Page 73 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

A sharp cry sounded from outside. Before Deepa had time to react, much less question what was going on out there, the dressing room door was literally kicked open to reveal the repugnant Phillip.

“You!” he cried. “I knew I’d catch you back here eventually. You must have thought you'd got one up on me that night, you wretched little harlot. You think you can threaten me? In my own home?”

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” she asked coldly. Her fingers dug into the ice pack with such force, her bones ached. “To bring my savagery to the surface? In that case, I’m afraid it backfired.”

“I should have you arrested,” he seethed, jabbing one finger at her as he took a threatening step inside.

Between them, Roz slowly pushed her stool back from the vanity to stand, her hands curling into fists as she placed herself between Deepa and the man.

“You can't,” Deepa said, with a confidence she didn’t fully feel. “Not unless you want them to find out what you did to me.”

Dropping his voice, Phillip growled, “Then maybe I’ll come back here later to finish the job I started that night. London’s no place for a man-eating tiger. The city will thank me for putting down a dangerous animal.”

“I'm not a tiger,” Deepa snapped back. “You’re so incompetent, you can’t even grasp the results of your own curse. And you only wish I were a man-eater. I wouldn't put my mouth on you for all the money in the world.”

Outside, a crowd began to gather, morbidly curious and hungry for a scandal. Cherie was there, looking concerned as she directed her dancers to fetch security, and Appleton, who seemed wildly out of place and annoyed about it. A gaggle of showgirls and punters peered in around them, pointing and whispering at the unexpected entertainment.

“That would be the one thing you wouldn't do for money,” Phillip said with an ugly sneer. “And here I thought you’d sink to any depths for a few quid.”

“I would,” she retorted. Her grip on the ice was such that it was beginning to melt from the pressure. “Just not with you.”

“You smart-mouthed little—”

“Are you really going to threaten me in front of so many witnesses?” she interrupted. “I thought your style was more clandestine than this.” With one hand, she shooed him back as if he were no more than a whining mosquito. “You're embarrassing yourself. Get out before I have you thrown out on your ear.”

“You forget who has the power here. I cursed you once; I can do more than that. I can—”

With a rumble of disapproval, Roz took two strides across the room, pulled one arm back, and clocked him squarely in the face. With a garbled cry and a spurt of blood from an immediately-broken nose, Phillip dropped like a sack of potatoes, both hands clutching his face. The crowd tittered, enthused, and parted around him, doing nothing to break his fall.

“Enough of that,” Roz said shortly. “Deepa? You alright?”

On the floor, Phillip gave a weak moan, curled in a fetal position on his knees, forehead pressed to the floor.

“I’m fine,” Deepa said. Shaking her head, she stepped closer to Roz and reclaimed her hand. “Thank you.”

Roz sniffed, looking down her nose at the man curled in a heap. “What a bloody waste of space.”

“Deepa!” Jonathan came careening around the corner, skidded to a halt in the dressing room doorway, tripped over Phillip and stumbled headlong into the room. “Deepa, are you alright? I heard raised voices, and then I heard him saying the awfullest things to you—”

“I appreciate your concern.” Completely redirecting the conversation, Deepa put on a bright voice and asked, “Do you know Cherie?”

Cherie poked her head through the doorway, looking well-fed on gossip.

“I think you two should take a booth, have a few drinks on me, and get to know each other,” Deepa suggested.

Breaking into a bright grin, Cherie bounced into the room to grab a flustered Jonathan by both hands, cheerfully bopping into his personal space. “We’ve chatted once or twice,” Cherie told him. “I don’t suppose you remember me.”

“I certainly do,” Jonathan stammered with a fetching blush. “Are you sure—?”

“Very sure,” Cherie said. “Come on, love, let's get out of the way before Stu comes by to shovel this mess out with the trash.”

“Righto, good idea.” But Jonathan didn’t make an immediate move to leave, seemingly transfixed by Cherie’s face. “I never noticed before, but you have the most beautiful eyes. Green and blue at the same time.”

Cherie’s smile grew more heartfelt and she squeezed Jonathan's hands, beaming up at him. “Come on,” she repeated. “Let's go someplace we can talk. Tell me,” she added, leading him away, “do you cook at all?”

“In the kitchen? I can’t say I do, but I always thought it looked like jolly good fun. I wouldn’t mind giving it a crack.”

“Because I’ve got a curry I’ve been trying out, if you ever wanted to help me with it…”

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