Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 149

I can’t tell anyone I’m Sage’s stylist now. It hits me with a fresh blow. They’ll laugh at me. My whole plan is ruined.

Charlotte has been listening to her earpiece and now looks up.

“Rebecca, you’re done,” she says with a professional smile. “You can go in now. Enjoy the movie.”

“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Is that all?”

“That’s all,” she says politely.

“But I thought I was doing loads of interviews.”

“The plan changed. If you make your way into the movie theater, someone will show you to your seat. Have a good evening!”

I feel a pang of dismay. I don’t want to go into the movie theater. Once I go in, it’s over.

“Can I stay out here a bit longer?” I say. “I want to … you know. Soak it all up.”

Charlotte looks at me as though I’m crazy. “Sure.” She shrugs and turns away, leaving me alone. I feel a tiny bit awkward, with nothing to do, but I determinedly swivel round and survey the rows of surging people and TV cameras and celebrities talking to interviewers. Come on, Becky. Here I am on the red carpet. Maybe Sage has derailed my plan a little, but I can still enjoy myself. I can still be positive.

The entire lineup of Heaven Sent 7 has just appeared on the red carpet, and a bunch of teenage girls is screaming hysterically. I can’t help feeling a thrill. They’re huge! I so want to share this with someone. I automatically pull out my phone and start to text—and then stop, mid-word. I can’t share it with Luke. Or Suze. Or Mum.

Or Dad, obviously.

Or … anyone.

Without meaning to, I heave a miserable sigh, then immediately plaster a wide smile on to compensate. I can’t be sighing on the red carpet. That’s a ridiculous idea! It’s all good. It’s all fab. It’s—

Oh, there’s Aran, looking immaculate in a black tuxedo and open-collared blue shirt. Feeling a surge of relief, I hurry over to him. His hands are in his pockets and he’s watching Sage, with that wry, detached expression he has. Sage has found a little mini trench coat from somewhere and has put it on over her dress and is talking eagerly to a queue of interviewers.

“Hey, Becky.” Aran kisses me lightly on each cheek. “Having a good time?”

“Yes!” I say automatically. “It’s wonderful!”

“Good.” He smiles. “I’m glad.”

“Although did you see Sage’s dress? It totally collapsed.”

He rolls his eyes. “Believe me, I saw that.”

“She was lent that dress by a friend of mine. He’s a really famous designer. And she ruined it on purpose.” I’m trying not to sound accusing, but I can’t help it.

“Ah.” Aran winces. “Well, I’m sure we can figure out some sort of compensation—”

“It’s not the money! It’s just so inconsiderate. And now I can’t let anyone know I’m her stylist. I mean, that was the point of tonight—to launch myself as a stylist! I sourced her that dress and she would have looked amazing, but then she goes and deliberately sabotages it.…” My voice is trembling. I think I’m more upset than I quite realized.

“Uh-huh.” Aran surveys me as though he’s working something out. “Did you meet Nenita yet?”

“No.”

“Well, we’ll fix that up.”

“OK. Thanks.” To my dismay, a tear has come to one of my eyes. I wipe it hastily away and smile, but Aran has noticed.

“You all right, Becky?”

“Kind of.” I gulp. “Not really. My dad’s gone missing and I had a row with Luke, and then I had one with my best friend too.… No one gets it. This.” I spread my arms around.

“You don’t surprise me,” says Aran.

“Really?”

“It happens. You’re not a civilian anymore, remember?”

He sounds totally unmoved, and I suddenly feel a pang of frustration at his easygoing, Teflon manner. If the world ended, he’d probably just shrug and say, That’s the way it rolls.

And what did he mean, You don’t surprise me?

“Let me find Nenita.” He pats me on the shoulder.

As Aran heads off, I look around again, trying to savor the experience, but suddenly I’m finding it a bit jarring. Everything’s so bright. The white smiles, the cameras flashing, the sequins and jewels and shrieking. It’s like even the air is alive with electricity. My hair is prickling with it, and my leg is tingling.…

Oh. Actually, that’s my phone buzzing. I grab it out of my clutch, and it’s Suze. I feel a dart of terror and jab the ANSWER button.