Temptation Island by Victoria Fox Page A

quick to judge, but his air of bored arrogance sat uncomfortably with her.
    ‘Are you sure I look OK?’ trilled Bibi as they stood at the entrance to the sprawling warehouse, suffused with mood beats and the hum of conversation. It wasn’t like Bibi to be insecure about anything, but she hadn’t relaxed since they’d set off.
    In the cab, Stevie had been surprised. ‘Don’t tell me you fancy him.’
    ‘Of course I do,’ Bibi had confessed, insofar as Bibi could ever make a confession, because Bibi never seemed to be embarrassed or apologetic about anything. ‘Linus Posen is shit-hot, Steve. He’s the director that could build my career! My agent says he’s casting for his new movie. Matthew McConaughey’s tipped to star.’
    ‘It doesn’t mean you have to find him attractive.’
    ‘McConaughey? Gimme a break.’
    ‘Linus Posen, silly. Isn’t he old?’
    ‘Fifties, is my bet.’ Bibi had checked her face in her compact for the millionth time. ‘Frankly, I don’t care. He could be in a wheelchair and I’d still show him the Bibi Reiner magic!’
    ‘That’s sick.’
    ‘That’s sensible.’
    ‘What about whether or not you like him?’ She knew she was giving Bibi a hard time. Just because she’d succumbed to a man with power didn’t mean the disaster that had befallen her was going to befall everyone. It was just that she didn’t want Bibi getting hurt, and instinct told her that Bibi didn’t always think things through properly. Then again, that was hypocritical.
    ‘That comes afterwards,’ Bibi had explained patiently. ‘All I care about right now is getting him to notice me.’
    The party was packed with famous faces, some of whom Stevie recognised and some she didn’t. The girls wound their way through the chatting, exclaiming sea of bodies. It reminded Stevie of the handful of celebrity soirées she’d attended through Simms & Court in London, but even she had to admit this was of a higher order. Back at Bibi’sapartment she’d teamed a pair of black skinny jeans with boots and a top: it was definitely her style, not that she’d admit to having one, of quiet, understated glamour. Bibi had tried to insist she borrow a dress but she’d turned it down, compromising by letting her hair loose and slipping on a pair of heels, to which Bibi had exclaimed, ‘We’re the same size, ohmygod, it’s meant to be!’
    She regretted her decision. All the other women were in gowns and skirts and Stevie felt criminally underdressed, especially next to Bibi, who was clad in an imitation (a good one) Versace minidress and fierce heels.
    ‘Are you OK?’ asked Bibi, taking her arm.
    ‘Sure. Why?’
    ‘You seem a bit … I dunno, quiet. Is everything all right?’
    It wasn’t the first time Bibi had attempted to get her to open up. Being a relentless gossip, she’d been on at Stevie about ex-boyfriends and past experiences pretty much as soon as she’d got here, and doubtless could tell something was the matter. It wasn’t as though Stevie didn’t feel able to confide in her—on first impressions Bibi was a live wire, but underneath all that was a deeply caring and unselfish friend—it was more that she didn’t want to think of it herself. She’d done a stupid thing, a reckless thing, and she regretted it. That was all there was to say.
    ‘Honest, B. I’m fine.’
    Bibi accepted it: she knew when to push her luck. She plucked two flutes of gold champagne from a passing tray and nudged Stevie in the ribs. ‘There he is,’ she murmured, the champagne vanishing in one. ‘Let’s go.’
    ‘Will he know who we are?’ Stevie disliked feeling like a groupie. She had no desire to meet Linus and even less to witness his ego being fawned over.
    Bibi grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the group surging around the director, nearly colliding with an oncoming array of canapés that was more artwork than food. ‘If he doesn’t now,’ she promised, ‘he will soon.’
    They got held up by