Nicola Marsh - Girl in a Vintage Dress

‘Look, I’m sorry for barging in here and blustering. It’s a sign of a desperate man.’

With those devastatingly blue eyes, charismatic smile and smoother-than-honey voice, she seriously doubted this guy had ever been desperate in his life.

Taking her silence as encouragement to continue, he held his hands out to her in supplication.

‘My sister’s getting married. She’s this incredible, infuriating, adorable bundle of contradiction and I owe her a lot. She deserves the best and she loves this old stuff so I thought I’d organise this as a surprise.’

Great. If those baby-blues twinkling with sincerity weren’t bad enough, the hint of a sweet guy beneath his steely tone as he sang his sister’s praises undid her resolve to tell him where he could shove his crazy offer.

‘When’s she getting married?’

‘Six weeks. A no frills private affair, which is why I want to spoil her with this.’

‘No bridesmaids to organise it?’

He shook his head. ‘She hasn’t got the time for all that faff apparently. Too busy.’

His guilty look-away glance implied he knew all too well what that was like and the fact he was taking time out to organise a hen’s night for his sister when it was probably the last thing on his all important phone’s calendar made a big impression.

As if his six-two lean frame and blue eyes and charming smile hadn’t already done that.

‘She’s a corporate lawyer: driven, obstinate, workaholic.’

She hazarded a guess the bride-to-be wasn’t the only one in his family to boast those qualifications.

‘She’s always loved this old stuff and when I caught her flipping through a magazine last week, sighing over some charm school article run by a vintage shop owner in England, I thought it’d be a great wedding gift.’

Okay, she admitted it. His sister sounded like a perfect candidate for a Go Retro party. But that was just it. She’d done birthday parties, a few hours of escapism for ladies who shared her passion. She’d garnered rave reviews but this guy wasn’t talking an afternoon. He wanted to hire her for a week?

‘Cari would really love this a hell of a lot more than any espresso machine or matching iPads, my only other gift ideas.’

He smiled again and this time, something unwelcome fluttered in her chest.

‘So what do you say?’

She’d been set on saying no but his sincerity had got to her. From his description of his sister, she had this image in her head of a corporate businesswoman caught up in her whirlwind career, not having time to have a proper wedding with all the trimmings.

If this was the only luxury she’d get, a week out of her busy schedule to be pampered with a Go Retro hen’s party she’d never forget, how could she say no?

As for his personal recommendation, no matter how hard she tried to ignore the mortgage papers strewn across her desk out the back, she couldn’t. With the economy in a downslide, skyrocketing interest rates and conservative consumer spending were killing her business, despite its funky edge and appealing website and quality merchandise. If Go Retro didn’t start making a bigger profit she’d have to shut up shop and that was one thing she couldn’t even think about.

She’d worked too hard and too long to make her dream come true. No way would she give it up for the sake of pride.

Not wanting to give in too easily she named a price triple her hourly rate multiplied by seven, expecting him to barter.

He didn’t.

‘I can write you a cheque or wire the deposit directly into your business account now.’ His lips quirked. ‘If you’ll give me back my phone, that is.’

His gaze dropped to her hips and she gripped the counter, trying not to squirm.

She may have lost weight since her teenage years and learned to highlight her good assets while minimising the bad but having her body scrutinised, especially by a hot guy, never failed to make her old inadequacies flare.

Were her hips too wide? Her waist too thick? Her butt too big? While the vintage fashion she embraced made the most of her curves, having a guy like him study her made her want to duck behind the counter.

She’d had her fair share of admiring glances from men before: it was what could develop from those glances that had her skittish despite being in the place she felt most comfortable.

‘You do have it hidden away in that skirt of yours? Or have you performed some fancy trick and confiscated it for good?’

Her hand dived into her deep pocket and fumbled around for it, eager to hand it over and stop that potent blue-eyed gaze burning a hole in the metallic threaded eyelet lace of her favourite full-skirted polka dot dress.

‘Here.’

As she handed it over their fingers brushed and a jolt akin to an electrical surge shot up her arm and zapped her in places that hadn’t been zapped in a long, long time.

Not good.

The guys she occasionally dated were as far removed from this guy as her vintage dress from his designer suit. Arty guys, musicians, laid-back guys who liked a Bohemian lifestyle far removed from the pressures of modern life.

Those were the type of guys who attracted her. Not career-driven, wealthy guys who could schmooze anyone into doing anything with their natural charms.

She should know. She’d tried one on for size once and was still wishing she’d got a refund while she could.

‘Thanks.’

If that brief touch of fingertips hadn’t been bad enough, his genuine smile made her knees quake ever so slightly and she hid her nerves behind snappiness.

‘I don’t even know your name,’ she said, fiddling with the baskets of hair clips on the counter, rearranging them in carefully constructed disorder.

‘Chase Etheridge.’

He held out his hand and she swallowed, silently cursing her stupidity. Of course he’d want to do the polite thing and shake hands. Something she could’ve coped with at any other time but hot on the heels of her bizarre reaction a few moments ago? Trouble.

‘Lola Lombard.’

‘Lovely name.’

His gaze locked on hers and held. ‘Beautiful.’

And as she reluctantly placed her hand in his, and his fingers curled over hers, firm and warm and comforting, she almost believed for a fleeting second she was.

IN DESPERATE need of a calming cup of chamomile tea, Lola had just flicked the kettle switch on when Imogen breezed back in from her break, her face flushed as she clasped her hands to her chest.

‘Was that the Chase Etheridge just leaving?’

She craned her neck, trying to get a last glimpse while Lola wrinkled her nose, more than happy to see the back of him.

‘What was he doing here? He is sooo hot! Melbourne’s most eligible bachelor for the third year running. No wonder, with those blue eyes, all year round tan, great smile, broad chest, cute butt—’

‘Enough all ready.’

The last thing she needed right now was for her co-worker to list the guy’s impressive attributes. Sadly, she’d noted them in minute detail herself and her nerves hadn’t recovered despite him exiting the building.

Imogen sighed, her green eyes twinkling as she clapped her hands. ‘Spill. What was he doing here?’

For a moment she wanted to tease her best friend but no way would Immy believe for one second that Chase was here on anything other than business. As if a guy like him would be interested in a girl like her for any other reason.

‘He wants to use our services.’

‘I can help service—’

‘His sister’s getting married and he wants Go Retro to do the hen’s night.’

‘Cool.’

Imogen edged into the tiny kitchen, grabbed her favourite ‘I’m too sexy’ mug and placed it next to hers. ‘While you’re weaving your magic with the hen and her posse, I’ll entertain Chase.’