Anyone But You: A BRAND NEW feel-good celebrity, second chance romance (Love is in the Air Book 2)

Chapter Ten

As she disembarked the aircraft, Scarlett spotted a familiar sight. She was used to seeing huge camera lenses at the airfield perimeter as journalists discovered, by whatever furtive means, that someone famous was on board her aircraft, but she had learned to dread the sight of this particular journalist, distinctive in his chequered red cap. The long lens attached to his camera was aimed at the aircraft, and it took only an instant for her to acknowledge there wasn’t a famous starlet about to launch herself out of her aircraft door. No boy band members hid inside either, their spiky hair sprayed to death so the wind wouldn’t touch it, as they positioned themselves like matching piano keys on the aircraft steps, broad smiles at the ready.

In fact, her two passengers, who were something big in Microsoft, had already left, breathing in the cold morning air, as an understated Mercedes pulled up to the steps and whisked them away. That left only one person as the focus of the journalist’s attention — and Scarlett soon realised that one person was herself.

The flash of his camera confirmed it as she walked down the steps. She missed her footing stumbling down the rest of the stairs, too busy glaring at him. Thankfully, one of the engineers caught her and saved her from hitting the tarmac, and though it shook her up, she was more upset about being photographed than almost breaking her neck.

As the journalist disappeared into the distance, she watched him anxiously, knowing she could do nothing about him. She was totally on her own this time.

The engineer stared at where, only seconds before, the journalist had been snapping away for all he was worth. ‘What’s that all about, then?’

‘No idea,’ she said, shielding her face in case more stray photographers lurked in the undergrowth.

She made it into the crew room without any more incidents but her heart hammered as George, the flight operations guy, looked up from his computer, with interest in his eyes.

‘Someone’s been checking up on you, Scarlett. Errant boyfriend, I’m thinking? Tried to be clever pretending he knew all about your flight and was checking on what time you landed. He didn’t bank on my deflective skills though, I’m guessing he doesn’t realise we tell more fibs in aid of our clients than all the American presidents put together.’

‘What did he want to know?’

‘If anyone was meeting you when you landed, mostly, even though he tried to couch it as something else.’

Letting out a sigh, she checked the date on her phone and cursed. She’d been dreading something would happen once Axel, Sky’s brother, was let out of jail. She bit her lip, thinking fast. Damn it. ‘George, text me if you need to get hold of me. I might turn my phone on silent for a few days, but I’ll check it regularly.’

George stared at the computer screen, already losing interest in their conversation. ‘Sure thing. Have fun.’

‘Thanks George. Bye for now,’ she said, shoving the paperwork from the flight into the correct pigeon hole, before nipping into the ladies with her overnight bag. The quicker she changed out of her uniform the better chance she had at being undetected by the press. After climbing into her car, she slid on her sunglasses and pulled the sun visor down for extra camouflage, unsure of her next move.

She decided to risk going home, but as she drew level with her apartment, she saw a man hovering around the grassy area in front of it. As soon as he spotted her approaching vehicle he lifted a camera up in readiness. She ought to have known there would be a journalist staking out her home. They all had that same shifty look about them and this one was no exception.

She hadn’t moved apartments after the reporters had plagued her the last time, thinking it was all over, and now she cursed her lack of judgement.

Putting her foot down, she swept past him down the road. She knew just the place to go.

Somewhere they would never find her.

* * *

She slowed her car down as she approached the street where Dylan usually played but he wasn’t busking, as she’d hoped. It took the wind out of her sails and she realised she’d been looking forward to seeing him, as much as having somewhere to hide out. She was at a loss now, not having a plan B in place. She could maybe try her sister, but she didn’t want to bring trouble to her or Elsa.

She was about to drive on when she spotted Beanie loitering outside the high street sports shop attached to his dog by a long piece of string. She pulled up in relief and climbed out of the car. ‘Beanie, hey?’ she called.

Beanie turned around and smiled as he approached her, recognising her instantly. ‘Hi, looking for Dylan?’ he asked.

She nodded, praying that he could be found.

‘Haven’t seen him today,’ Beanie said cheerily.

Scarlett’s heart began knocking against her ribs as panic set in, dreading having to go through the same scenario as last time: journalists jostling her as they threw questions at her, wanting every intimate detail of her relationship with Sky, their camera lights flashing in her face and making her feel like a criminal. Dylan would be a safe haven; none of the journalists she had previous dealings with would know him and she could avoid their intrusion into her life again.

Fortunately, Beanie was happy to oblige with Dylan’s address and Scarlett passed him a ten-pound note as she thanked him, unsure if he actually lived on the streets, or if he’d be insulted by a handout. ‘Food for your dog,’ she added hastily, just in case.

‘Cheers. He’ll have pie and chips with me at the chippie later.’ Beanie palmed the money and gave her a cheery smile, before pulling on the dog’s length of string tied to its collar and disappearing.

Reaching Dylan’s place, she tried the bell, but it didn’t seem to work, so she banged her fist on his door. A couple of guys on tiny jump bikes, hoods up over their heads, biked slowly past, and as she stood there, trying to ignore the way they looked at her, she felt both overdressed and vulnerable.

She knew Dylan hadn’t much money, but the road where he lived had to be one of the worst she’d ever seen. She’d passed houses with cardboard pushed up against window frames in place of glass, cars without wheels, and rotten-smelling debris flowing out of battered bins that looked as if foxes or rats had been at it. Handbag held tight to her chest, she tried not to judge Dylan because of where he lived, as she waited, praying it wouldn’t be an aborted trip.

To her relief Dylan opened the door, wearing his usual faded jeans and a zip-up hoodie that was frayed at the sleeves and looked as if the zip was broken.

His face lit up like a child being offered sweets. ‘Hey, Scarlett, what brings you here?’ His threadbare t-shirt underneath the zip-up declared: Frankie’s Gone to Hollywood. His curly hair stood on end as if he’d been running his fingers through it, which he probably had if he was composing. He looked dishevelled — and completely gorgeous.

Scarlett couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face as she tried to convince herself that she was just relieved he was in. ‘Frankie Goes to Hollywood?’ she asked.

‘I’ll do a cover version of Relax, one day,’ he said deadpan.

‘Please don’t.’ She grimaced at the thought.

He smiled, keeping his eyes fixed on her. ‘Come in,’ he said, lips twisting. ‘If you’re feeling brave.’

She pushed past a bike, tyres thick with mud, and climbed over a crate stacked high with empty bottles, almost falling into the sitting room as she failed to see a random bike helmet. She took in the chaos that was where he lived and blanched. ‘Have you been burgled?’

‘What? No, it’s always like this. I’ve given up trying to tidy it — waste of time when my two housemates seem intent on destroying my every effort.’ He took in her shocked expression. ‘You look pale.’

She patted her loose ponytail, and tucked in the escaping tendrils half-heartedly. She wasn’t used to showing herself in a less than perfect get-up, and felt reprimanded.

‘Are you ill? What’s happened — why are you here?’ He sounded suddenly almost panicked on her behalf and she realised turning up at his place unannounced was rather a rash thing to do. But he put a hand up to her cheek and she leaned into it, immediately knowing she’d made the right decision.

‘How do you know where I live?’

She waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Beanie,’ she replied simply. ‘I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this. I do have friends, really I do, but I need somewhere, erm, somewhere out of the way,’ she ended lamely as her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m in a bit of a state and not sure what to do for the best, apart from drink myself under the table.’

‘You’re in the right place for that, we have plenty of tables. No, no . . . that’s not what I mean . . . Come in. Sit down.’ He heaved a pile of books off a chair and onto a table cluttered with used mugs, newspapers and strangely, a flowering pink hyacinth in a pot. He saw Scarlett staring at it as if it was as unlikely as seeing a polar bear in the desert. ‘Present from a visiting mother,’ Dylan said. ‘What’s that expression, “putting a band-aid on a broken leg.” Improves nothing.’

Scarlett looked around in horrified fascination. ‘I see what you mean.’ She gathered her uniform skirt to her as if it might become contaminated.

‘Let me get you a cup of tea. Are you hungry?’

‘No!’ She didn’t mean to sound so panicked, but seriously someone could die here and be kicked in a corner and not be noticed until they were well rotted — like garden manure. ‘Sorry, but the bacteria in this house could keep a scientist in work for years.’

‘It’s dire, I know. And you with that OCD thing going on. I saw how you lined up your spoon with your napkin at the café. It’s a slippery slope and this can’t be easy for you.’

‘I do not have OCD. I just like things to be in their proper place. Or atleastclean.’

‘Sorry. You’re one hundred percent right.’ He cast a look around and pulled a face. ‘Shall we get out of here?’

‘That’d be great.’ She nodded enthusiastically. ‘We could grab a drink somewhere, as I don’t think I’m going to get much more done today. My mind is too preoccupied.’

‘Sure.’ He nodded like a car dog grinning all the while. ‘It’s so lovely to see you, you have no idea. You didn’t forget you had a date with me, did you?’

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

‘But this doesn’t count as the date, does it?’ he stressed. ‘This is just an added bonus, right?’ His sincere eyes, pools of dark blue, waited for her response, insistent and caring.

‘Dylan, I have far more important things on my mind right now.’

‘Oh, so, I haven’t been on your mind, then?’ he teased.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring his question, not in the mood to pander to his neediness. ‘Can I leave my car outside your house?’

‘Depends if you ever want to drive it again.’

‘Really? It’s that bad?’

‘We can park it in Mac’s car park, if you like. He won’t mind as long as we have a drink there. We can go somewhere else afterwards so we don’t have to spend the evening watching Stanley slop beer over himself and have Mac spit chewed peanuts at us.’

‘Okay. That would be great.’

Dylan frowned. ‘You okay?’ he asked again.

‘No, not really.’

‘Let’s go, then. You look like you could use a drink.’ He checked the time on his mobile. ‘Mac opens up in about five minutes so your timing couldn’t have been better.’

‘Great, I believe vodka is popular to counteract floating bacteria.’ She picked her bag up and dusted it down.

‘That’s very rude, if I may say so.’ Dylan laughed and slapped his arm. ‘Damn airborne microbes. Look at that one, Legionnaires’ disease, if I’m not mistaken.’ He raised his palm to show her the imagined dead germ and turned eyes full of amusement in her direction.

She smiled and touched his hand. ‘Thanks for this.’

His expression softened. ‘Anytime. Seriously.’ He caught her fingers in his, held them fast. ‘I’m sorry about this, but I just have to do something.’ He cupped her cheeks in his hands, lifted her face up to meet his, and lowered his lips to hers.

His lips were soft, his caress tender, and she surrendered to the sensations that she’d forgotten existed. He pulled away before she did, leaving her breathless with the heat that washed over her.

‘And you did that, because?’

‘I knew that once we reached the pub, I’d spend the whole time wanting to kiss you, so I thought I’d get it out of the way.’

‘I’m supposed to be flattered at such a gesture, am I?’ She grinned.

‘You are, I can tell.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Mustn’t forget this.’ He picked up his guitar, stuffed it in its case, and slung it over his back.

Scarlett rolled her eyes once more. ‘Dylan!’

‘Love me, love my guitar, I’m afraid.’

She sighed. ‘Go on then, stick it in the boot.’

After Dylan slammed the door on his messy house, they walked down the road to where her car was parked. ‘Here we are.’

Dylan whistled low when he saw the sleek Audi sports car.

‘And before you say anything, I paid for it with my own money.’

‘What else would you do, steal it?’

‘No, but some people think I couldn’t possibly earn enough to fund a car like this, so assume I must have a sugar daddy.’

‘I hope you don’t, or else I’m in serious danger of getting beaten up.’ He ran his hand down the sleek bonnet and nodded appreciatively. ‘Not quite a Lamborghini, but not bad.’

‘You do nothave a Lamborghini, thatmuch I do know.’

‘Not yet,’ he said simply, as Scarlett opened the doors with a click of her key fob. ‘But I will.’

* * *

As they pulled up outside the Dog and Duck, Scarlett felt herself growing more panicky by the moment, until Dylan took her hand.

His eyes burned with determination as he turned them on her. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, Scarlett, but I can see you’re nervous about something. I’m here for you, I think you should know that.’

‘Thanks. That’s good to know.’ She entwined her fingers through his, noticing how right it felt. She briefly imagined his fingertips tracing the contours of her body and realised she’d missed the physical contact of a man more than she’d thought. No, she couldn’t think like that. Could she? ‘I might want to leave, if . . . if . . .’

‘It’s fine, we can do whatever you want.’ He smiled reassuringly and they climbed out of the car. ‘We can have a little livener here and then go for dinner, yeah?’

She nodded, feeling ridiculously apprehensive at entering on Dylan’s turf unexpectedly.

‘Ready?’ he asked as he pushed the pub door open.

She gave him a small smile and straightened her back along with her resolve as she entered the pub.

As Mac spotted Scarlett, he winked and raised his eyebrows at Dylan who tried out a discreet thumbs-up.

‘I saw that,’ Scarlett said, smiling, despite her turmoil.

‘He just wants me to be happy. What can I say?’ Dylan gently steered Scarlett to the bar. He nodded to a couple of people, who Scarlett assumed were the regulars. ‘Meet Stanley, he’s . . . well he’s just Stanley.’

Stanley was folded around his favourite bar seat like he’d never been banned. ‘Hey there, love. Have you changed your hair colour?’ he asked, lifting a grubby finger up to her hair.

She flinched and stepped out of his reach. ‘No, and it’s not a colour, it’s natural.’ An unlikely twinge of jealousy stopped her in her tracks — was Stanley thinking of another one of Dylan’s women? Her mouth twisted as she remembered the old days of feeling like background furniture when she was with Sky.

Dylan could end up being a rerun of those days, if she wasn’t careful . . . but she had to admit that right then, he was the only person she wanted to see, and if that was a bad thing, she’d deal with it later. She pulled her thoughts back to Stanley as Dylan introduced her.

‘Stanley, this is Scarlett. She’s a flight attendant.’ He nudged Stanley in the ribs. ‘She’s very posh, so be polite.’

Stanley stood up, and she thought he was going to shake her hand, but he waved his arms in the air, almost catching her nose. ‘The exits are here and here.’ He flicked greasy, grey locks over one shoulder, pouting and giggling before sitting down again and taking a sip of his beer as if his outburst hadn’t happened.

‘Good one, Stanley.’ Dylan grinned, until he caught Scarlett’s glance and rearranged his face into irritation. ‘I’ll bet you get that a lot, don’t you?’

‘If I had a pound.’ But she managed to give Stanley a warm smile. ‘As long as he doesn’t call me a Trolley Dolly.’

‘So, is this the one you keep going on about?’ Stanley waved his pint in her direction. ‘What do they call ’em,Trolley Dollies,isn’tit?’ Stanley swallowed amouthful of beer, looking pleased with himself.

‘Stanley, don’t.’ Dylan stood in front of him, trying to block him from her view.

Scarlett shrugged, resigned. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve had them all. The captain’s mattress was the worst insult, but it doesn’t get to me anymore.’

‘Ooh, nasty.’

‘Thing is, the woman who fired that particular insult works in the local Spar and has never even flown on an aeroplane, so she was hardly qualified to judge me.’

‘Should have asked her if she had a nice pair,’ Stanley interrupted again, blatantly eavesdropping. ‘You know . . . pear. Food. Spar?’ He outlined the fruit with his hands while also miming weighing a pair of breasts.

‘Yeah, good one . . . Or not.’ Dylan countered on seeing Scarlett’s unimpressed face.

‘Do you think we should go somewhere else?’ Scarlett asked Dylan with a grimace.

‘We’re already gone. Come on.’ He took the drink out of her hands. ‘Do you want to go back to yours?’

‘That’s the thing . . . I can’t.’

He turned to face her looking confused. ‘So there is a sugar daddy?’

She hoped he was joking. ‘No, but there are . . . people outside my flat.’ She swallowed, reliving the past, hating that it was happening again.

Dylan’s expression changed from understanding to incomprehension. ‘Right.’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘Okay. And, you don’t like people?’

‘Not this sort.’

‘Whatever you say, Scarlett, I’m on it.’ Questions hung in the air, but he didn’t ask any, and for that, she was grateful. ‘Do you have your flight bag with you?’

‘Yes. My very up-market Mulberry bag is in the boot, being bullied by your working-class guitar case.’ She smiled to show it was a dig at him for inferring that she was posh, although her flight bag was a Mulberry just as her work suit was Chanel, so maybe he was not far wrong. The company paid for it, and she was hardly likely to refuse such perks.

‘Then we have all we need. Come on.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘My house.’ He took hold of her arm and led the way outside.

‘I can’t spend the evening there, Dylan.’

‘No, not that house. My real house, where I grew up. I’ll drive.’

‘You drive?’ She tried to keep the surprise from her voice but failed. ‘You’re not insured on my car?’

‘I’m insured to drive any car. I’m a proper grown-up.’ He grinned as he held out a hand for her car keys. ‘You’re rubbish at hiding your surprise at that, by the way.’

‘Maybe you’re good at surprising me.’

‘Stick around. It can only get better.’ He winked at her. ‘Hand them over.’

She didn’t want to go to his house, wherever it was, but she knew she couldn’t go back to her flat, and she certainly couldn’t spend one minute more than necessary in the tip he called home. So, she handed over her keys and stayed silent as Dylan settled himself in the driver’s seat.

He set the sat nav and manoeuvred out of the Dog and Duck car park. Scarlett raised her eyebrows, questioning their destination, but he kept quiet as he sped through the streets, a slow smile spreading on his face.

‘This is really neat.’ The slow smile turned into a full-on grin, and he nodded. ‘Yep, I could get used to this.’

‘You sure you have a licence? Only you look a bit like a kid with a new bike right now . . .’

‘Yeah, ‘course I do. I also drive an ancient VW Beetle that thinks thirty miles an hour is living on the edge.’

‘Ah, so the fact that you are kidnapping me under the guise of rescuing me, and stealing my car to boot, is making you a bit cocky.’

He pattedher knee. ‘Now you’re getting it.’ He grinned but added, ‘I’ll spirit you away and we can talk about whatever’s eating you, with a glass of wine in front of us.’

Scarlett nodded and began to relax, the radio soothing her as Dylan drove through brightly-lit streets packed with cars, and onto quiet twisting roads. He glanced over in her direction a few times but mostly concentrated on the road. There was time later to talk through her problems; for now she was content to sit in companionable silence. Cute fluffy clouds hung in the vivid blue sky, the roads were clear and Dylan, strong and capable in the driving seat, calmed her. The warmth in the car made her eyes grow heavy — until they finally closed, and she escaped for a few blissful hours from a world that made her anxious and sad.