royalty—and was the only person Nate made an effort to keep in contact with from those days.
“I thought you’d want to hear the latest on Holly McCartney. Isn’t she staying with you?”
“Not anymore.”
“I see.”
That anxiety Nate had been feeling all morning suddenly rocketed to almost unbearable proportions. He gripped the receiver tighter. “Why? What do you know?”
“She’s been spotted on Rodeo Drive. Everyone’s after her.”
“Fuck.” Nate thought of Noella out there expecting him to spend the next two days shooting to her whims. And then he thought of Holly. The little sister Daisy still adored despite their falling out. The least he could do for his best friend—a friend he’d let down when it mattered most—was to make sure Holly was okay. “Dammit.”
He disconnected the call and summoned Louise. “Something’s come up. I’ve got to go. Tell Noella I’ll reschedule. Her shoot and all prints will be free.”
“Reschedule? Free?”
“That’s what I said.”
* * *
Holly all but ran out of another cream-of-the-crop big name fashion boutique. Talk about an experiment in self-torture. Clutching her boutique bags to her side, she walked briskly, keeping her head down and barely taking in any of the neat displays on the sidewalk. Her heart slowed with her steps and she took a moment, leaning against a palm tree and taking a deep, regulating breath.
Shopping wasn’t supposed to be this hellish. Sure, she’d been able to appreciate the splendid-ness of many of the buildings—Ralph Lauren looked so much like a high-class hotel with its hooded awnings out front and cool, welcoming courtyard—but the buildings weren’t the ones trying to sell her stuff. The cold drinks in crystal cut glasses had been lovely (and much-needed) in Versace and most of the stores’ attendants had fallen over themselves to be helpful when they’d realized she was Daisy McCartney’s sister, but they’d all been so fake. She’d seen the looks of disdain as she’d crossed over their thresholds and could guess what they thought of her un-designer clothes. All had the head-to-toe surreptitious onceover down to a fine art. But they hadn’t been quite so good at masking their surprise when she’d confessed who she was and what she needed.
Sighing, she dug her mobile phone out of her bag and put in a call to Stella. It would be very late in Australia but this was an emergency and Stella would want to be woken from slumber.
“Hello,” came her friend’s sleepy voice after a number of rings. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I mean no. I hate shopping.”
“What’s new? Have you found a dress yet?”
“Aren’t you listening to a word I say?” Holly noticed the door man at Cartier peering suspiciously at her. She turned away from him and lowered her voice. “I can’t do this. I’ve already maxed out my credit cards on two ridiculously over-priced hand bags, sunglasses with frames so large and yellow they make me look like a bumble bee, and an array of scarves. I hate scarves. And I’m supposed to be doing this trip on a budget.”
“Slow down. You’re supposed to be buying a gown.”
“I know. But you should see the frocks in these places. They’re either too short or if they come past my knees, they have holes in very unfortunate places. And I’m not used to having three or four people pamper my every need when I’m in a dressing room.”
“And let me guess, the dressing room is the size of a house, yet, when you’ve wasted their time, you feel bad about not buying something.” Holly could almost hear her friend shaking her head.
“You know I do, but I can’t afford much more of this, not if I want to actually buy a dress.” She glanced at her impulse buy bags, her head, hands and feet aching from the exertions of the day. “I think I’m going to find a cab and go back to the hostel and work out some sort of better shopping plan.”
“Holly,” Stella groaned, “you can’t
“I thought you’d want to hear the latest on Holly McCartney. Isn’t she staying with you?”
“Not anymore.”
“I see.”
That anxiety Nate had been feeling all morning suddenly rocketed to almost unbearable proportions. He gripped the receiver tighter. “Why? What do you know?”
“She’s been spotted on Rodeo Drive. Everyone’s after her.”
“Fuck.” Nate thought of Noella out there expecting him to spend the next two days shooting to her whims. And then he thought of Holly. The little sister Daisy still adored despite their falling out. The least he could do for his best friend—a friend he’d let down when it mattered most—was to make sure Holly was okay. “Dammit.”
He disconnected the call and summoned Louise. “Something’s come up. I’ve got to go. Tell Noella I’ll reschedule. Her shoot and all prints will be free.”
“Reschedule? Free?”
“That’s what I said.”
* * *
Holly all but ran out of another cream-of-the-crop big name fashion boutique. Talk about an experiment in self-torture. Clutching her boutique bags to her side, she walked briskly, keeping her head down and barely taking in any of the neat displays on the sidewalk. Her heart slowed with her steps and she took a moment, leaning against a palm tree and taking a deep, regulating breath.
Shopping wasn’t supposed to be this hellish. Sure, she’d been able to appreciate the splendid-ness of many of the buildings—Ralph Lauren looked so much like a high-class hotel with its hooded awnings out front and cool, welcoming courtyard—but the buildings weren’t the ones trying to sell her stuff. The cold drinks in crystal cut glasses had been lovely (and much-needed) in Versace and most of the stores’ attendants had fallen over themselves to be helpful when they’d realized she was Daisy McCartney’s sister, but they’d all been so fake. She’d seen the looks of disdain as she’d crossed over their thresholds and could guess what they thought of her un-designer clothes. All had the head-to-toe surreptitious onceover down to a fine art. But they hadn’t been quite so good at masking their surprise when she’d confessed who she was and what she needed.
Sighing, she dug her mobile phone out of her bag and put in a call to Stella. It would be very late in Australia but this was an emergency and Stella would want to be woken from slumber.
“Hello,” came her friend’s sleepy voice after a number of rings. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I mean no. I hate shopping.”
“What’s new? Have you found a dress yet?”
“Aren’t you listening to a word I say?” Holly noticed the door man at Cartier peering suspiciously at her. She turned away from him and lowered her voice. “I can’t do this. I’ve already maxed out my credit cards on two ridiculously over-priced hand bags, sunglasses with frames so large and yellow they make me look like a bumble bee, and an array of scarves. I hate scarves. And I’m supposed to be doing this trip on a budget.”
“Slow down. You’re supposed to be buying a gown.”
“I know. But you should see the frocks in these places. They’re either too short or if they come past my knees, they have holes in very unfortunate places. And I’m not used to having three or four people pamper my every need when I’m in a dressing room.”
“And let me guess, the dressing room is the size of a house, yet, when you’ve wasted their time, you feel bad about not buying something.” Holly could almost hear her friend shaking her head.
“You know I do, but I can’t afford much more of this, not if I want to actually buy a dress.” She glanced at her impulse buy bags, her head, hands and feet aching from the exertions of the day. “I think I’m going to find a cab and go back to the hostel and work out some sort of better shopping plan.”
“Holly,” Stella groaned, “you can’t
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