Heller's Revenge

By JD Nixon

Book 2 in the Heller series. Tilly Chalmers’ sexy boss, Heller, has a talent for making enemies. Not a forgive-and-forget kind of man, he has a few scores to settle - including one with Tilly’s brother. Tilly is kept busy juggling that constant worry with managing three new assignments as a rookie security officer - crowd control at a lingerie parade, babysitting an immature, sex-starved IT billionaire, and an unusual and emotional job with a famous environmental activist. But as usual, Tilly’s assignments don’t go quite to plan. All this, as well as trying to keep her vow not to sleep with her beautiful and enigmatic boss, no matter how much of a temptation he proves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JD Nixon
• Release date: Sep 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465887979

JD Nixon

I live in beautiful Queensland in Australia. I started writing in 2009 because I wanted to do something creative and haven't stopped since! I have two series of books:The Heller series (first book Heller - free!) features the frequently outlandish adventures of security officer, Tilly Chalmers, and her complicated relationship with her beautiful, mysterious and intense boss, Heller.The Little Town series (first book Blood Ties - free!) features police officer, Tess Fuller, and her struggle to survive a long-standing vendetta with the feral Bycraft family and at the same time manage the tense relationship between her new Sergeant, Finn Maguire, and her boyfriend, Jake Bycraft.I took a very long break from writing, but am now back!Heller 7: Heller's Family out in 2023.Hope you enjoy reading my books as much as I enjoyed writing them! I'd love to hear your feedback, so why not email me at: [e-mail]

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Heller’s Revenge

by JD Nixon

Copyright JD Nixon 2011

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters and locations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real locations, is purely coincidental.

JD Nixon is an Australian author. Australian English and spelling have been used in this book.

Discover other titles by JD Nixon available at many ebook retailers:

Heller series

Book 1: Heller (free ebook!)

Book 2: Heller’s Revenge

Book 3: Heller’s Girlfriend

Book 4: Heller’s Punishment

Book 5: Heller’s Decision

Book 6: Heller’s Regret

Book 7: Heller’s Family (to be published)

Little Town series

Book 1: Blood Ties (free ebook!)

Book 2: Blood Sport

Book 3: Blood Feud

Book 4: Blood Tears (to be published)

Book 5: as yet unnamed (to be published)

Cover design by Infinity Rain

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Chapter 1

Sweet baby Jesus, your ass is so big in that! he wailed in his heavy accent, clutching fistfuls of hair in anguish. It’s like watching two planets collide when you walk.

The other women in the dressing room with me sniggered softly behind their beautifully manicured hands, smugly confident in their own prodigiously perfect posteriors.

He circled me again, face creased with sheer wretchedness, almost on the point of tears. I’m ruined! Your huge ass is going to destroy my business!

I stared down at the little man raging in front of me and thought to myself, client or not, if he made one more crack about the size of my butt, I would seriously damage his ability to pass on his genes.

When I’d rolled out of bed this morning, running late and quietly cursing that final glass of wine I’d imbibed the previous evening, I certainly hadn’t expected to end up on a stage in front of five hundred people. Especially wearing nothing but a skimpy matching bra and panty set consisting of little more than a few tiny strategic strips of black leather held together with enough silver chains to overpower the entire cast of True Blood. The whole ensemble was accessorised with a pair of black leather and silver chain wristbands and a killer black pair of fuck-me high heels that I wobbled in dangerously every time I took a step.

As I reluctantly stepped out on to the stage, I surveyed the audience, realising that it was like one of those awful dreams where you find yourself naked at work for some unknown reason – but worse, so much worse, because this was actually happening to me. And although I visited the gym regularly, any woman was bound to start wondering how big her butt really looked in those bitsy panties when five hundred shallow, easily bored people were casting critical eyes over her body.

I scanned the crowd for my workmates, finding them easily by their black uniforms, gigantic heights and their stance, beefy arms crossed with menacing inference. Then I clocked their face-splitting grins at my predicament, not to mention their appreciative nods and winks at each other as they checked out my bare flesh. Fuming, I contemplated how to make three huge men permanently disappear, to prevent news of my embarrassing situation finding its way back to the office and our boss, Heller. Perhaps a chainsaw and an acid bath might help?

It had all started well. As a newly licensed security officer, Heller had personally chosen me to join the three men in a job at a major upmarket department store. The brief was to provide security for its annual lingerie fashion show and from the conversations I’d overheard in the security section of Heller’s Security & Surveillance, competition for the job amongst the men had been feral. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that Jenna Mackenzie, the nation’s top lingerie model, would be making a guest appearance modelling the world-famous Masquerade brand of racy burlesque lingerie. Or maybe it was just because mountain-sized men surging with testosterone seemed to be extraordinarily interested in attractive young women parading around in scanty nothings.

I wasn’t sure how the three men with me had won their coveted positions on the assignment. I suspected it had something to do with man-to-man combat in a crowded arena wearing loosely-tied miniscule loincloths, bodies oiled, using nothing but their hands and incredible muscles as weapons. Okay, that’s probably just my own personal fantasy, but it could have been true if Heller didn’t run his business so tightly. Heller’s was a monument to muscled machismo and as the business’ only female employee, I still struggled to find my place among all the brawny men, despite having worked there for five months.

I’d been surprised by who had been chosen in the end. Heller and his hardarse security manager, Clive, hadn’t been able to spare any of the older, more experienced men like Rumbles and Tysen, because they were needed for more important jobs. But the assignment wasn’t judged by anyone to be potentially dangerous, even though in the past Jenna had been the target of a couple of over-zealous male fans who verged on being stalkers. So the privilege had fallen instead to three younger, greener men. At twenty-five, I was the oldest of our team and with the least experience, but my first impression of the trio was that they were all of an age to still instinctively think with their little heads rather than their big ones. And that would make the lingerie show assignment just that tad more interesting for everyone.

We had driven to the department store in one of the Heller’s black fleet 4WDs, wearing our uniforms – black polo shirt with a gold monogrammed H logo on the pocket and SECURITY written in gold across the back, black cargo pants, chunky black boots and a black utility belt. The men were fired up and swapping wisecracks on the way, and on arrival, we’d taken up our positions well before the show started. One guy, Tony, and I were at the front near the stage, the other two at the back, keeping an eye on the crowd and grumbling about the distance between them and the catwalk. Four of us seemed like overkill to me as the organisers had carefully handpicked the guests. I’d read in the paper that not getting an invitation was the social kiss-of-death in that circle of people who didn’t work too hard for a living in this city. I hardly need to mention that I hadn’t received an invitation, but casting my eyes over the assorted posers, butt-kissers and Z-grade celebrities in attendance, I had no great regret about that.

The show was going smoothly and the audience was behaving itself, but the continuous stream of young lovelies strutting down the catwalk distracted Tony from his duties. I guess that’s why Heller sent me along, so that at least one of us could keep our mind on the job. Tony stared up at the women, his mouth agape, an expression of pure craving on his face that made me wonder how long it had been since he’d last scored a shag. I’d seen that look of desperate, despairing sexual hunger before – in the mirror, before I started working for Heller.

Thank God those days were long gone, I thought happily, letting my mind dwell momentarily on my planned evening of carnal excess, before dragging it back to Tony’s dilemma. I reckon a colossal mothership, all strobing lights and futuristic sound effects, could squish half the audience as it landed and release an army of aliens to take me away for a thorough probing, and Tony wouldn’t even notice, all his attention captured by the procession of perky boobs and butts in front of us. He thought his cup runneth over, and I thought so did quite a few of the bra cups of the buxom models on display and speculated on how much of that perkiness was surgically acquired.

The first half of the show finished and the models disappeared offstage. In the interval, before the Masquerade parade started, the guests were plied with French champagne and canapes made from hideously expensive ingredients, but so small in size that plankton would still have been hungry after eating a couple. We weren’t meant to eat on duty, and certainly not food prepared for guests, but my tummy was growling because I’d missed breakfast in my rush to be ready on time.

I managed to nick three canapes from a tray borne by a spotty teenaged waiter whose attention was momentarily diverted by the unnatural cleavage of one of the nation’s top soapie stars. I remembered her from my own brief stint as a minor character on the soapie Summer Days – a woman so thick that she thought climate change was when winter turned to spring. The bitchy joke circulating at the time amongst us lesser beings on the set was that she didn’t have a body double, but a brain double.

I shrank back into a dark corner in the doubtful case that she’d recognise me. Hastily, before anyone noticed, I shoved the canapes in my mouth, mulling over the flavours as I chewed. Truffles – tick; Wagyu beef – tick; west coast lobster – tick; southern coast oysters – tick; caviar – tick; hint of saffron – tick; and I believed that the shiny substance on top was 24-carat edible gold leaf. I had just dined on the world’s wankiest titbits.

Hey you! hissed an accented voice in my direction.

Guiltily I spun around, desperately swallowing the last evidence of my misbehaviour. Oh shit! I was in trouble now. That mouthful of mine had probably cost the organisers close to $200.

Come here! the voice hissed again.

Now the models had left the stage, Tony finally noticed me again and raised his eyebrows in question. I shrugged, squared up and went to face my bollocking. I was probably going to be fired, sent back to Heller’s in disgrace and replaced with a colleague who was more professional and less hungry. I dreaded what Heller would say about that. He could be a little scathing sometimes.

In here, the voice hissed once more and I was grateful that I’d be fired in private, not in front of everyone, which wouldn’t have done Heller’s branding (nor my lifespan when he found out) any favours. With one last rueful glance over my shoulder at Tony, I pushed through the gold curtains that separated the catwalk from the backstage area to confront my accuser.

He was a tiny man, so camp that boy scouts could have pitched their tents on him. He had shoulder-length brown hair generously tinted with blond, a wisp of a pencil moustache across artificially inflated lips, thick black straight eyebrows and black bedroom eyes enhanced with a touch of makeup.

He was wearing something straight out of The Dominatrix Doctrine for Diminutive Dudes – black singlet top featuring a sparkling silver silhouette of Lady Gaga, silver-studded black leather jacket, tight purple leather pants blatantly stuffed with socks, knee-high chunky black military boots that made him look as though he was considering invading a small country in his holidays, and more piercings than a porcupine’s blow-up sex doll. I’m not great with accents, so couldn’t tell where his was from, but I guessed some part of Europe – maybe France? It was certainly different to Heller’s accent, which I also had miserably failed to identify.

Oh God, look what I’m reduced to, the man groaned, glowering up at me with disgust. I’m fucking ruined.

Pardon, sir? I asked, bemused.

You work for the organisers, don’t you?

I nodded.

Can you walk?

What a weird question. Of course I can. You just saw me walk over to you.

"Not that gorilla gait! Can you walk? Strut? Display the goods?"

What the hell was he talking about? "Of course I can walk," I repeated, emphasising the word just as he had done. Maybe he was hard of hearing or his English wasn’t very good?

Fine, because I’m desperate and you’ll just have to do. At least you’re tall enough.

Hey, if you need a tall person, my colleagues are taller than me and – I helpfully began to tell him as he scampered down a hall, impatiently beckoning me to follow.

He stopped and spun around, angry disbelief on his face. Are you jerking me off?

What? I asked, startled. No! Eww!

I don’t need fucking men!

That’s not what my gaydar was telling me. I thought for a moment. "Did you mean am I jerking you around?"

That’s what I said, he insisted huffily.

I wasn’t going to correct him. I didn’t know who he was and he might have been someone who could get me fired. I hadn’t failed to notice that the canape-eating incident hadn’t yet been mentioned and I sure as hell wasn’t going to raise it if he wasn’t.

No, I’m not jerking you –

Hurry up! he snapped, interrupting. "We’re going to be late. Merde! I’m finished in this business if I don’t sort this out!"

I followed him to a crowded dressing room buzzing with pre-show panic and activity. I wasn’t unfamiliar with that, having done some live acting before. Yeah, okay, I was playing a piece of fruit in a play for primary school kids, but the atmosphere was the same. Trust me.

In the middle of the melee sat Jenna Mackenzie, minions flapping around her making last minute touches to her makeup and hair. She ignored them, looking serenely divine, staring at herself in the mirror, practising her provocative pout. She wore a red leather bustier that cupped her impressive boobs, hooked by suspenders to red fishnet stockings. A miniscule pair of red satin panties, not enough material to blow your nose on, and impossibly high red stilettos completed her ensemble. All the other women wore a riot of styles and materials, but each in solid black. Jenna would be a standout in her scarlet-woman red.

I found someone! the tiny man shouted into the chaos and everyone stopped what they were doing to turn and cheer. It’s not good, but it will have to do.

I sure hoped that I wasn’t the ‘it’ he was referring to. I could feel my blood temperature rising already. He dragged me through the crush to a clothes rack filled with lingerie, his eyes scouring my body before choosing a set.

He thrust them at me. You’ll be wearing my fabulous Chain Gang, the latest in my Captivating Convict range. So get changed and snap to it.

What?

"I’m a lady down tonight and . . . Oh mon Dieu! I’m so desperate! he sighed dramatically. You’ll have to fill in for her. Otherwise we’ll be lopsided."

Lopsided?

He pushed me towards a small changing cubicle. Do you keep your lady hedges trimmed?

What? Suddenly we were talking about gardening? I was confused – conversationally, this guy was all over the place.

He sighed with exaggerated exasperation. "Down there! Is your girlie garden well-tended?"

Huh?

He stared at me as if I was an imbecile. Do you bare your goods in the downstairs department?

Now he was talking about shopping? I-I don’t understand.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, he complained, eyes rolling to the heavens at my stupidity. Do you wax your pussy?

"Oh! Geez, how much more personal could a man be? Um . . . yes . . . everything’s in order down there, thank you very much," I replied with Antarctic frostiness.

"Well, that’s something to be thankful for at least. I don’t want any of my ladies looking as though they’re trying to smuggle a Yeti through Customs."

I felt as though this had gone on long enough and rounded on him. Okay, who the hell are you and what exactly are you expecting me to do?

There was a sudden hush and every eye flew to me in shock. A hum of offended whispering rippled around the room as the tiny man drew himself taller and addressed me with dignity. "I am Jules Roux."

I stared at him blankly, no wiser.

Annoyed at having to explain further, he continued, The designer of the world-renowned Masquerade brand of lingerie.

"Oh. That Jules Roux," I pretended.

He huffed and pushed the lingerie set into my hands again. I’m a model down tonight and you are going to fill in for her. On the catwalk.

Oh no, I said, shaking my head and backing away. I couldn’t possibly do that. I’m just a security –

I don’t give a shit what you are! You work for the organisers and you are filling in for them. For me. I won’t have my beautiful Jenna lopsided at her grand finale. I need you to make up the numbers. It’s a great honour to be asked by me, you know. Models over the world beg to be chosen to be in my shows. He thrust the lingerie at me once more. Now get ready. He stalked away.

No, I repeated to his retreating back. It was a ridiculous request – I was no model. I’d only recently committed to becoming a security officer and I didn’t want to change careers now.

He turned around. "Do you want me to tell the organisers that it’s all because of you that my show was a failure? That Jenna was embarrassed in front of all of those important, influential people out there because of you?"

Important, influential people? Had we been looking at the same crowd? Well no, of course –

Your choice, darling, he snapped, interrupting. And you have five minutes to get ready.

He departed, leaving me behind with a disagreeable dilemma. I asked myself what Heller would want me to do, but I already knew the answer. Always with an eye for a business opportunity, Heller would want me to keep the client happy. This would improve his chance of being chosen again to provide security for the same show next year, and maybe also some of the department store’s other fashion parades throughout the year. But still I hesitated, lingerie dangling in my hand, glancing at the women surrounding me in various states of undress.

I can’t, I said to them faintly. I’m a security officer.

Please? asked Jenna in a soft wheedling tone, slinking over to me, the minions in her trail complaining that she’d never be ready in time. It would mean so much to me. It’s a huge show for me and I won’t have the right number of women behind me on my grand finale if you don’t.

She stroked the lingerie set that I was clutching, causing the silver chains to tinkle together charmingly. Her moisturised, manicured hand clasped mine and her large angelic hazel eyes fixed on me in supplication. She shook her carefully curled blonde hair back behind her shoulders and used one finger to wipe her upper lip line to remove excess lippy – all done with languorous eroticism. God, she was hot!

Well, okay, I found my mouth saying, even though my brain was giving me very firm and sensible instructions to turn the offer down.

Yay! she smiled, bouncing up and down and clapping her hands. My finale is going to be perfect, after all.

She’s much nicer than I expected from a top model, I thought, staring at her dreamily. But then she grabbed my hand and dragged me back to the changing cubicle where she ungently pushed me inside and threw the lingerie at me.

So get those fucking undies on now, she ordered, "and stop your whining. I will not have some fucking plain nobody ruining my grand finale." She stalked back to her chair, not even casting me a fleeting backwards glance. She was used to being obeyed.

Plain? Me? I was insulted. Didn’t she know that Heller coughed up a lot of money to keep me looking this good? Appearances were important to him, and as well as being one of his security officers, I also occasionally accompanied him to meetings with prospective clients, whenever he felt a nice cleavage or pair of legs might help win him the job.

Muttering under my breath, I reluctantly peeled off my uniform and underwear and replaced them with the bra and panties, spending two minutes simply trying to untangle the silver chains.

Shoes! Extra large as ordered! yelled an unknown voice and the two high-heeled stilettos flew over the curtain, almost knocking me unconscious. I yanked them on, resenting the Big Foot comment. Tall women have larger feet – everyone knew that.

The curtain was yanked aside and one of the minions dragged me from the cubicle and pushed me into a vacant chair. A duo of stylists pounced on me, one liberally plastering makeup on my face while the other took control of my hair. The hair stylist, an older man with suspiciously smooth skin and kind eyes, loosened my hair from the bun I wore for work, twisting and pulling on it uncomfortably.

Hey, be gentle! I squealed.

There’s nothing gentle about this business, my darling, he warned as he cruelly plied the curling wand.

I’m not in this business, I grumbled quietly, praying he wouldn’t singe my scalp he was working so quickly. He shot me a sympathy-face as we both watched me transform from security officer to sultry vixen. Afterwards, I regarded myself critically in a full-length mirror, twisting and turning, not happy with the skimpiness of the underwear or the kilogram of makeup I was forced to wear. God Heller, I thought to myself gloomily, the things I do for you! The only saving grace in the whole sorry situation was that all of the models donned burlesque half-masks – frivolous lacy, feathery disguises to reinforce the Masquerade branding. They also provided a small modicum of anonymity. Or so I hoped.

Frowning at myself in the mirror, I suddenly felt a hand on each butt cheek and swung around, ready to rearrange some dental work.

And that’s when Jules Roux made his rude comments about my arse ruining his business. I listened politely to his opinion and then pointed out, equally polite, that any normal woman’s arse would look huge in those panties and that there was better coverage offered by a shoelace.

"My gorgeous lingerie is designed for a particular type of figure," he sneered, clearly implying that mine wasn’t even close to living up to that level of particularity.

What? A stick figure?

We eyed each other off for a few tense ticks of the clock.

He waved his hand at me a few times as if swatting away a particularly persistent mosquito, and looked down his nose at me – which was quite a feat considering I was much taller than him. I care not for your uneducated, oafish opinions about fashion. What would you know?

I shrugged. "Well, I am a woman."

That’s debatable, he muttered under his breath.

He made it very difficult for me to remain amiable, so I gave up trying. And I have to buy and wear these overpriced, uncomfortable little pieces of torture that you design.

He sniffed with derision. "I doubt the likes of you could afford one of my creations. Now, listen up. I don’t have one second more to waste on you. When it’s your turn to go out, you walk to the end of the catwalk, strike a pose for a few seconds, then turn and walk back, he barked. Think you can manage that?"

I nodded brusquely. Yeah, I think I can manage that. I learned to walk a long time ago.

He eyeballed me with undisguised loathing, but continued, Then Jenna will make four walks down the stage by herself, wearing different sets. On her fifth and final walk, she will wear my masterpiece set, Climactic Angel from my Heavenly Hedonist range. She’ll be accompanied by all the ladies, acting as handmaids to her celestial greatness. I rolled my eyes. You will be situated in the least conspicuous place – in the middle. Understood?

I nodded again, but this time kept my smartarse comments to myself, growing increasingly nervous about it all. What if I tumbled in these heels? What if I had a wardrobe malfunction in this tiny lingerie? What if I fell off the stage? What if Mum and Dad saw me? Or even worse, what if Daniel and Niq saw me? They wouldn’t stop laughing for a week.

A blare of raunchy music from the stage area made us all jump.

"It’s time! Mon fucking Dieu! It’s time, ladies, Jules panicked, clapping his hands. Get in your places."

Obediently, the women formed a neat and orderly line in the direction of the stage. I didn’t know where I was supposed to be and frantically tried to join them, pushing in a few places, only to be repeatedly shoved out of the queue with a tart, "Not here!"

Huffing with impatience, Jules grabbed my elbow and forced me between a curvy redhead and a very young, well-endowed blonde, who needlessly jostled me from behind to show her annoyance about her spot in the line-up being stolen. I turned and mouthed "sorry" to her, but her cold, hard, ambitious eyes warned me that she wasn’t overly familiar with that emotion.

One by one, Jules gave the women the go-ahead to launch themselves out on to the stage, watching anxiously from a gap in the curtain. He greeted them each on their return with a backhand compliment – Beautiful posture, my darling, but maybe a little too slow? Wonderful stepping, my lover, but perhaps next time a little more ladylike?

My heart thumped louder as the queue shortened, until it was my turn.

Jules turned to me with a fake smile until he realised it was me. "Oh, you. Get out there! And remember to walk, not lope. You’re a goddess, not a beast!"

People pushed me forwards and suddenly I was launched through the gold curtains on to the catwalk by somebody’s unkind hand in the middle of my back, making an inelegant entrance from which I battled to recover. And that’s when I wished I was fast asleep in my cosy bed dreaming the naked-at-work dream and not experiencing it. Then I remembered my parents’ wise words to always take pride in my work and do the best job I could. So I threw back my shoulders, pushed out my chest, flung my hair with attitude and strutted down that catwalk in those dangerously high heels, swinging my hips as best I could.

But of course I was embarrassingly bad compared to the other women and could hear the cruel sniggers and derisive comments from the audience even from where I perched above them. As I stood at the end of the catwalk, striking a pose that nearly dislocated my hip, troubled about the creeping wedgie that made walking increasingly uncomfortable, I regretted my recent career choice. My amused colleagues, unfortunately able to recognise me under my mask, only confirmed that regret. Life had been so much easier when I was unemployed and starving.

"Turn! For Christ’s sake, turn!" hissed Jules from the gold curtain, loud enough for everyone else in the vicinity of the stage to hear as well.

So I turned and headed back towards the gold curtain, my mind consumed with that wedgie and worried about everyone judging the size of my butt. When I returned to the safety of the dressing room, Jules confronted me.

"I said goddess! Not fucking gorilla! he bleated. You are ruining me!"

I wondered briefly if I was wearing enough silver chain to strangle the little jerk, but before I could test that theory, the remaining women awaiting their turn distracted him and the moment passed. I lurked backstage, discreetly remedying my wedgie, until it was time for Jenna’s grand entrance. Applause thundered around the audience at her appearance and continued through her four presentations. Watching from the sidelines, I was impressed at how efficient and well run the backstage area was, and how quickly Jenna was able to change clothes with the help of the minions.

After Jenna’s return from her fourth solo walk, the backstage erupted into a frenzy.

It’s time for the finale, ladies, Jules agitated, clapping his hands again. Places everyone. Quickly!

We were arranged in two equal straight lines, side-by-side, ready to trail behind Jenna, who was resplendent in an over-the-top red set complete with huge extended red wings fixed to her back. After a mad scramble, I found my place in the middle of the right-hand line. The models standing with me didn’t seem very happy about being relegated to the most inconspicuous place, probably preferring to have been allocated a spot at the beginning or end of the line. But I was grateful to blend in.

A tumultuous roar greeted Jenna’s return and she graciously waved at the crowd to the left and to the right as she strutted down the stage, the rest of us in her wake. The plan was for us to remain in place, either side of the catwalk, to flank Jenna when she pirouetted at the end and returned backstage. We’d been given bags of red rose petals to throw over her when she passed us.

Tony stared at her mesmerised, as if he’d never seen a lingerie-clad climactic angel before. I searched for my other two colleagues and found them in a similar hypnotised state, goggling at the stage, paying no attention to their surroundings.

Men! I smiled to myself. Luckily nothing was happening.

And that was when I noticed the fracas at the door.

Chapter 2

I anxiously craned my neck around the models to see what was going on. It appeared as though someone, a man, was trying to push his way into the show without an invitation, only to be told by one of the store managers to clear off. But the interloper refused to leave, his voice growing louder and louder, becoming increasingly argumentative. The outer layer of the crowd began to notice the disagreement between the two men, their concentration straying from Jenna’s finale to the more heated performance behind them.

My two workmates at the back were much closer to the action than Tony and I, but their eyes were glued to Jenna, oblivious to everything else going on around them. I tried to catch their attention but it was no use from this distance. I centred on Tony instead and as the troupe of models passed by him, I leaned out from my line of women and looked in his direction.

"Psst, I hissed as quietly as possible. Random members of the audience glanced up at me in surprise, thinking I was summoning them. But unfortunately, not Tony. His focus was one hundred percent on Jenna, not me. I tried again. Tony."

Nothing.

I raised my voice a little. "Hey Tony! Psst!"

More nothing from Tony. He wasn’t even looking in my direction, his head tracking Jenna’s progress. The other women in the line with me shot me dirty looks and elbowed me roughly, whispering at me fiercely to shut up.

Shit! From my vantage point on the stage I could see that the fracas threatened to quickly escalate into a full-blown brawl as the insistent, and possibly drunk, interloper tried to force his way into the room. Then I realised that I recognised him – Frankie Hazzard, a former celebrity host whose game show, Rate My Date, was once the most popular program on TV. People had queued for hours to be in the audience during its heyday, and had even held Rate My Date parties at their own homes.

The show threw two contestants,

Reviews for Heller's Revenge

[bookjunkie777 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Captivating and night suckling good book. I didn't want to put it down. But, I have to say, I would have left the job when asked to be the messenger to a family member and then the fight would have definitely pushed me to leave for good. Obviously, being around Hellen is not good for Tilly's health or mental wellbeing. Good character development and storyline.

[emanate28 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Still fun to read, but not so great as "Heller". As a book, the different cases that Tilly takes on in this volume are completely disjointed that it's more like a compilation of 3? separate Tilly episodes, rather than an integrated tale (the last one made the best tale). Heller's 'revenge' seemed like a small side-line, and the sexual bits felt gratuitous...not to mention that there were waaaayyy too many references to Tilly's breasts. Tilly herself is a self-respecting modern-day young woman who knows how to say "no", but somehow, rather than feeling reaffirmed by girl-power, I felt like it was just reinforcing a male idea of a sexy girl. Having said all that, though, I was still intrigued enough that I went on to read "Heller's Girlfriend" :p