“Lady, I don’t care if you’re a teacher in Buckingham Palace.” The bouncer shakes his head. “I’ve met builders that have better manners than you.” I couldn’t argue with that.
“Just come on.” I hoist her up the last step, and clipboard chick #2 reluctantly leads us through the velvet curtains into the haven of London’s richest and finest.
***
Tristan’s parties are sex immortalized.
This one is no exception. A menagerie of beautiful people drinking decadent cocktails dripping in designer labels, discussing how rich and successful they are.
It’s true what they say, money attracts beauty. It was difficult to tell who was naturally pretty and who had plastic. I mean, what are the chances that out of 100 women, every single one has big breasts and big full lips?
The men are equally lavish creatures with their tailored suits, all trying to prove they had the biggest dick through their accessories – watches, cufflinks, anything that they could hang of themselves which would inform their fellow party-goers what their net worth was.
It’s bottomless free drinks on tap. We are handed a bellini at the door. I see every table stocked with bottles of Moet champagne and Belvedere Vodka. I better keep an eye on Cat.
These parties would have been so fun except for two invitees – one, Danny Walker, and two, my Irish mother. Being the model son, Tristan invited my mother to every birthday party even if a 60year-old Irish woman looked utterly out of place amongst London’s elite.
It was equally sweet and cringeworthy. He didn’t want her to feel left out.
It’s been a hang-up of his ever since Dad disgraced us to go running back to the Republic of Ireland into the arms of another woman, leaving us with a load of debt. For the first time in Mum’s life, she had to work out how to pay mortgage bills. She was a woman scorned; still, to this day, we cannot talk about the adulterer in front of her.
We had sporadic contact with him, the occasional birthday card or drunken Christmas call or, in Tristan’s case, a plea for a loan of cash that would never be returned.
I look over to the corner of the bar and see a perfect storm for humiliation. Tristan, Danny, their friend Jack Mathews and a waif-like blond bombshell are talking to Mum.
Mum is dressed like she’s at a 90’s wedding, big hair, big shoulder pads, and is talking at a hundred miles an hour.
Danny is listening, oblivious to all the women circling, falling over themselves to be noticed.
Asshole.
Hot as hell, drop your pants gorgeous asshole but still an asshole.
At 6’4, he’s taller and broader than anyone else in the room, even Tristan, who is a close second.
His thick biceps are folded over his wide-set chest, the white shirt straining under the pressure of muscles and his chunky legs are spread in a manly pose. He is a massive Adonis of a man, the opposite of what a tech tycoon should look like.
Thick black hair, sharp square jawline, the roman nose that I wanted to punch, full luscious lips..
What chance did I have?
All that beauty wasted on such a moody obnoxious prick.
He’s talking to Jack Mathews, another close friend of Tristan.
Cat visibly wilts beside me. “The level of testosterone in that corner should be illegal. How are we supposed to function as women with that sausage fest? I’d definitely be the stuffing in a TristanDanny-Jack sandwich.”
“Can you not include my brother in your sick fantasies, please?” I narrow my eyes on her.
“OK, but you have to admit it, they are so damn masculine.” She gushes. “Men’s men. Not just pretty faces either, all dripping in cash. How come we aren’t that lucky?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s hardly luck, Cat.”
“I suppose I choose a vocation over cash,” she muses like she’s a martyr.
She looks down at her phone and starts typing.
“Danny Walker, CEO, and founder of tech giant The Nexus Group, estimated net worth 100 million. In recent years Danny has become known for his aggressive acquisitions in an attempt to monopolise the UK tech industry.”
I dig her in the ribs. “Can you stop stalking him aloud? Tristan’s friends are milling around us!”
“It gets more interesting,” she ignores me, “the court case between Danny Walker and a previous employee, Sam Lynden, has finally concluded. It was confirmed that Sam Lynden received a significant financial payout after accusing Mr. Walker of physical assault.”
“So he has a temper.” She swoons. “Dangerous.”
She clicks on the images. “Woah. He has been with a lot of hot women.” I snap her phone out of her hands.
“Charlie! Over here!” I suck in through my teeth. Mum has spotted us and is frantically waving us over.
Tristan beams at me, beckoning us over, and I give a little wave.
I lock eyes with Danny. He stops abruptly in his conversation with Jack.
Oh god, those eyes.
My stomach does a little somersault. The brown detached eyes bore into me, his gaze cruising my figure then landing back up to my face.
His eyebrows join in a deep frown as if even the sight of me displeases him.
How did he acquire his inane ability to make me feel inadequate?
“Charlie!” Mum bellows, waving her arms wildly. A few people turn and look at her oddly.
“Yes!” I mouth back. What’s the woman doing? I can clearly see her, yet she’s making a massive commotion. Maybe it’s time Tristan stopped inviting her to these exclusive shingdings.
“Let’s do this,” I mutter to Cat, who needs no invitation to go over.
“Hi, all.” I force a smile around the group as I lean in to kiss Tristan. “Happy birthday, old boy.” He sweeps me up for a hug.
“Mum.” She leans in for an air kiss on either cheek; that’s her thing at these parties.