Turning Up the Heat

Bill rolled his eyes. His lips thinned in exasperation. His front teeth settled on his lower lip, as though he was about to spit out a long stream of his familiar trademark swearwords.

‘If I don’t chuffing grin,’ he argued, ‘I’m going to look like a perverted old serial killer clutching grimly at his victims.’

Trudy tightened her mouth to conceal a reluctant smile.

Charlotte, sitting next to her, muffled a splutter of laughter in her wine.

Daryl, however, made no response. She seemed captivated by the bare breasts of one of the models. Tall and leggy, dressed in a waist-hugging scarlet Prada dress, Daryl would not have looked out of place standing alongside the models. Admittedly, her chest wasn’t as well developed as any of theirs but Trudy knew Daryl’s naked figure was superbly athletic.

Daryl wore a dreamy half-smile that suggested her thoughts were in the lewd and lovely dimension where she always seemed happiest. Daryl was bisexual, and shamelessly promiscuous. Her relationships were many and usually short-lived. Trudy didn’t dare imagine what she was thinking as she studied the models, but at that moment she almost envied Daryl the simplicity of her libido-dominated ambitions.

Trudy glanced at the models.

She caught herself staring at a pair of naked breasts. Hurriedly, she dragged her gaze away before anyone realised she’d been looking at erect nipples. Her cheeks were warm with the threat of a blush. She felt queasy with nervous apprehension.

‘I can imagine the ideal caption for this one,’ Harvey grumbled. ‘Thirteen tits on display at Boui-Boui.’

Charlotte giggled.

Trudy shot Harvey a reproachful glance.

‘I chuffing heard that,’ Bill growled. ‘And it’s not too late for me to find a new agent.’

Despite his display of grumpiness, Trudy knew Bill was enjoying some aspects of his recent success. He had been a Michelin-starred chef when they first met and now he had achieved celebrity status as an authority on kitchens and cuisine. He had a TV show and wrote cookery articles for two national magazines. He was regarded as an expert on all matters relating to restaurants and recipes and she knew he was savouring the deserved recognition.

Yet she was aware that he wasn’t enjoying every aspect of his success.

The muted mobile buzzed again. She ignored it.

She knew the artificiality of photo shoots and promotional publicity had begun to irritate Bill. The previous evening, on his return from the city, he had confided that all the fake poses and airbrushed pictures made him uneasy.

Trudy sympathised. She understood that such artifices flew in the face of his gruff northern honesty. But she also knew they were a necessity of his newfound celebrity.

She glanced at him, admiring the way he looked so commanding in a single-breasted white dinner jacket over an open-throated black shirt. He had a way of dressing that she always thought of as understated panache.

As he stood proudly between half a dozen stunning topless models, she could tell the smile on his face was false but she figured it was convincing enough to fool the photographer. It would probably be convincing enough to fool anyone who didn’t know him. But she did know him and she could see the small and telling details that would never be caught by a camera.

His fingers flexed and unflexed. She sensed that he wasn’t sure whether he should be touching the bare flesh of the shoulder beneath his hand; whether such contact would look intrusive and unsolicited or masterful and controlling. She didn’t envy him having to make such decisions.

Of course, if she’d been beneath his hand, Trudy knew that Bill would have shown no hesitation in being masterful and controlling. That was one of the many things she loved about him.

He caught her looking in his direction and smiled.

It looked like the first genuine grin he’d worn all day. It was certainly the first smile she’d seen him give this afternoon where the expression touched his eyes.

Instead of worrying about him, knowing that that would be of little use, Trudy quietly vowed to make sure his smile properly returned when they were alone in the evening.

It was Sunday and, under the new arrangement they had agreed, this was the one day of the week when they should have been spending time alone together. More importantly, it was one of the few nights of the week when they should both be sufficiently rested to make the most of their time together at the end of the evening.

There were a couple of boned and rolled sirloins waiting in the fridge. There was a bottle of matured Chivas Regal sitting in Bill’s office. And, once the whisky had been sampled and the steaks had been devoured, Trudy had grand plans for the evening.

Her pulse quickened as she thought of handing Bill a wooden spoon and then bending over a counter. She would call him ‘Mr Hart’ and beg him to –

The photographer clapped his hands. His voice was not particularly strong or commanding and he had to shout to make himself heard above the babble of conversations. He asked everyone in the background to remember their roles and pretend that they were dining.

Trudy shook her head. The photographer’s interruption had not derailed her train of thought. Her smile broadened as the image of her planned evening settled more comfortably before her mind’s eye. If she concentrated she would be able to imagine the weight of Bill’s skilful hands caressing her bare buttocks to warm her, ready for an evening’s delightful discipline. Twin spots of colour rouged her cheeks as she glanced at her table companions and feared that Daryl, Charlotte or Harvey might guess the lurid path of her thoughts from the crooked tilt of her smile.

‘What’s this photo shoot for?’ asked Daryl.

‘Glossy lads’ mags,’ Harvey said. ‘The second series of Billy’s new TV show goes out in a couple of months. I want to get him maximum exposure ready for that. In two months he’ll be in more magazines than staples.’

‘Will Bill’s show be as big as Master Baker?’

Harvey pulled a face. ‘Master-bloody-Baker,’ he grumbled. ‘Is that all anyone can talk about these days?’

Charlotte sat forward in her seat, clearly intrigued by the mention of Master Baker. She brushed long locks of dark hair from the side of her face and tucked them over her ear before slyly smiling at Harvey.

Master Baker was one of the main sources of conversation in the Sweet Temptation offices. Some days, when Trudy walked past Charlotte and Daryl, it was all she heard them discussing. Daryl was a huge fan of Kelly White. Charlotte favoured Tom Yates. The show aired on a Saturday night and the pair of them spent most of their Monday morning discussing what had been said, what decisions had been made and how they could have been played differently.

‘I love Master Baker,’ Charlotte told Harvey. ‘Tom Yates is such a bitch to some of those contestants.’

‘Only when they deserve it,’ Daryl reminded her. ‘If you want to see really scathing comments you have to go to Kelly.’

Trudy didn’t bother following the conversation. She had heard Daryl and Charlotte have this argument before. Although Trudy liked the show she couldn’t claim to be as big a fan as either of them.

‘Master Baker is a good show,’ Harvey conceded. ‘But it’s unlikely Billy’s show will get as many viewers. They’re in different time slots. They’re aimed at different audiences.’

Daryl nodded as though she’d been listening to what Harvey said. She pointed at one of the models and asked, ‘Have you got a phone number for that blonde?’

He frowned and glanced at the models. ‘Which blonde? There’s four of them.’

‘Any of them will do,’ Daryl admitted. ‘But I’d prefer it if you’ve got the number for the one with the pierced bellybutton.’

Like the rest of those at her table, Trudy found herself scanning the models to see which blonde had a pierced bellybutton. It was a glimpse of more female flesh than she needed. She turned away as soon as she’d worked out it was the blonde with the sculpted muscle tone and a thong so tight the crotch was moulding the shape of her labia. This was the blonde with the yin-yang tattoo on her shoulder. The one whose hand kept repeatedly touching Bill’s backside.

‘Beatrice?’ Harvey laughed. ‘Of course I’ve got her number.’

‘Could I have it?’ Daryl asked. She produced a business card, one that said she was Sweet Temptation’s head of administration. The card contained her mobile number and her email address. ‘Or could you get her to give me a call?’

‘Why don’t you go over and ask her yourself?’ Charlotte asked.

Daryl shook her head. ‘She’s busy working. Credit me with some professional integrity.’

Charlotte shook her head. ‘You have the professional integrity to perv off at a topless model and then try to get her mobile number from the model’s agent?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Table thirteen,’ the photographer exclaimed.