card to the floor and stalked over to the wardrobe.
Hesitantly, Sophie picked up the card and read it.
This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I thought about getting you into my bed.
But it’s a start.
WS x
Chapter Six
Pia chose the white belted off-the-shoulder fur-trimmed jacket from Dior in the end. Sophie couldn’t see how on earth such a jacket could be worn – off the
shoulder? In the snow? – until Pia put it over her black 6-ply polo neck with skinny black jeans. With her hair tumbling out from a matching white fur turban, her green eyes hidden behind
enormous smoky shades, and a diamond watch dangling precariously from her thin wrist, she looked glamorous and incredibly famous. There was no chance the ‘dreadful man’ was going to
miss her. Not even in a crowd of eight thousand. Not even from the moon.
Sophie pulled up the hood to her olive-green Fat Face ski jacket and they walked out of the hotel together. The wind was but a tickle today, the sun obliging, and as she stared into the dazzling
horizon Sophie realized too late that she had left her sunglasses at home. She didn’t need to run up and down the street to know she wouldn’t be able to afford anything here . . . or
that Pia would ever offer to buy some for her.
Reluctantly, she pushed her hand into her pocket and pulled out her ski goggles. It wasn’t like anyone was going to notice
her
anyway.
A horse-drawn sleigh was parked outside the revolving doors, and Pia clapped her hands with delight, a rare flash of childlike excitement softening her pretty features. Sophie grinned back and
they jumped in with all the glee of ten-year-olds, covering their knees with blankets and furs.
‘Where would you like to go,
m’moiselles
?’ asked the driver, a middle-aged man with a thick beard and sun-burnt cheeks.
‘The slow route down to the tournament, please,’ replied Sophie immediately. Pia didn’t speak to the public.
‘Ha!’ said the driver to the horse, giving a short tug on the red leather reins, which were threaded with bells.
The two women sat back and enjoyed the view, eyeing up all the glossy pedestrians stomping along the pavements in their moon boots as they slid past the upscale boutiques and the grand
old-school palace hotels. The town was heaving with revellers and every other car parked was either a Ferrari or a Lamborghini.
As they jingled down the central boulevard they rounded a corner, and the cosmopolitan spectacle on the frozen lake suddenly hove into view.
Sophie gasped. Pia just nodded appreciatively. It was exactly as she’d hoped. All of Europe’s flashiest and trashiest were here – and they were here to party. Champagne, snow
and Argentinian boys. It was just what she needed.
The sleigh drew to a gentle, silent stop by the grandstands and Sophie reached in her purse to pay. Pia hopped down, being instantly enfolded in a throng of ardent fans all clamouring for
autographs.
The PR for Cartier rushed over, ecstatic to see Pia looking so exotic and so here.
‘Miss Soto, we are so delighted you have been able to join us. Please, come through to the VIP area, won’t you?’
They were ushered through with great ceremony – even Sophie in her ski goggles – and taken to a roped-off area where a magnificent ice sculpture of a polo player and pony was
discreetly and regretfully melting. Glasses of champagne were thrust into their hands and Pia was taken over to air-kiss the MD of Cartier and his wife.
Sophie walked over to the ropes and scanned around to make sure no seasoned enemies were
Sophie blanched, just as her boss coloured. ‘What’s wrong? What does it say?’ she asked after a moment.
Pia shrieked indignantly. ‘
Dah!
That man! How
dare
he speak to me like this? After all his insults and
still
he assumes he will get me? I hate him! Hate
him!’
She flung the card to the floor and stalked over to the wardrobe.
Hesitantly, Sophie picked up the card and read it.
This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I thought about getting you into my bed.
But it’s a start.
WS x
Chapter Six
Pia chose the white belted off-the-shoulder fur-trimmed jacket from Dior in the end. Sophie couldn’t see how on earth such a jacket could be worn – off the
shoulder? In the snow? – until Pia put it over her black 6-ply polo neck with skinny black jeans. With her hair tumbling out from a matching white fur turban, her green eyes hidden behind
enormous smoky shades, and a diamond watch dangling precariously from her thin wrist, she looked glamorous and incredibly famous. There was no chance the ‘dreadful man’ was going to
miss her. Not even in a crowd of eight thousand. Not even from the moon.
Sophie pulled up the hood to her olive-green Fat Face ski jacket and they walked out of the hotel together. The wind was but a tickle today, the sun obliging, and as she stared into the dazzling
horizon Sophie realized too late that she had left her sunglasses at home. She didn’t need to run up and down the street to know she wouldn’t be able to afford anything here . . . or
that Pia would ever offer to buy some for her.
Reluctantly, she pushed her hand into her pocket and pulled out her ski goggles. It wasn’t like anyone was going to notice
her
anyway.
A horse-drawn sleigh was parked outside the revolving doors, and Pia clapped her hands with delight, a rare flash of childlike excitement softening her pretty features. Sophie grinned back and
they jumped in with all the glee of ten-year-olds, covering their knees with blankets and furs.
‘Where would you like to go,
m’moiselles
?’ asked the driver, a middle-aged man with a thick beard and sun-burnt cheeks.
‘The slow route down to the tournament, please,’ replied Sophie immediately. Pia didn’t speak to the public.
‘Ha!’ said the driver to the horse, giving a short tug on the red leather reins, which were threaded with bells.
The two women sat back and enjoyed the view, eyeing up all the glossy pedestrians stomping along the pavements in their moon boots as they slid past the upscale boutiques and the grand
old-school palace hotels. The town was heaving with revellers and every other car parked was either a Ferrari or a Lamborghini.
As they jingled down the central boulevard they rounded a corner, and the cosmopolitan spectacle on the frozen lake suddenly hove into view.
Sophie gasped. Pia just nodded appreciatively. It was exactly as she’d hoped. All of Europe’s flashiest and trashiest were here – and they were here to party. Champagne, snow
and Argentinian boys. It was just what she needed.
The sleigh drew to a gentle, silent stop by the grandstands and Sophie reached in her purse to pay. Pia hopped down, being instantly enfolded in a throng of ardent fans all clamouring for
autographs.
The PR for Cartier rushed over, ecstatic to see Pia looking so exotic and so here.
‘Miss Soto, we are so delighted you have been able to join us. Please, come through to the VIP area, won’t you?’
They were ushered through with great ceremony – even Sophie in her ski goggles – and taken to a roped-off area where a magnificent ice sculpture of a polo player and pony was
discreetly and regretfully melting. Glasses of champagne were thrust into their hands and Pia was taken over to air-kiss the MD of Cartier and his wife.
Sophie walked over to the ropes and scanned around to make sure no seasoned enemies were
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