The hive, p.3
The Hive, page 3
‘Working admin in a Botox clinic is not a job. It’s a hobby you get paid for, and those full lips of yours are the hydrochloric perks,’ Trix said, matching my snide comment with her equally snide one.
‘That stung.’ I pursed my lips together mockingly.
Trix was right though. Most days I sat for hours cropping selfies in the office and snacking on black tea and digestive biscuits.
‘Just follow him. See if he follows you back.’
‘No. Come on, Trix. That makes me look desperate. He has over a million followers and he’s following like ninety people. He’s not gonna follow me back.’
‘Who cares? Do it anyway!’
Trix rounded the marble island using Zaheen as a body shield as I went after her.
‘Done! See, no harm.’ Trix grinned.
‘You’re so silly. Why did you do that? He’s gonna think I’m some freak.’
‘All right, you two, settle down before Poppy wakes up,’ Zaheen said, her words a little slurred from the gin.
‘Too late. I can hear you lot screeching from upstairs. What’s going on? Did Brad and Sasha get hit by a bus in Dubai?’ Poppy floated into the kitchen with a scarlet blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her golden hair in a messy topknot.
‘Wishful thinking, but it’s nothing. You feeling OK?’ I asked Poppy as my phone pinged loudly, and Trix turned and said in a cool voice:
‘Holy shit. Lincoln Jackson just followed you back.’
CHAPTER THREE
T
HE SKY WAS A MUDDLE of blues and purple, and far into the distance the pale moon descended behind a gaping cloud. It had just gone eight and most of the light had faded from the day. The air was warm for a September evening so there was no need for a jacket, which was fortunate since I didn’t want to hide my outfit under another layer of material. Especially when I purposely picked a burnt orange dress with minimal fabric.
Poppy was still a puddle of tears when I’d left. Trix, Zaheen and I had spent well over forty-eight hours obsessively watching Brad and Sasha’s posts offering plausible explanations for our so-called friend’s betrayal. There wasn’t any logical reason for Sasha’s actions, but I wasn’t entirely comfortable with solely placing the blame on the woman, when the man was clearly the one in the wrong. Sasha may have been naive and a little easy, but Brad was the one willing to hurt Poppy. Regardless, we vented over bottles of wild-berry pink gin and smoked pack after pack of cigarettes until the house became thick with smoke, and littered with takeaway containers.
While this was going on, Lincoln and I spoke constantly before he asked me on a date. He was sweet. I listened for hours as he talked about the humble beginning of his boxing career, which was in a garage converted into a gym in Leyton. He liked pop music. Which was terrible, but he knew it and was a little embarrassed by it. I found that distractingly cute. He had just finished training for a huge fight that was called off due to the promoter pulling out at the last minute and had loads of unexpected free time. He said he didn’t care about the fight because he got to break his rigid diet and eat Pop-Tarts and Haribo Starmix, but I got the impression that he was a little downcast about it really.
‘It must be frustrating when something you’ve trained so hard for gets called off at the last minute,’ I said, pushing the phone closer to my ear and sitting cross-legged atop the kitchen island while the girls slept soundly.
‘It is. Boxing’s my whole life, all I’ve ever known. There’s nothing like it. I feel terrible for not giving the people what they want, but it really was out of my control. People don’t realise all the politics that go on behind the scenes.’
‘Sounds complicated.’
‘I think people forget we’re just humans like everyone else, especially on social media. The trolls, God, I hate the trolls.’
‘Can’t be all bad . . . you met me on social media.’ I kicked myself later for how desperate I sounded in that moment.
‘I did. And I’m happy I did. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Charlotte. You’re special.’
He asked me about my work, then we talked about what films we liked and where we planned on travelling next year. It was nice just speaking to him, so when he asked me out, I said yes with no hesitation.
Our date was simple. We would sip on fluorescent lychee cocktails and eat hand-rolled sushi, Hyde Park being the perfect backdrop to a night only we would remember – or not, depending on how much we had had to drink. I wasn’t usually excited when it came to first dates, but I really liked Linc. He seemed different and it wasn’t the money or his fame. He made me want more out of life, and it had only been a few days.
You’ll always be able to tell how much a man likes you squarely based on the amount of money he’s comfortable spending on you. Or at least that’s what my mother used to say before she died. She was a loopy romantic who married for love. Then, when I was eight, my father packed his things and left us for a younger, more vigorous clone of my mother. Seriously, the woman, Ava, was a photocopy of my mum. A tall, wispy brunette with full lips, and an even fuller rack. Dad left with Ava and never looked back. That taught me a valuable lesson. Nothing lasts forever.
Thanks to my eccentric mother I had to experience life’s ebbs and flows far sooner than I should’ve had to. But for the first time I felt like I wanted more. I wanted something wonderful.
Stumbling over my words, I gave the hostess Linc’s last name, then declined her invitation to show me to our table. Instead, I followed her through to the private parlour room, sashaying my hips all the way to the high-gloss bar. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the wall-mounted mirror and smiled, impressed with what I saw. Big doe-brown eyes stared back at me while my dark waves fell to one side of my face highlighting my smoky bronze makeup. I ordered a drink from a twenty-something bartender, with a man bun and trendy tribal hand tattoo, and tried not to look as excited as I felt. I wasn’t quite sure why Linc picked the uber-wealthy Mandarin private parlour as the venue for our first meeting, but I was grateful that I had been there on a few occasions with Sasha. I was even more grateful that I was familiar with their strict privacy protocol.
While a name got you inside, no one used them once you were in.
The last time I was there, a few months prior to meeting Linc, Sasha put on a show, dropping dates of when she had been to the parlour, which was so exclusive they didn’t have security cameras or any way of keeping track of their discerning clientele. Sasha loved saying that. And Trix wanted to rip her throat out every time she did, but that was the only rule the Mandarin parlour had. See and blind, hear and deaf. It was even scrawled on their linen napkins and inscribed at the bottom of their leather menus.
Linc was late, which wasn’t a good sign. His last message was an hour ago and he said he was on his way. If I got stood up, it would be my own fault since I’d bought into the ridiculous notion that he was interested in someone like me. Linc was a celebrity and I worked in administration for a beauty clinic in Central London. We were from two very different worlds. So, if he stood me up, then maybe it was because that had become crystal clear.
‘Sorry I’m late, parking was a nightmare.’ I heard the depth of his low voice before I saw him. Linc stood at almost six foot two inches. His hair was freshly cut low, and he oozed a scent I couldn’t put my finger on. His skin looked like whipped butter, pale and soft with the slightest hint of olive. But it was his eyes. Gentle, like ocean waves struck by moonlight on a calm night. He was beautiful.
‘It’s OK, I just got here,’ I answered, steadying my breathing as I looked at anything and everything that wasn’t him. ‘I would have ordered you one, but I don’t know what you like to drink.’
‘Scotch.’
He strategically placed a hand on my back, purposely missing the orange material and touching my bare skin. The current from the connection almost made me buckle.
‘Sorry I couldn’t pick you up by the way. Believe me, I don’t usually let my dates take an Uber. Well, not on the first date anyway.’
I smiled then nodded, unable to form the words that seemed to make sense when spoken in my head.
‘Y—you can make it up to me on our next date . . . I mean, if there is a next date.’
‘I’m sure there will be. That’s an amazing dress by the way. I, umm . . . I’ve got to admit I didn’t walk over straightaway. I watched you, Charlotte.’
‘Why?’ I asked, vaguely registering Man-bun’s return as he balanced a tray with Linc’s Scotch.
‘I wanted to take a minute to admire you before I became the luckiest man in the room.’
‘If you’re trying to make me blush then you’ve definitely succeeded.’
‘Just being honest. Charlotte, you’re amazing.’
I swallowed. ‘How about we get some food before my head gets any bigger and I up and float away?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t want that. I’ve only just got hold of you. Not ready to let go just yet.’
I turned to Linc and tilted my lashes up at him, our scents mingling as we edged forward, and Man-bun backed away.
‘You better hold on then, Mr Jackson.’
We were shown to our table by the hostess who called Linc by his first name, leading me to suspect he had been here more than a handful of times. I ignored a twinge of unease. My stomach was already doing somersaults, and it was hard enough keeping myself together when Linc hadn’t taken his eyes off me since he’d arrived.
‘How’s Poppy doing?’ he asked gently, after we were seated in a plush mahogany booth with silvery suede that felt like cashmere against my bare skin. Linc seemed to like Poppy. Well, what he’d heard of her. Which wasn’t much, just that she was going through a bad break-up, and needed me and the rest of the girls to be there for her.
‘She’s OK. Still a little upset, but she’s got us girls. We’ll be there for her.’
‘Good. Real friendships are rare in life. Hold on to yours.’
‘I’d do anything for the girls. They know that,’ I said, and I meant it.
‘A bottle of Dom Perignon, for the mademoiselle?’ Man-bun had reappeared holding a bottle I’d neither ordered nor could afford.
‘Oh no, that’s not ours. I didn’t order it.’
‘Charlotte, it’s fine. It’s complimentary.’ Linc leaned in, putting his lips close to my ear. ‘They give me a bottle every time I come here.’ His words were low and raspy.
I swallowed, only now understanding the magnitude of being with someone like Lincoln Jackson.
‘Oh OK.’ Colour found my cheeks, staining them.
‘Can I have a glass, please?’ I truly hated champagne, but Linc had no way of knowing that. I could have declined but that felt unnecessary. Instead, I smiled angelically then outstretched my arm, accepting the ochre bubbles. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,’ Linc said, declining his glass as Man-bun put the bottle on ice and shuffled away.
‘I’m not sure I will. Bubbles aren’t really my thing.’
‘So, what is your thing?’
‘Would you believe me if I said to you that I don’t know yet, that maybe I haven’t found myself?’ I had never said that out loud before, but I had thought it for the past four or so years. Poppy had nursing, Trix was a mother, even Zaheen had an arsenal of contacts at her disposal.
I was lost.
‘Maybe now you’ve found someone to help you find yourself.’ Linc’s mouth curved into a nervous but somehow dazzling smile that revealed a perfect line of white teeth.
‘I hope so. Otherwise you owe me an Uber ride.’
We could have spoken all night, which we practically did. It was after one in the morning when we finally emerged from the parlour. Everything was going great, but then it happened.
Quickly and out of nowhere.
We were photographed.
THE HIVE – Breaking news: Lincoln Jackson spotted kissing mysterious new woman
myworld450 — @lincolnjackson really has a different girl for every day of the week must be nice
qballbigg — Wow she’s a looker good on him
d_go_gotta — So you cancel your fight to take chicks on dinner dates you don’t deserve your talent mate
bouras.ht — @thehive this one won’t last long just like all the others looool
tb3_busy — She’s hot what’s her @ ????
thehive — @bouras.ht our sources say @lincolnjackson is completely smitten with the mystery woman in his life @tb3_busy we are working on it, sit tight, more soon!!
sweet_chan88 — more celebrity dating news . . . yawn
mk_goharrrd — no one cares this man makes more news outside the ring than inside the ring @lincolnjackson is the worst fighter ever
honeycomb123 — follow me for funny videos and exclusive content
cmg_x — @lincolnjackson I’m your biggest fan
heathergrenich — wasn’t @lincolnjackson with a different girl last week?
CHAPTER FOUR
I’m inside. Are you still here?
I
READ THE TEXT AND IMMEDIATELY looked up, scanning the crowd for Linc’s tall frame. It had been two days since our date and the photos of our first kiss had gone viral. The Hive, the biggest gossip profile across every social media channel, had already tracked down my profile on Instagram and had been direct messaging me for a quote confirming my relationship with Linc. When I didn’t respond they took it upon themselves to publish several photos of me with the caption: ‘Lincoln Jackson’s Mystery Woman Revealed’.
The party was alive with drunk silhouettes screaming along to songs they didn’t know the words to as the base thumped the dance floor. Bodies and perspiration mingled, while model-type women flanked the balconies on transparent tables that looked like they were floating from where I stood below under the canopies.
When the pictures broke on the internet, I didn’t quite know how to feel. What was supposed to be a rapturous high after our first date was replaced by trending on Twitter and a flurry of Instagram comments. My face was plastered everywhere. Then the fun really began.
The trolls judged me on everything from what I looked like, to what I did for a living, to what I ate for lunch on my work break.
It was brutal.
I wanted to be upset, but all I could think about was Linc. The sudden influx of people who wanted to know about me was overwhelming. I wanted to scream. My following had jumped overnight from a meagre six thousand to a staggering eighty thousand.
It was insane.
I didn’t know what to do and Linc was so busy dealing with endorsements I didn’t think it was right to ask him to hold my hand. Especially when he said all of it was entirely normal and would blow over in a few days. I didn’t want to show him I couldn’t handle it. Instead, I got my nails and feet done in bubblegum pink shellac and slipped on a pastel green dress, gathering the girls for a much-needed night out. I didn’t know Linc was going to be there, not at first, not until he saw my Instagram story and told me he was on his way and would see me inside.
I was nervous, but at the same time I couldn’t wait to see him again.
Where are you?
I messaged back, hopping on the balls of my feet. But when I next turned around, I saw him. He wore a black Fendi shirt, with two large Fs embroidered in brown suede. His jeans were slightly washed out and ripped in typical Balmain fashion. Finishing off his look were Fendi trainers and a pair of absurd Tom Ford Connor sunglasses that hid his gentle eyes.
‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ I said almost instantly as I walked into his embrace.
‘I thought I would surprise you. I know the last few days have been a little out of the ordinary for you. My life can be a circus sometimes so I’m sorry.’
‘I’m OK, but thanks for saying that. I really appreciate you caring about me.’ I was far from OK, but I couldn’t let him know that. I had to keep my cool.
‘Of course I care. You look amazing by the way.’ He let out a low whistle, twirling his index finger to suggest I do the same with my body. I obliged, and felt his eyes slowly slide over me.
‘Should we get a drink?’ he asked, as he guided me through the crowd up towards the large granite bar with low-level floodlights that blinked from blue to violet and back again.
‘What are you having? I promise no bubbles tonight.’ Linc’s smile was so easy-going and bright it quelled my anxiety.
‘Well, slap my ass and call me Sally, you are an Adonis! Oh, don’t look at me like that! You look good too, Char,’ Trix shouted over the music as she chugged back the remainder of her vodka and slimline tonic.
‘Thanks, but are you OK? You don’t look so good.’
‘I’m fine, don’t fuss. We’re supposed to be having fun.’ She made a face then held out her hand to Linc. ‘I’m Beatrix Nolan, although I prefer Trix.’
I grabbed her wrist as she approached clumsily and smiled nervously at Linc. I was afraid of this happening. Trix was drunk.
‘I’ve heard good things. Nice to meet you. I’m Lincoln. Can I get you anything?’
‘What a gentleman. Char, you really hit the jackpot with this one. Gin. I like gin.’
‘And tonic?’ he asked, waiting for her to answer.
‘Don’t be silly! This is a party, straight up will do.’
‘Don’t you think that maybe you should slow down?’ Anxiously, I took a step forward, closing the gap in case Trix lost her footing and suddenly fell.
‘Oh, why the fuck would I do that? Not like I have anyone to impress at this godawful party, plus my children have been taken away from me – so chin-chin!’
I gave Trix a pained look. Jennifer had won the first round. The judge had awarded her and Lawrence temporary custody without visitation that very morning. It had pushed Trix right over the edge. She was scarcely holding on by a thread and, although I thought a night out was a good idea, in hindsight, I was quickly regretting the reality.
‘I’m sorry, Trix, that sounds awful. Is there anything I can do? Do you have a solicitor?’ Linc asked, startling me a little by compassionately putting his arm around her.
