Free Armani Angels by Cate Kendall Page B

long in the shower this morning.’
    â€˜Oh settle, petal. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,’ Oscar said, flipping through his iPhone to look at the day’s appointments. ‘Excellent, my first client’s not till ten. I am sooo cruisy!’ He flashed a grin at Julian while he reclined his seat and watched the passing pedestrians. ‘God, this car’s small. Why don’t you get a bigger one?’ Julian’s Mazda MX-5 was the asset he was second most proud of – his abs were the first – he liked to call the car by its American name, Miata, because it sounded more sophisticated.
    â€˜It’s hardly my fault you’re a man mountain,’ Julian replied in a snoot as he looked over and took in Oscar’s almost two-metre frame folded into the compact space that was the front seat of the convertible.
    â€˜Oh and it’s mine, is it?’ Oscar said.
    â€˜Look, I’m so sorry I’m in a pip this morning,’ Julian said. He drummed his fingers on the wheel. ‘I’ve got a decision to make as soon as I get to work and I can’t decide what to do.’
    â€˜Share,’ Oscar said, looking at Julian’s profile.
    â€˜You know Gemma Bristol?’
    â€˜Celebrity gal about town? PR consultant to the stars? We love Gemma.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Julian agreed, ‘we do love Gemma, even though she’s a wee bit scary. Well, one of our generous supporters is an English girl called Chantelle Portsmouth, who’s really quite nice but honestly you should see what she wears. Last time, the python-skin stilettos . . .’
    â€˜Focus, sweetheart,’ Oscar grumbled.
    â€˜Oh, yes, sorry, where was I? Gemma.’ Julian tooted the car ahead of him whose driver had missed the light turning green because she was applying lip gloss in her rear-vision mirror.
    â€˜So anyhoo, Chantelle rings me up yesterday morning and tells me that Gemma Bristol wants to give back, do good, make a difference, blah blah, you know how it goes with these mega-rich dames with too much time on their hands.’
    â€˜Do I what? I deal with that sort every day.’ Oscar was a solicitor specialising in family law at a prestigious law firm and, as a handsome gay man, had predominantly female clientele.
    â€˜Yes, so you know the type, always looking to help out and desperately wanting to be on our committee which, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, is a hand-picked group of well-connected women with very strong ties to the Melbourne establishment. And you know how important those contacts are to the Dame’s cause.’
    â€˜Absolutely. So what’s the problem?’
    Julian glanced over and saw that Oscar was checking Facebook on his iPhone. He clucked in annoyance at not having his partner’s one hundred per cent attention.
    â€˜Well, almost every week someone from Melbourne’s social set asks to join us, to spruce up their social résumé by riding on our coat tails, and we just can’t have it. Whenever we let someone new in, they just end up causing drama.’
    The traffic was finally moving smoothly and Julian indicated to turn left at the Toorak Road lights.
    â€˜How so?’ Oscar asked and then burst out laughing.
    â€˜What’s so funny?’ Julian asked, looking enquiringly at his partner’s handsome face.
    â€˜Oh my God, Ian and Liam have adopted a gorgeous puppy, and . . . they’ve named him Oscar. The hide of those boys!’
    â€˜Will you listen to me, you Facebook tart?’ Julian demanded.
    â€˜Sorry, sorry.’ Oscar touched his partner’s elbow gently and put his phone in his pocket.
    â€˜Well, where was I?’ Julian huffed. ‘Oh, that’s right, the committee crawlers.’ He scratched his smooth pate. ‘We often get the type who just want the prestige of being on the Dame’s committee and don’t actually have anything