Havana Adams - Black Diamond

“Potatoes?” she asked and blushed, realising that her word had emerged croaky and probably incomprehensible. “Potatoes,” she tried again and winced. This time her voice had come out sharply, far too loud. Conversation stopped and The Gatsbies turned as one to face her. Could one be blinded by beauty? Wasn’t there a Greek myth about that, Grace wondered as she stared at the most beautiful group of people she had ever seen. Up close, they looked like a pre-posed spread straight out of Vanity Fair . Grace swallowed and tried to focus on the task at hand. She focused on the girl closest to her, Poppy, who looked every inch “The Right Hon” that the boys called her. Her regal blonde head angled towards Grace, Poppy nodded as Grace carefully scooped the potato onto her plate. Perhaps it was her nerves but Grace gasped in horror as somehow the potato slipped from within the spoon and bounced across the table to land in Poppy’s lap. There was a scandalised gasp.

“You clumsy oaf,” Poppy squealed. Grace stood frozen as her worst nightmare was made manifest; everybody was staring at her.

“Don’t they train you people?” Laura gasped, shaking a napkin open and passing it to Poppy. By now Nico, who’d been in conversation with JoJo, had turned to stare at her too.

“I’m so sorry,” Grace stuttered and blanched as she met Poppy’s hard stare.

“You should be,” the girl slammed back at her.

“Oh bloody hell, it’s a potato not a grenade.” Grace turned and sought out the face of her defender. She found herself staring at the other boy, the one who was always cracking jokes, the one who must be Matt. He gave her a small smile. “We’ll be fine.”

Grace watched as Matt reached for the renegade potato and put it into his mouth whole.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” Matt mimed and within moments Poppy and the other girls were laughing. Grace turned and fled, uncaring of what an ungainly sight she must make, her heavy feet thudding on the wooden floors of the great hall.

Grace shook off the groggy feeling that had dogged her all morning, she had only one lecture that day, after which she planned to take the afternoon off to enjoy the warm weather. As the students spilled out of the lecture theatres, Grace moved to the side of the stairs to tuck her folder into her rucksack. As she zipped up the bag, she felt a shadow fall across her. Grace looked up and her stomach plummeted. Poppy, Laura and JoJo stared at her with a look of surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Poppy didn’t hide the incredulity in her voice and Grace felt a wave of mortification.

“I’m a student here. I’m studying...”

Before Grace could finish her sentence, a peal of laughter rang out from Laura.

“Seriously?” Laura asked, a look of astonishment on her face and Grace felt another warm wash of embarrassment.

“Laura...” JoJo spoke up, a warning in her voice.

“Look…” Grace said, weighing her options when she felt a presence behind her. She turned, surprised to see that it was the same boy from the night before. Matt, her defender.

“You can be a real bitch, you know that,” Matt said, his cold gaze directed at Poppy and Laura.

“What?” Laura cried. Poppy shook her head with a smirk.

“Let’s leave Matt and his new friend alone.”

Grace watched as they spun around, descending the stairs like women who knew that the world was their catwalk. She turned back to her rucksack and wrestled it onto her back. Grace began to walk, her head firmly down, staring at her worn, faded trainers. She felt Matt fall into step beside her.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said.

“You didn’t do anything,” Grace snapped and winced inwardly; she sounded like a sulky child.

“I know that, but they can be shits,” Matt said and Grace felt a wave of gratitude that one of these beautiful people was actually seeing things from her perspective. “You’re a student here?” Matt asked. Grace nodded wondering why he was still speaking to her. “Law?”

“Yes,” she replied quietly. They had reached the edge of the road; turning left would take her out towards Hennies and right was the path back towards Newman. Grace looked up at him and was struck by his handsome, open face. She watched as he pushed his overlong blond hair away from his face and a well of gratitude rose up in her. In those brief moments as the three girls had stared at her, she’d felt like an insect. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Matt waved her thanks away and instead he raised his hand towards her.

“Matt.” Grace stared at the long fingers of his hand and his golden, tanned skin. She raised her own small hand and shook it. For a moment, she was thrown by the rough sensation of calluses on his palm and then she smiled at him.

“Grace.”

Matt nodded.

“See you around, Grace,” he said and then he turned and walked towards a bike stand. Grace watched him unlock his bike and mount it. She watched until he’d disappeared around the bend in the road. And then finally, she began the walk towards Hennies. All the way home, she thought not of the fallen potato humiliation nor of the scathing looks from The Gatsbies, instead she was filled with an unexpected lightness.

CHAPTER 8

They were a match made in PR heaven.

Lola stifled a yawn and let her eyes drift around Valhalla, the hottest new restaurant opening in West Hollywood. Across the room, she noticed a group of yuppie agent types laughing and joking at a prestigious corner table. Standing at the bar behind them were a group of young men in sports coats, who looked like they were out past their bedtime. Lola’s eyes lingered on the group as she caught a glimpse of Lucas at the centre of the group. As their eyes met, Lola looked quickly away; she wasn’t in the mood for Lucas’s superior attitude. Finally, she turned back to her dinner date Brody Evans, who was still regaling her with a tale about an incredible play he’d made during the big game the night before.

“You were amazing,” Lola said, knowing that this would be enough contribution from her to keep Brody satisfied. In the aftermath of their lunch at the Chateau Marmont, Tyler and Amber had moved quickly and this show-mance had been borne out of what Tyler called their mutual needs. Brody had spent two seasons on the bench because of a knee injury and needed to broaden his profile if he was to hold on to his endorsement deals and for Lola the romance would accelerate the perfume deals and up her Personal Appearance fees.

“What do I actually have to do?” Lola had asked. And Tyler had given an amused smile.

“You’re hot, he’s hot, do what beautiful people do and I’ll make sure the photographers are there to capture every beautiful moment.”

Lola took a sip from her glass of sparkling water and stared at Brody again, watching as he chomped down on a piece of steak and stared at his cell phone. When he wasn’t talking about football, Brody tended to fall silent. Lola saw that he was texting on his phone, occasionally guffawing at a text message. This was the pattern their dates had taken – stilted conversation, awkward smiles that didn’t quite meet their eyes and then silence. Brody had that Midwest gentleman thing going for him, but to Lola he seemed almost childlike and there was zero spark between them.

“Do you want to hit a club?” Lola asked, the words spilling out before she could think them through. She’d been on her best behaviour for months now, but slowly Lola had started to feel the old restlessness creep back. She was bored, this scene bored her, the new power-driven Amber bored her; she needed to scratch an itch. Brody looked up startled. And Lola concealed another sigh. This was another problem. Brody didn’t like to go out. What kind of NFL player was he? It was practically un-American and yet their every date had ended with a chaste kiss and then Brody had driven off into the night. Perhaps he was gay, Lola mused, that would explain why he needed to be fixed up on a faux-mance.