Perfect Strangers Read online

  Perfect Strangers

  L.P. ROSE

  Copyright 2017 © L.P. Rose

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted by any means, including photocopying, recording or any other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This publication is a work of fiction and any references to real people, historical events or real locals are used fictitiously. Names, characters incidents, and places are the product of the authors imagination and any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by ebookcovers online

  Edited by Carol Tietsworth

  This book contains mature content.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Good Morning, Avery,” Myla smiled, as she haphazardly bowled through the doors of her Boutique, her brunette pony tail swinging back and forth like a whip.

  “You’re late!” Avery replied stern faced, peering over the top of her spectacles like a scolding headmistress.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, Avery, it is my name above the door, it says ‘Myla’s Boutique’, when it’s your name, then please feel free to reprimand me for my tardiness,” she said sarcastically, kicking her heels off and hanging up her coat.

  “I’m merely stating a fact. You know we have an important client gracing us with her presence today for her final fitting,” said Avery, as she moved herself towards Myla with her arms folded across her heaving chest.

  “And I’m here now.” She smiled, “Where are the measurements for the Franco dress?”

  Avery pointed her finger (complete with a long vixen red nail) to a pile of paperwork that sat on Myla’s desk. She raised her eyebrows, “They’re right where I left them yesterday.”

  “See, I couldn’t run this place without you.” She smiled, grabbing the measurements, and scurried towards the back of the Boutique, with Avery snapping at her heels.

  “So, did you have a hunk of a man keeping you warm in bed this morning? Is that why you are an hour late?”

  Myla draped the tape measure around her neck and grabbed the tin of tacks; she snorted. “If only, my alarm clock didn’t go off.”

  “That old chestnut, huh?”

  “It’s the truth. What more do you want me to say?” She asked as she carefully added a few more pins to the hem of the gown adorning the mannequin.

  “You, are all work and no play,” Avery laughed.

  Grabbing her pencil, she cross checked the measurements before sliding it behind her ear. “What do you mean by that?” Myla replied.

  Reaching for two cups, Avery fired up the coffee machine. “Well, you are twenty-seven, you haven’t had a serious relationship since before you opened this Boutique, five years ago, don’t you think it’s time you found yourself someone to share your life with?”

  Rolling her eyes, Myla shook her head. “This again? I don’t have time for a serious relationship, my whole life revolves around this place.”

  Pouring some sugar into the cups of coffee, Avery stood and noisily stirred the spoon against the crockery, causing Myla to wince at the unbearable noise. “When was the last time your vagina saw some action?”

  Spitting out the tacks from between her teeth, Myla rose to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. “Pardon? What does that have to do with you?” She asked wide-eyed.

  “Hey, I’m your best friend, I have a right to know. Your biological clock is ticking away.” She smiled as she passed Myla her coffee.

  “Yes, well it can tick away!”

  “So, last night’s date didn’t go too well, then?” Avery quizzed taking a seat on the chaise lounge.

  “Oh, it went wonderfully. I spent the first half of the night watching him pick spinach from between the gaps in his teeth, and the rest of night listening to him compare me unfavorably to his ex-girlfriend.”

  “Ouch! So, you had fun then?”

  Ignoring her friends sardonic tone, she continued to rant. “Then, when he leaned into kiss me goodnight, it was all I could do not to vomit my Beef Wellington straight over his mud-stained Converse’s.”

  “He wore Converse’s to a fancy restaurant?” Avery asked, her jaw hung low and her well-maintained eyebrows rose to form a perfect arch.

  “Yes, he did. He looked like something I had dragged in from the back street. I couldn’t wait for the night to be over.” Sighing, she turned around to admire her elegant work on the Franco dress.

  “Well, I think Cass has a lot to answer for. I thought she said her brother was a looker?”

  “Oh, he’s a looker all right, if you close your eyes and pretend he is Channing Tatum,” Myla replied. Replacing her coffee cup with her camera, she set about snapping pictures of the dress for her online portfolio.

  “You are so much like Chandler Bing, it’s uncanny,” Avery sniggered.

  “Who?” Myla questioned absentmindedly, her focus was honed in on the sweetheart-sequined neckline of the dress.

  “Chandler from F.R.I.E.N.D.S? You find something wrong with every man that you date. No dress sense, big nose, hands too small, hands too big, bushy eyebrows, funny eyes, too skinny, too muscular to—”

  “Okay, Avery. I get it!” Myla said, holding a palm up to her. “I can’t help it if there is something wrong with them all, can I?”

  “No, you can’t, but you don’t give them a chance either. No one is perfect, you could have dismissed ‘the one’ by now for all you know.”

  Placing her camera down and retrieving her coffee cup, she narrowed her eyes in Avery’s direction. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. I don’t pay you to sit here and scrutinize my love life, or lack of. Do you have no work to do today?”

  “Truth hurts. No one is perfect, including you.” Avery smirked as she patted her on the arm and made her way back into the Boutique, leaving Myla to fester on her words.

  *

  “This is not the fabric I ordered. I stated quite clearly, fifty meters of plum satin, twenty-five meters of royal blue satin, and forty meters of canary yellow satin, plus eighty boxes of crystal gemstones!” Myla grumbled. Her face was beetroot and her once slick ponytail now sat on her head lopsided.

  The delivery driver glared at her sternly. “Not my fault Miss, you’ll have to speak to the picking and packing department, I’m just the delivery man.”

  What else is going to go wrong today? “Wait right there while I call them.” She growled, grasping the invoice tightly in one hand and pointing her finger sternly with the other.

  Sighing, he looked at his watch. “I’m sorry Miss, but I have another six deliveries left to do today and I’m on a tight schedule. I’ll take these back and you must rearrange for the correct items to be sent out.”

  “I’ve waited two weeks as it is for this delivery, I have bridesmaid’s dresses I need to start on and no fabric for them. You’ll wait right there, mister!” She grabbed the phone from the desk, and punched in the telephone number shown on the invoice. After two minutes of pressing different numbers at certain intervals, she was finally on hold to the picking and packing department. Some ghastly music rang loudly in her ear as she thrummed her fingertips on her desk in annoyance.

  “Good afternoon, you are through to Fabrics for all Occasions how may I help you?” Came the perky voice from the other end.

  “Yes, is this picking and packing?”

  “I’m sorry, this is the accounts department, would you like me to redirect your call?”

  Sighing, Myla pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, yes please.”

  “One moment, please.”

  After several seconds of silence, she caught the click of disconnection in her ear cau
sing her to jump from her perched position on her desk and slam the phone down. Racing out to the back of the shop, her stomach rolled when she noticed the delivery man had taken the delivery away and left before she even had chance to rectify the situation.

  “Give me a fucking break,” she snapped, spearing her eyes towards the ceiling and clamping her balled fists into her disheveled hair.

  “Pssst. Myla, Stephanie Franco is here,” whispered Avery, as she poked her head through the open-door way, “you may want to tidy yourself up.” She winked before removing herself from Myla’s sight.

  Grabbing her purse, she sped towards the ladies’ room, pulling her hair down from its hold as she went. “Calm down, Myla, you have this. She isn’t more important than anyone else, just breathe,” she muttered to her reflection as she touched up her make up and ran a brush through her locks. She is no one important. It’s not like she is a famous model for Victoria’s Secret. Right? Wrong!

  She stood breathing heavily with her eyes closed and her fingers tightly gripping the sink edge, too terrified to go out and face the most important client she had ever had in the last five years. If Stephanie Franco liked today’s finished product, she would wear it to The Amber Klein Benefit Ball next month in New York, where she was the Guest of Honor. With one more deep breath, she pushed herself away from the sink, opened her eyes and plastered a smile on to her face, before leaving the safe confines of the ladies’ room.

  “Miss Franco, it’s so wonderful to see you again,” she said nervously, as her sweaty palm met with Stephanie’s ice cold one.

  “Miss Fox,” she nodded, with a slight smile on her perfect, porcelain features.

  “Avery, please wheel out Miss Franco’s dress,” Myla said with an air of authority, of which Stephanie seemed to approve.

  Myla’s heart began to beat wildly in her chest and her stomach somersaulted with nerves. She kept her eyes trained on Stephanie hoping to see a glimmer of happiness or something, but she gave nothing away. Her face remained stoic. Discreetly wiping her palms down her hips, Myla smiled. “It’s been tailored to your exact specification, Miss Franco. With regards to the bodice, exactly fifteen thousand sequins have been meticulously hand-stitched to it.”

  “Did I approve this color?” Stephanie asked. Myla felt bile rise in her throat.

  “No, Miss Franco. The specific color you requested, I was unable to get despite my utmost effort to do so. This was the closest match I could find.”

  She nodded her head and continued to circle the mannequin. “The back, it is not fixed with a zip?”

  Swallowing hard she shook her head. “I’ve used clasps and hooks, that way the dress will be adjustable.”

  She nodded her head again. Then she smiled. “I like it, I like it a lot.”

  “Would you like to try it on?” Myla asked, feeling a rush of breath fly from her lips.

  “No. Unfortunately, I’m strapped for time. Have another two thousand sequins stitched around this part here, then finish it up and have it shipped out to me at my Morocco address,” she ordered. Myla’s happy demeanor suddenly evaporated.

  Another two thousand sequins? For fucks sake! “Of course, Miss Franco,” she replied through gritted teeth and a fake smile. Shaking hands again, Myla watched with angry eyes as her client left the premises and slid into a waiting limousine.

  “At least she liked it, Myla. You’ll be raking it in once that dress catches the eye of the modelling world,” Avery said as she joined Myla’s side.

  “Another two thousand sequins though? Does she even realize how painstakingly grueling that is? Not to mention time consuming, it took us well over a month to do the ones on it now.”

  “Looks like we are working around the clock again then, bestie.” Avery groaned as she turned the sign on the door to closed.

  *

  It was 2am when Myla finally walked through her front door. Her fingers were killing her from stitching sequins. Five hundred down, another fifteen hundred to go. Grabbing the mail from the floor she went straight into her bedroom, flipped on the light, and flopped down face first on to the bed. A cream envelope in her hand caught her attention. Sitting upright she turned it over and stared at the gold italic writing perfectly etched on the front. She groaned loudly before throwing herself back down on the bed. She knew what it was without even opening it. An invitation. An invitation to her only sister’s wedding back home in Florida. An invitation she had hoped would never arrive. “Yep, today turned out to be shit.” She closed her eyes and let the darkness, once more, consume her tired body.

  CHAPTER 2

  Taking out her pans and putting them on the countertop, Myla began busying herself with making a well needed, full on English breakfast. Anything to distract her mind from the unopened cream envelope, still sitting on the windowsill. Why had I thought inventing a boyfriend to my parents was a good idea to begin with? She filled the coffee machine with water. It seemed a good idea at the time. But now it’s a shit idea. Then plugged in the pot and switched it on. What am I going to do? Fake it, just like you’ve been doing for two years. He’s out of town on a legal matter. His mother is dying. His father has been caught in a drug bust. Anything is better than the truth. She slammed the frying pan down and let out a loud screech. Her thoughts were beginning to drive her insane. This whole thing had kept her awake for most of the night, as she had tossed and turned in a restless state of worry. Worry about a small lie she had once told her mother over the phone in a fit of anger. It all stemmed from her mother’s incessant picking at her for her lack of a love life. She had originally thought the lie would stop all questions. She was wrong. Before she knew it, the invented boyfriend had turned into her fiancé a year later, and not just any fiancé. Her fiancé was a hot shot lawyer in London, with his own firm. Hell, it had been easier to embellish than to tell the truth.

  The sharp, piercing ring of the doorbell brought her from her ‘feel sorry for me’ daydream. Turning the stove down, she padded her way towards the front door, allowing a small groan to escape her mouth as she placed an eye to the spy hole. Tying her hair up messily on top of her head, she opened the door with a smile. “Avery, Cass,” she started as she looked from one to the other and stepped aside from the doorway. “Come in.”

  “Something smells good, bitch.” Cass laughed and shrugged herself out of her coat then dropped it over the banister, before striding towards the aroma of bacon breezing through the hallway from the kitchen.

  “What did you bring her for?” Myla whispered to Avery.

  “She turned up this morning wanting female input about tonight’s date. What was I supposed to do? Slam the door in her face?” She whispered back.

  Shaking her head lightly, Myla rolled her eyes, kicking the front door shut behind Avery.

  “So, what brings you here, Cass? It’s not often you frequent this part of town,” Myla asked bitterly, as she added extra bacon and sausage to the pan.

  “I have a date tonight, and I thought Avery could give me some advice. You know, seeing how out of the two of you, she’s had sex in the last century,” Cass replied dryly.

  Ignoring the sarcasm in her voice, Myla busied herself with breakfast. “Coffee?” She asked turning and banging two cups together.

  “Sure, if we are staying for breakfast, might as well go the whole hog huh?” Avery smiled causing a dark stare to emanate from Myla.

  “So, I take it my brother wasn’t up to scratch then? He was a little gutted when he returned home. You could have been nicer to him given he has only recently come home from ten years in the Army,” Cass said. She opened the French doors to the garden and lit a cigarette.

  Myla snorted. “Nicer? Really, Cass? He picked spinach from between his teeth half the night in between comparing me to his ex-girlfriend, and as for his taste in attire, let’s not even go there.”

  Rearing her head back at Myla’s words, Cass looked offended. “My brother is a good catch ‘little miss chastity belt’! Had you have told me
exactly where you were going, I would have told him to dress up.”

  “If a man must be told to dress up to go on a date, Cass, He isn’t worth it. I want a man who knows how to dress for a woman, you know, like how we dress up for a man?”

  “You are never happy, Myla Fox. I think you are going to grow old and lonely, just a spinster.” Cass smiled as she flicked the ash off her cigarette into the rose bush next to the patio door.

  “There’s an ashtray on the floor, Cass. Please use it.” Myla scolded, gripping the butter knife in her hand even firmer.

  “So, you seem Miss Grumpy this morning?” Avery noted when she caught Myla’s attention.

  Shrugging her shoulders, she turned back to the stove and started to dish up the breakfast that she suddenly didn’t want anymore. “I didn’t get much sleep,” she mumbled.

  “Why is that?” asked Cass. Myla caught the excitement in her voice as she inwardly groaned at having to spill her guts to her two closest friends about the predicament she had gotten herself into.

  “No reason,” she replied. Placing the plates at the table she scurried to the cutlery drawer for eating utensils and grabbed the tomato sauce. “So, your date tonight?” Myla questioned, stabbing her fork into her egg yolk and watching the yellow color seep its way over her plate.

  Ramming a slice of bacon into her petite mouth, her eyes grew wide as she frantically chewed and held a finger up. Myla smiled. She remembered this was exactly what Cass had done to her the first time they had met. Cass worked in the recruitment agency that Myla had gone to in the desperate need to find some work when she had first moved to London. She was the receptionist, her mass of auburn curls, which framed her pixie-like face, made her thin, red lips stand out. Myla noted she could have benefited from a course of lip fillers.

  Walking in through the door that day, she had caught Cass eating a sandwich. She proceeded to hold up a finger with wide eyes as she had frantically tried to jam it down her throat before speaking. “Please don’t tell anyone you caught me eating at my desk, my boss will fire my ass,” she had begged, once her mouthful had been swallowed.