Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Paisley
P eace. Peace at last.
After five days run off my feet, pulling fourteen-hour days at the beck and call of my pedantic boss, I’ve finally got an entire day to myself.
When the advertising agency I work for invited me to the most prestigious marketing conference in the USA, I thought I’d finally proven to the sceptical CEO and his ancient associates why a consumer behaviour analyst could take their campaign development to the next level.
So, I brushed off my passport, downloaded a hoard of relevant research papers onto my Kindle, and followed my CEO and two senior marketers across the Atlantic.
Little did I know that I’d be using my PhD in neuromarketing, twelve years of further education, and my mountain of student debt to play the coffee girl .
My face dropped when Mr Lark explained that he wouldn’t need my services today because the team ’s visiting a prospective client at their Vegas headquarters. But now, with my whole day before me, I can’t remember why I cared.
What should I do first? Take in a show? Play my first-ever game of poker? Find a buffet serving shrimp too far away from any ocean to be advisable?
Or should I hide myself away in a quiet corner, spend the day drinking cappuccinos, and dive into my latest smutty paperback?
The latter. Definitely the latter.
Armed with coffee and wearing the only casual pair of jeans I thought to pack, I find a hotel restaurant that isn’t a chaotic mess to while away my morning. The Dice quite the contrary. Even the ill-fitting T-shirt from the hotel gift shop can’t hide the firm, muscular frame underneath. If I squint hard enough, I can almost see the outline of a rippling six-pack as he jumps out of time with the instructor.
Not that I’m paying that much attention to a complete stranger, of course. I’ve barely noticed how he brushes his soft, chocolate hair out of his eyes or how his chiselled face is awash with glee as he jostles the larger-than-life woman beside him. I’ve scarcely registered how his biceps flex every time he lifts his arms or how his too-short shorts hug his ass indecently.
As if summoned by my errant thoughts, Mr Tall, Dark, and Shit-at-Zumba performs an over-confident spin, only to land in the opposite direction to his crew of grannies. His eyes lock with mine, a mischievous grin brightening his face before he leaps back into the fray to shimmy again.
“Go on, Gloria. Shake it!” Wait, is that a British accent?
I spend the rest of the class trying to read while subtly stealing glances at the incongruous man over my unturned pages. Before long, the class wraps up with the pruned instructor reminding everyone to stretch before they dare hit the bar. The request falls on deaf ears.
Literally.
They file out of the restaurant, their token male hidden among their ranks, and a flicker of disappointment sparks in my chest. Perhaps Mason will count spying on a man in an OAP aerobics class as my ‘something fun’ for the day. However, I don’t get to text and ask him because I’m quickly interrupted by a bouncing, southern drawl.
“Well, hello, darlin’. Aren’t you just the prettiest.”
To my horror, one of the dancing grannies collapses into a chair beside me, splaying her legs out in front of her and throwing her head back to the ceiling. She’s a sight to behold. Her curly blue hair is still styled in a perfect mist atop her head, and she’s dressed in every shade of pink imaginable, the ensemble complimented by glittery trainers. Her confidence is admirable. I could never pull off neon leg warmers.
Before I can respond, she sits up and pushes out another chair for the unimpressed, slight woman standing behind her. This second interloper is the complete opposite of her friend. Her hair is pulled so tight that it looks like it might cut off the blood supply to her pale face, and her bland, grey cotton workout gear leaves everything to the imagination.
Thank God.
“Can I help you?” I ask as the twig snaps elegantly into the offered chair at my table.
“Oh, and you’re English! Isn’t that just the frostin’ on the cake? I’m Gloria, and this here is Dee,” the flamboyant woman announces. “I just had to come over and say hello when I realised what you were reading. The Roaming Broken Cowboy is one of my favourites. It’s not often I meet a fellow lover of the romantic arts.”
I’d hardly call this smut romantic art, but whatever. Gloria winks, picking up my copy and flicking through the pages as if it were her own.
“Is this your first time readin’ it…?” She waves her hand expectantly in my direction.
“Paisley,” I offer. “Yes, it’s my first time. I’ve been busy with work this week, so I’m not as far through as I’d like.”
“Well, I don’t recommend reading the next few chapters in public, if you know what I mean.”
My cheeks heat because I know exactly what she means. Gloria cackles delightedly, passing the book to her statuesque friend. I expect Dee to faint at the rugged crudeness of it all, but she simply sighs, slams the book shut and slides it back across the table.
“You’re single, aren’t you, darlin’?” Gloria quickly asks, barely waiting for me to nod before jumping to her feet and waving wildly at someone across the room.
“Tom. Tom, sweetie. Over here! Come and meet Paisley.”
Oh God. It’s the guy from Zumba. I’m almost one hundred per cent certain that he caught me gawping at him earlier. And, as he saunters towards us, confidently balancing a tray of coffees, I find myself doing it again.
“It was so nice to meet you both,” I say, hurriedly stuffing my phone and book into my handbag. “But I honestly have to get going.”
“Nonsense, Paisley,” Gloria tuts, her firm grip on my forearm effectively pinning me to the table. “Sit yourself down and meet Tom. He’s flyin’ solo today, too. Don’t think I didn’t notice you eyein’ up his little toosh all through Zumba.”
Oh, kill me now.
“He’s a teacher,” Gloria adds proudly. “I bet he’d love to talk about books with you.”
“He’s a P.E. teacher,” Dee snorts. “I don’t think he’s into books.”
Gloria looks like she wants to argue but doesn’t get the chance because Tom is upon us.
“You called?” he asks cheekily, sliding into the chair beside me. If I thought he looked good from afar, it has nothing on him up close. He’s an angelic rogue, a loveable scoundrel with soft, wavy hair and a sharp jawline accentuated by careless stubble.
If I had a type, he would be it.
“Paisley, darlin’, this is Tom.”
“Paisley darling, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Just Paisley is fine,” I reply, sounding flustered even to my own ears.
Tom raises his eyebrow mischievously. “But Paisley Darling has such a ring to it.”
“Tom here lost his hotel last night. So, Dee and I have adopted him.”
Wow. I have so many questions. All of which Gloria answers with relish as she shares Tom’s ridiculous tale. The man himself attempts to interject with his own snippets of information, but Gloria won’t let him get a word in edgeways. It’s hard to believe this agent of chaos is a teacher. Who in their right mind is leaving him in charge of children? Still, I giggle at Gloria’s impression of Tom’s non-existent dance moves.
“He stood on my foot. Twice,” Dee deadpans, and Gloria and I fall into a fit of laughter.
“I wasn’t that bad,” Tom huffs good-naturedly.
“No, you were worse,” Dee replies.
Gloria sighs, wiping tears from her eyes. “It’ll be a class we won’t forget in a hurry. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Dee and I have a thing we need to get to.”
“A thing?” Tom asks sceptically.
“Yes, I completely forgot about it,” she says, hauling Dee to her feet and shoving her towards the exit. “Very important, we can’t be late. Paisley, you’ll look after him, won’t you? The man can’t be trusted on his own.”
What?
“I’ll find you later, Tom,” Gloria calls over her shoulder. And with that, the pair are gone.
Smooth, ladies. Very smooth.