Mary Baker - The Honey Trap

‘Did I betray you, Princess? Or are you just taking it out on me because you feel like you’ve betrayed yourself?’

Trying not to consider if there was a lick of truth in his words, she drew up what dignity she could muster and turned to leave.

‘Blackthorne. Wait. Before you go.’

She spun back, still seething. ‘What? Have you got another assignment for me, boss ? Maybe head down to Battersea and kick a few puppies? Get my tits out for the Chancellor of the Exchequer in time for budget day?’

‘Maybe next week. Look, I just wanted to say you did a good job on that sting. You picked it up like a pro and you really came through. I was proud of you. That was our fastest-selling edition for years. You’ll make a cracking journalist one of these days, lass.’

She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. She didn’t even know if being a journalist was something she wanted at all any more. Turning on her heel, she stormed out of Steve’s office and back to her desk.

***

It was three weeks before Angel set foot in the editor’s office again.

She flung open the glass-and-steel door and slammed both hands palm down on Steve’s desk. Eyes and cheeks burned crimson fury as she faced off against him with an expression of thunderous defiance.

‘What the hell was that email all about, Clifton? Are you deliberately trying to humiliate me or what? Is this punishment for something?’

To her shock, Steve actually looked surprised.

Could he really think he was doing her a favour, assigning her to report on next month’s premiere of The Milkman Cometh ? All she wanted to do was forget about Sebastian Wilchester, forget about the honey trap and get on with her life, such as it was. And now here was Steve flinging her straight into the man’s path.

‘Are you tugging my chain, Blackthorne? Your mate Leo had to beg me to let you take this job, with your lack of experience. Flat-out refused to work with anyone else on it. Don’t you know what an opportunity it is, a lowly intern being assigned to cover a Tigerblaze premiere? If you hadn’t done such a great job on that last assignment there’s no way I’d send a rookie for this.’

‘But Wilchester will be there!’ she hissed, refusing to be mollified. ‘What if he recognises me? It’s both our reputations on the line, Steve, mine and yours.’

‘Relax, he won’t see you. These things are always packed out, and he goes out of his way to avoid the press. Hates them. Now more than ever after the stunt we pulled on him, I’d guess. You’ll never even come close to him.’

Angel opened her mouth to speak, but Steve was just getting into his stride.

‘And what if he does see you? He won’t do anything, the story will have been out there for nearly two months by that point. Him and Beaumont are just starting to put it all behind them, he’s not likely to want reminding of it. That’s if he recognises you. For all we know he’s Johnny Yo Yo Boxers seven nights a week. He’s not going to remember one tight little arse out of hundreds, love.’

Angel felt a pain she quickly tried to smother. She wasn’t allowed to be hurt by thoughts like that. She was moving on with her life. It was almost as if the whole thing never happened. It was almost as if she’d forgotten the irresistible feel of Seb against her flesh, the way his expressive eyes fired when he gave himself to her, the way he could be so tender and yet so demanding as he brought his lips down on to hers. Yes, almost.

‘Fine,’ she snapped, fighting the warmth surging through her gut. ‘I’ll do it. And I’ll do a bloody good write-up as well. But I want my own byline and when Sarah goes on maternity leave next week I want my CV top of the pile for the temporary showbiz editor job.’

‘It’s already top of the pile, love.’

The black cab slunk through the bustle of London’s nightlife before pulling into the shadow of the Odeon Cinema in Leicester Square, where the world premiere of The Milkman Cometh was all set to take place.

On the back seat Angel skimmed her smartphone, looking again through the brief Steve had emailed her. It was the standard showbiz supplement stuff: describe what and who stars were wearing when they arrived on the premiere’s red carpet, who they were with, how they looked and behaved, a brief write-up of the film itself and finally a report on the main part of the evening, the after-party. The opulence, the entertainment, and above all, the gossip. For the Investigator , of course, the dirtier the better.

She turned to Leo in the seat next to her, trying hard to calm the frenzied thump of heart against ribcage.

‘Do I look okay, Leo? Is my hair alright?’ She’d tried out a new style for tonight, sweeping the thick auburn mass into a debonair chignon and finishing with a vintage diamond and pearl teardrop pin that had belonged to her grandmother.

‘Fit as a butcher’s dog, Ginge,’ Leo said, putting an arm around her and giving her shoulder a squeeze. ‘I’m this close to ripping your clothes off.’

‘Sweet boy.’ She gave his hand an affectionate pat.

Not for her the slinky little dress and gravity-defying heels, not this time. She knew the chances of Seb seeing her were slim to none and she certainly intended to go out of her way to avoid him, but if by any chance he did catch sight of her then she wanted to be oozing pure class.

With some help from Emily, the undisputed queen of good taste when it came to matters of dress, she’d spent the best part of a week’s wages on a full-length backless gown in floating silver taffeta. ‘Silver will be great with your colouring. Bring out the green in your eyes,’ Emily had told her. The dress had hung on her bedroom door for weeks, where she could look at it and occasionally touch it, until Groucho’s evident desire to shred it up into comfy bedding for himself had forced her to put it away until the time came to wear it.

Angel seemed to be spending most of her meagre salary on clothes for assignments at the moment, and she wondered idly whether she should be putting in expense claims for them. ‘Thong x 1, black satin. Push-up bra x 1, 34C…’ Well, maybe not, although no doubt Steve would get a cheap thrill out of signing them off.

Emily wasn’t wrong about the taffeta. When Angel had tried it on in the changing room, her irises had looked almost emerald set off by the silvery sheen of the material. She’d spent nearly quarter of an hour staring at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that so she could wonder at the way the light caught in the dress’s glistening folds and dimples. A ruched, beaded bodice hugged the curves of her breasts and hips, extending down to her upper thighs before flowing mermaid-like into a lustrous ruffle skirt. It was stunning and she loved herself in it.

Stepping out of the taxi, Angel could taste the close air, tangy with expensive perfume, sweaty bodies and cigarette smoke. The intoxicating scent of glamour, apparently.

She understood now exactly what Steve had meant when he’d said the event would be packed out. Extending out around a fenced-off area was a deep throng of fans, reporters and photographers at least ten-deep, a sea of flash bulbs ready to blind the celebrities as they walked up the red carpet to the venue. She breathed a sigh of relief. No need to hide from Seb here, at least. This was a crowd it would be easy to get lost in.