CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

The next night, Rachel dressed in her best – which, for the record, was not that good – and waited for her pre-ordered taxi[DK1] to turn up to take her to the rather curiously-named Bête Noire bar that was newly opened and very exclusive, and the venue where she was meeting Luke.

The. Luke. Heartlett.

They had discussed it briefly at the coffee shop and on the way back to the restaurant. The Luke Heartlett was going to happily – so it seemed – book Rachel a taxi of some sort to take her to the glamorous bar and restaurant, and he would be waiting there. Reluctantly, she gave him her address for the cab, and her phone number so the driver could contact her if he needed to. She tried not to think too hard about the fact she had given her phone number to one of the most famous people on the planet, or that he was, effectively, taking her on a sudo-date – even though the aim was to woo her into being amenable to his harebrained idea of being his pretend girlfriend, instead of the general idea of a date, which was to ask someone to be a real one.

Stevie clearly thought she had completely lost it for doing this. Despite her reservations, though, Stevie had still dutifully made her way to Rachel's apartment and was now sprawled across Rachel's bed and watching her best friend go through the finishing touches of what they had managed to pull together over the past couple of frantic hours.

Rachel was now dressed up more than she had been in the longest time, and she quite liked the feeling. Ever since she had stopped performing, especially the intense dancing, muscle had slackened and weight had slowly crept up on her, meaning her normal clothes were starting to feel decidedly uncomfortable, or just basically not fit, so she no longer even tried to wear anything but her favourite soft denim bootleg jeans, random tops that could still be classed as flattering, and black platform heeled boots.

Currently, however, she was feeling pretty good about wearing a dark red halter-neck top, wide-leg black pants that reached almost all the way to the floor, and her usual platform heels under them, so she would at last know how to walk. Over the ensemble went a black dress coat, short and fitted at the front, then just skimming out over her hips, and flowing all the way past her knees over the sides of her hips and down the back. Her hair had been straightened and makeup was equally theatrical in purples with thick and long-flick eyeliner and big mascara.

"I still think you're an idiot," Stevie informed her derisively, for at least the fifth time, whilst Rachel preened herself in front of her full-length mirror, trying to squeeze herself into the minuscule space it was in and turn herself around, whilst at the same time to try and see all of herself in there , somehow. "You don't even know this man, and it's not even a real date."

Rachel grinned and shrugged. As far as she was concerned, she was getting into a place where even celebrities were on the waiting list and was being given a free very posh dinner as a nice bonus. She could also push it and brag she'd had a date with The Luke Heartlett to whomever might listen, in the future. Incidentally, a quick Google search would even support that, thanks to this ridiculously stupid story being absolutely everywhere.

Hopefully, now, she might even somewhat look the part.

The pesky full-length mirror had been hung on the wall next to the built-in wardrobe, squashed onto the wall between said wardrobe and the pull-down bed of Rachel's miniscule studio "apartment" – something that was more akin to a matchbox than an actual home. It was therefore almost impossible to squeeze herself in front of it and turn around to see as much as possible – and no, she was not putting the bed back up because it was a nightmare to get back down again. Last time she tried it, it took her, Stevie and Kirk to convince it to get yanked back down again.

"I'm not losing anything," Rachel rebuked, running straighteners through the front layers of her hair to combat last-minute carrot-coloured fizziness. "He might actually leave me alone afterwards."

"Why don't you at least admit to me what the real reason it? You fancy him, don't you?"

Rachel stared at her in shocked disbelief. He is being insanely attractive, and thinking it, did not equate to her fancying the famous wackadoodle. "Ugh… What?"

"Oh, come on. He's twenty-eight, has one heck of a body, a face and smile to die for, and is, let's face it, actually reallygorgeous. And you didn't get all those CDs for nothing. You like him!"

Rachel screwed up her face and scowled at her friend bringing that mistake up. "I only bought two. And that was absolutely years ago! They were on sale, and I wanted to try something different."

"Two?" Stevie echoed in disbelief, then laughed in amusement. "Right, sweetie. You keep telling yourself that, and when you finally learn to count, and figure out what is so ridiculously obvious, get back to me so I can say 'Itoldyouso'."

"Whatever, darling." Rachel rolled her eyes at her. "You're just jealous."

"About what? That you have an imaginary date with some celebrity idiot?" Stevie smiled pityingly. "Yeh, I don't think so, somehow."

A car horn blew outside, and Rachel made the final adjustments to her outfit.

"Right, see you later," she swiftly whipped out at Stevie, grabbing her bag and heading down to the taxi.

"Have fun then," Stevie smirked, as the door shut behind her. She'd let herself out later, after making dinner out of whatever her absent friend had left in her kitchen, shaking her head at the antics that girl somehow seemed managed to get herself into.

~~***~~

The Bête Noire was usually almost impossible to spot, with its almost-hidden entrance just off Piccadilly Circus, but there was no question where that entrance was when Rachel got out of the taxi and headed towards it. The queue looked long enough to reach to the moon, and she vaguely wondered just how she was going to get in. The prospect of heading right towards the entrance with the giant bald bouncer – one that looked like he enjoyed throwing people out for fun and would love to turn it into a national sport – filled her with immense dread. But there was nothing else for it after Luke had unhelpfully just breezily added that he'd "leave her name by the door", when she'd asked about how she was getting in.

went and tried her luck anyway. If she was really lucky, he'd turn her away and she wouldn't but actually have to see the infuriating celebrity bonehead ever again. Unless he came back to harass her at work.

"Name?" the bouncer snapped with a growl.

She told him her name. To her stunned surprise, and disappointment, the burley man nodded and unhooked the red velvet rope to let her pass through. Trying not to look too dismayed at being let through, Rachel made her way up the long black and red steps before her and wandered into the bar, her eyes darting around the huge, beautifully decorated, opulent room for Luke's familiar face, rather hoping he wasn't going to turn up.

The enormous space was filled with people, talking in small groups, standing and sitting around tall bar stool tables, sitting in small groups at enclosed booths backed up against the walls, or at multiple three-sided back-to-back tall sofas with low drinks tables and opposite seating for each. Surrounding them was a monochrome marvel of interior design, from black marbled tile flooring to whitewashed walls with random black designs and random floor-to-ceiling strips of black reflective glass. The moulded ceiling, painted all in red, seemed way above Rachel's own hair's-breadth-over-five-feet height, sporting multiple low-hanging black chandeliers at seemingly random spacers, and along the far wall and its perpendicular counterpart, large, long black-and-chrome bars were being tended to by immaculately dressed bar and waiting staff in uniformed outfits that rivalled her own penguin suit at the hotel.

As she looked around her, Rachel could see what seemed like a hundred other familiar faces around, leaving her flabbergasted at the amount of celebrities hiding in corners that were in the place. So many, in fact, that she couldn't make out which one he was supposed to be.

"Rachel... Hi."

Oh. There he was. That one.

The voice behind her startled Rachel and she spun around to see The Luke Heartlet nowstanding beside her, looking utterly stunning – enough for even Rachel to accept he was genuinely breathtakingly gorgeous. Ugh… So unfair, that he was a complete moron but could look like that. Why were all the pretty ones always justifiably infuriating and nothing more than egocentric self-centred gits?

In black jeans, black buttoned-up shirt with a few buttons from the collar opened, under a black jacket, the man knew how to make a good impression and clean up nicely. And… Oh. He was smiling in the heart-stopping way she has seen on album and magazine covers. At her. Well… Looked like the charm-offensive had started already, she could see.

"Uh-huh," she replied nonchalantly, not letting it show that she was totally impressed and awe-struck with the venue he had chosen, as well as the man himself. After all, the exclusive bar and club was utterly spectacular and gorgeous. Like him.

Shut up, Rachel Veronica Adams!

She flicked her hair and looked about her impassively, those years of acting classes coming handy for a change. "I hope you're buying."

Luke indicated for her to follow, and he returned to the table he had been sitting at. Rachel sighed, then silently followed. At the small, round table, Luke acted the gentleman and pulled out a chair for Rachel to sit. She quickly took off her coat , sat down and perused the drinks menu right away, requesting the most expensive cocktail on the list and expecting some fight over it, but Luke didn't blink or baulk at the request, and she was soon sipping at a delightfully decorated cocktail with a bizarre name in a fancy glass, whilst he sipped at the wine in front of him, three-figures per bottle. She knew that very well – she served it up at work to people obviously trying to make an impression, or take whoever was paying for everything they had.

"Your cab ride was, OK?" he enquired politely. He had, after all, paid for a private hire car to come and get her and bring her here.

Rachel shrugged, barely paying attention, because it was currently elsewhere at that moment. "Yep, it was fine. Did pretty well to get me through London without managing to get stuck in too much traffic, really."

"Good. That's… good."

"Considering you're supposed to be impressing me and wooing me into agreeing to your harebrained idea, you're not making much of an effort," Rachel remarked dryly, trying to surreptitiously look behind him to where she was sure her favourite musician in the whole world was sitting.

"Well, I would try to talk to you, but you wouldn't actually be listening," Luke retorted mildly. "And if you really want to see Christian Lee that much, I can introduce you to him if you, if you'd like."

"Hmm... Pardon?"

Oh... So, busted.

Rachel looked at him innocently, pretending she didn't have a clue what he was talking about, or who Christian Lee was. Despite the fact she had indeed been staring, star-stuck, at what she thought was the music legend and icon she had worshipped since before she was a teenager.

"ChristianLee. You haven't stopped staring at him) since you came in."

Wow,soitreallywashim?

She had only adored him and plastered her bedroom walls with his face since he was in his original band, Spirit, and had loved him ever since. The posters were now no longer on the walls, and she had come to terms with the heart-breaking reality that he was – in his own words – very completely and very definitely a very out-and-proud gay man. But the legend and the music lived on, and she never missed buying a new releases, because everything he made was always pure brilliance and genius. And he was now sitting not ten feet away from her. Not bad for a little girl from the back end of nowhere.

"I wasn't staring," Rachel insisted, looking back at Luke.

"Are you kidding? Your eyes just lit up like two Christmas trees on fire."

"They did not."

"Yes. They did, honey," Luke smirked. She cringed at his calling her "honey", like she was some six-year-old child. Or worse – his girlfriend.

"What would you know? You weren't even looking."

"Yes, I was. It was you who weren't paying any attention to me."

"Yes, I was."

No ", you weren't."

"Yes, I was."

"What was I saying then?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but she realised she didn't have one because she really hadn't a clue what he'd been talking about from the minute she had arrived. Even though she really had, almost, been paying attention.

So. Busted.

"And there's my point," Luke added dryly, with a wave of his hand.

Rachel rolled her eyes and grumbled under her breath.

"Fine," she sulked. "So, what have you got to say then?"

"Well, I was about to tell you what I thought." Luke took another sip of his wine and looked across the table at her. "Are you actually going to listen this time?"

"Huh – what?"

Luke shook his head with a short laugh. He leaned back in his chair with a small shake of his head and took a long sip of wine.

"Seriously, I can introduce you if you want," he said genuinely.

"No, no. Still not looking at him."

Rachel didn't really care that much that she was obviously and pointedly lying to him, while taking no notice of a word he was saying. ChristianLee was sitting and laughing just across the room to her, making Luke even more irrelevant than usual, and she had huge stars in her eyes – something she didn't usually suffer from.

Her general attitude towards Luke was pretty much the best any celebrity would get from her, unless they gave her a reason to behave otherwise. She simply just didn't believe in giving someone undue respect when they hadn't earned it, just because they were rich and popular with the rest of the world.

"At least hear me out, since I'm paying for those overpriced cocktails."

Rachel blinked and looked back at Luke as he spoke to her again.

"Oh, all right then," she huffed grudgingly. She couldn't argue that. "Give me your excuses for this ridiculous behaviour. Tell me why on earth you want me – or anyone! – to pretend to be your girlfriend."

Luke took another sip of wine and gazed right back at her with his intense, deep brown eyes.

"Well, the press seems to have caught on to the story they made up this morning and it works towards putting the wrong idea to Tara. She thinks she can make a fool out of me in public with the media and I just want to do the same back – a nd give them something else to write about. Even though it's through the entertainment columns, of all things, I can at least look like I'm getting on with things without her."

Rachel took a moment, waiting for the teasing smile and a "ha! No, seriously, the real reason is" to follow quickly. Only... None materialised. She blinked at him. Was this guy serious?

"I think being in the public eye for the last decade has rattled the sense right out of your brain," Rachel muttered, pressing her fingers against the sides of her nose. "This is just too pathetic! Really. Look, you've already slammed me on the front pages of all entertainment media. I'm not planning on being there again."

"Not even for a free trip to Paris?"

"A free trip to Disney World, Florida, including recording an original album with Christian Lee and Paul McCartney couldn't convince me," Rachel retorted sharply. "I am not pretending to be your girlfriend just to makesomematchstickonlegsactuallyjealous – and give bored journalists something to write about."

"I can give you a cheque right now."

"You got to be kidding me!" Rachel exclaimed, incensed. "You cannot be seriously trying to buyme? If you want that, just go and Google an escort agency."

"Like I told you before, it would be just to reimburse you for any loss of earnings."

"I thought you were joking."

"It wouldn't work with anyone else."

"You really are onehell of an arrogant git and a sad bastard, aren't you?" Rachel growled at him. She really couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You've been buying into your own publicity until your head is about to explode."

"What have you got against me?"

Rachel looked at him in an unimpressed way, stating mildly, "Precisely that."

Luke sighed and poured the rest of the eye-watering expensive wine down his throat.

"Look," Rachel said, for the first time actually giving him her serious attention and leaning forward, forearms on the table, "at the end of the day, I don't even know you, and so far, I don't even particularly like you. You're a publicity-obsessed moron who cares more about your reputation than people. How can you honestly expectme to go away with you and pretend to be your girlfriend? I'm not exactly a professional actress – and I'm definitelynotfor hire, in any capacity."

Luke actually gave her a hurt-puppy look. "You won't even consider helping me out?"

Rachel levelled him with steady eye-contact and quite some disdain. "You haven't exactly given me any good reason to."

"How about I make you a deal?" Luke's eyes fixed on hers and captured them in his gaze so her attention was completely focused on him. "You stay here, I'll buy you a few more drinks, and you at least consider it."

"Consider what – that you're a complete wackadoodle?"

Luke muttered something under his breath, which Rachel guessed was not very complimentary by the look on his face.

"Come on, there's no way I could get the time off work, either" she said seriously to him. "It just would never work. Have you actually thought it all through? You'd have to put up with me everydayuntil you decide to humiliate me again by publicly dumping me on the front page of every crappy newspaper, magazine and entertainment website there is."

He didn't say anything to that, and Rachel hoped that she had finally won. She was well aware of how many girls, and guys (whobasicallyhadverybadtaste,inheropinion,anddespitehowgoodlooked), would give their anything and everything to jump headlong into the ridiculous proposition he had offered her, there was no way she could ever go through with it. Especially since the whole thing was based on his ego believing that anyone cared about his idiot life and that any random person would actually throw themselves at such a chance. This was nothing more than a horrible, harebrained idea stemming from a horrible accidental coincidence that resulted in some photographer and journalist making up some crackpot story about their non-existent relationship.

The fact they were saying they had been having a lover's spat when she had never even met the bloody man before was beyond her, and might have been amusing, if it wasn't coming back to bite her in the backside now.

Luke was just about to say something to her when she heard someone walk up behind her. She turned and looked up to follow his eye-line, then found herself looking straight into the smiling eyes of ChristianLee. And nearly fell off her chair.

Luke laughed at her stunned face and went to introduce them, so he could clearly humiliate her some more.

"Chris, this is Rachel. I bumped into her yesterday and talked her into getting a drink with me." He looked from his friend back to Rachel. "Rachel, this is Christian Lee."

Her face immediately flushed, and she tried to smile as she went to shake Christian's extended hand.

"Hi," she squeaked breathlessly. Christian smiled at her, and she nearly passed out.

"Hello," Christian greeted her, now smiling in a slightly bewildered fashion. "So, what did he tell you to get you to see him, then?"

"He pretty much threatened never to leave me alone," she responded dryly, shooting Luke a hard look and realising by that comment that Luke seemed to regularly need to coerce women to go out with him by playing on his fame.

...... "Good to see you're still the same old romantic," Christian commented sarcastically, shaking his head at Luke. "Is this really how you think you should get girls to go out on a date with you?"

"So, it's not just me that gets this wonderful treatment?" Rachel shot Luke a pointed look.

"No, dear." Christian put a hand on her shoulder and patted it sympathetically, making Rachel was ready to explode with fangirl excitement.

"The sad thing is that he does this to pretty much every… Ah, I see."

Rachel looked curiously up at the still-gorgeous iconic musician, wondering what he suddenly saw.

"You're the one from all over the internet this morning," he grinned, and she stared at him in horror, completely mortified. She shot a furious glare at Luke and slumped back in her chair with a disheartened sigh.

"Well, there's my reputation out of the window," she grumbled.

Luke threw her a cold look in return. "I didn't realise you had one."

Christian slipped into a chair next to them and looked at the two of them in interest. Rachel just wanted to throw herself off the nearest cliff. After all these years she finally got to meet Christian Lee, and Luke had managed to humiliate her in front of him. She had always dreamed that he would see her and know who she was – but certainly not as the hussy who supposedly was Luke Heartlett's secret love affair, yelling at him in the streets.

Thisjustgotbetterandbetter.

"Right, so tell me what's really going on," Christian said to them, his eyes gleaming with mischievous interest. "How much of it is real?"

"None of it," Rachel vehemently assured him. "He walked into me, I'd had a long day, he refused to apologise, so I yelled at him."

"And they got all that from that? Come on."

"You know what they're like." Luke threw him a hard, pointed look, and the other man backed down – if anyone knew how gossip writers could make a mountain out of a molehill it was Christian Lee. "I'd honestly never seen her before. But I didn't walk into her. She walked into me and blamed me for it. They took a photograph of us and decided to run with it – the whole fairytale marathon."

Rachel didn't miss the raised eyebrow and look of dubiousness Christian threw back at him, but still she ignored it.

"So you're not actually on a date with him? Why are you here, then?" Christian looked at Rachel. "You don't seem to like him very much."

"I don't," she muttered. "And… Don't ask,"

With his interest now really peaked, he looked across to Luke for an explanation.

"I'll tell you later," Luke mumbled. "It's a long story."

"Right." Christian pushed back his chair and shot him a look. "I'll be going now, kids. But you are definitely telling me later."

He grinned at Luke and patted him on the back. Grunting, Luke pushed him away and then turned his attention back to Rachel, with a look on his face that said he knew that any tiny hope he may have possibly had in convincing her before was now utterly and completely out the window.

"Well, thankyou for that," Rachel said stonily, getting her bag together and pushing her chair back. "After adoring him for too many years to count, you've just embarrassed me in front of him, and if by some strange phenomenon he actually remembers me for any longer than five minutes, this is what he's going to remember me for – being your paidescort. Surely you'll agree it's not the nicest situation."

She got up and started walking away. Luke quickly got on his feet and stood in her way.

"You're leaving?"

"Take a guess, Einstein."

"One more drink?"

"In your dreams, mate."

She went to move past him and he grabbed her hand.

"Just at least think about it," he implored. Rachel snatched her hand away and glared at him. "A free trip, some extra money, fifteen minutes of fame and a few days from work – and that's it. No strings."

"Hah! No way."

"I've got all night to talk."

"Well, I haven't, so bugger off."

Undeterred, Luke fished in his wallet for something. "Here's my number. Don't lose it too soon."

Rachel gave him a look, then snatched it from him at the last minute before making her way towards the door, leaving without even a backwards glance. If she ever saw him again in her life, it would be too soon. The arrogant egomaniac had another think coming if he thought she was going to fall for that bull. And Paris, of all places – how contrived was that?

Under more usual circumstances she would have given her eyes' teeth to go to France, especially since she had never been on a real holiday before. Her parents had barely been able to afford the basics, and school holidays were celebrated with inexpensive, but very fun, camping adventures around the country – not fancy airplane holidays to all kinds of hot and interesting international destinations.

However, there was no way she was going anywhere with that famous lunatic. Even if it was somewhere as wonderful as Paris.

The card she had been given was thoughtlessly stuffed into her bag as she stormed out into the night. It was probably a good thing that she didn't realise at the time that it wasn't going to be too long until she realised that she needed it. Otherwise she might have happily thrown herself under the taxi that ignored her raised hand and instead went shooting past.