Chapter 6

• After I shut the door behind me, I turn to put my bag down on the hall table, and I pick up the remote control to turn the television on. I head straight to the kitchen and flick on the kettle. I have a set routine whenever I walk into my house: television, kettle, and tea. It’s like the world isn’t right if one of those things doesn’t happen immediately. Dead silence doesn’t feel right to me. The funny thing is that I don’t even watch the TV after I’ve put it on. I simply like the distant background noise it provides.
• I grab my laptop and sit at my kitchen counter.
• Who are you, Mr Spencer?
• I type his name into Google, immediately frowning.
• Wait. Was his first name Spencer, or was his last name Spencer?
• He introduced himself as Spencer but I thought that was his surname, hence why I called him Mr Spencer.
• I think back to what Lara said about him, and I take out my phone to dial her number. She answers on the first ring.
• “Hey, where are you?” she asks quickly.
• “Oh, I came home.”
• “Why?”
• I bite my bottom lip to stop myself smiling. “I was accosted by the infamous Mr Spencer.”
• She gasps. “Fuck off. What happened?”
• I stare at my reflection in the kitchen window and find myself smiling. “He followed me to the bathroom outside, and then he kissed me.”
• “Are you serious?”
• “I am. Remind me of his name…”
• She laughs. “Did you forget to ask that while his tongue was down your throat?”
• I chuckle quietly. “Yeah, kind of.”
• “His name is Spencer.”
• I type Spencer into Google, and a million Spencers come up. “Is his first name Spencer or his surname Spencer? I’m confused.”
• “Give me a second, I’m trying to remember. Oh,” she coos. “It’s Spencer Jones. His first name is Spencer, surname Jones.”
• I type Spencer Jones into the search engine and the screen immediately fills with images of him, my smile returns. “Okay I’ve got it.”
• “Are you Googling him?”
• “Of course.”
• “Oh God, put the computer away. I don’t think you are going to like what you read.”
• I cross over to the counter to make my tea. “Can you see him?” I ask her.
• “Wait.” I can hear the music playing as she walks through the wedding reception. “Yes, he’s standing with his friend again, back on the upper level.”
• I press my lips together. Now I regret not staying and getting to know him a bit better. I wish I wasn’t such a chicken, but I was just so shocked.
• “Okay, Lars, I’ll let you go.”
• “Charl?”
• “Yes?”
• “How was the kiss?”
• I feel my cheeks blush. “Better than expected.” That doesn’t cover half of it, but I don’t want to sound pathetic.
• “I’ll be over tomorrow for a full debrief.”
• “Okay, see you then.” I hang up, sip my tea, and make my way over to sit back at the counter. I scroll through the images of him, my frown growing deeper. Every image is of him is with a different woman.
• They’re all gorgeous with the majority of the photos taken at night by the paparazzi.
• Models, actors, fame-hungry whores.
• Oh…
• I click on a story that goes with one of the images.
• Spencer Jones and supermodel Amy Hallam leaving Vivid Nightclub.
• Spencer Jones lived up to his Playboy reputation when he was spotted on Wednesday night with Amy Hallam.
• Spencer was snapped earlier in the day on a yacht with Miranda Eastman, the Victoria’s Secret model
• I click on the link to the photographs, finding a photo of him leaving the club with Amy Hallam, the two of them holding hands and getting into a cab. She’s an actress in a sitcom, and gorgeous, too. In the picture she’s wearing a gold, barely-there short dress. There are a few images in the set. In one, Spencer is looking down at her as they wait for the cab. In the next photo he is kissing her with his hand on her behind. He has that cheeky smile on his face, and then the next image shows them getting into a cab together.
• He definitely took her home that night.
• I click on the next set of images where he is on a yacht, only this time with Miranda Eastman, a high-fashion model. She’s wearing a black and gold bikini, and her long black hair is flowing down her back. She has a killer body.
• There are a few shots, the first one showing him helping her onto the yacht by holding her hand. In the next image he is kissing her up against the rail, and then the one after that shows her lying on her back on a towel. He is lying next to her with his hand on her stomach, looking down at her with that same cheeky smile on his face. I frown as I look at the dates of the images.
• These were taken on the same day. He was on the yacht with Miranda during the day, and then that night he went home with Amy.
• I look at the expression on his face; pure mischief. It’s the same look I saw on his face tonight.
• Gross.
• I exhale heavily and slam my computer shut in disgust.
• I sip my tea and immediately get a vision of him kissing my hand and being all gorgeous. Ugh.
• Thank God, I ran when I did.
• I could have ended up being another notch on his sleazy bedpost.
• I get a flashback of his cheeky smile, and I smirk. Lara was right, he is an appalling rake… and I can see why he gets away with it. He’s completely gorgeous. Of course, they all line up to date him.
• Oh, well, I guess that’s the end of that.
• I trudge up the stairs to my bathroom. I turn the shower on, making sure the water is steaming hot, and I take off my clothes as I make the solemn vow to never think of Mr Spencer again in my life.
• Never ever.