Chapter 2
2
Two hours later, Paige had made herself at home in the kitchen and was cooking up a storm. As best she could, anyway, considering Oliver’s pantry was as sparse as the interior design. Old Mother Hubbard had definitely had more in her cupboard! But she loved to make art with food as her father called her rather freewheeling culinary style and with Instagram folders full of recipes and the entire purpose of the exercise to make as much mess as possible, she was improvising her ass off.
Today’s T-shirt loudly announced culinary ninja and Paige was working that vibe.
She’d scraped together enough ingredients to make a rudimentary flourless chocolate cake which turned into cupcakes because there wasn’t a normal cake pan to be had. They were currently in the oven and the Rice Krispie slice which she’d added melted mini marshmallows to – because they were apparently deemed necessary pantry items but flour was not? – was setting in the fridge.
A bowl with some beaten eggs, sugar and cinnamon stood at the ready to transform slices of frozen white bread into delicious French toast as soon as Oliver decided to get his ass out of bed.
The debris from her endeavours littered every white marbled surface from the sink to the oven and on to the breakfast bar. Bowls, cups, saucepans and trays of varying sizes competed for space with used cutlery and discarded utensils. Plastic wrappers and ingredients she hadn’t yet put away vied for space with various spills she hadn’t bothered to clean.
A splodge of milk, a streak of egg yolk, a couple of big old coffee rings. A light dusting of gourmet cocoa powder on both bench and floor joined a scattering of Rice Krispies. For that satisfying crunch underfoot.
Had it been her parents’ or anyone else’s home she’d have been mortified to have plunged their kitchen into such a state but it wasn’t and the mess in front of her just represented a job well done. Quickly, she snapped a pic of the detritus and admired the utter chaos of it all as she flicked it to the group with a before snap she’d taken prior.
Just Desserts WhatsApp Group. 08.30GMT.
Paige
Now that’s more like it
Considering it was the middle of the night in the US, Paige wasn’t expecting any replies just yet so she slipped the phone into the back of her charity flares that were so intensely fluorescent yellow they should have come with a pair of those solar eclipse sunglasses.
‘I reckon it’s time we kicked this up a notch, don’t you, Flower?’
Surveying the scene from his cage placed in front of the massive window on the kitchen bench, the hamster didn’t seem to have an opinion. In fact, he seemed much more interested in the view on the other side, not that Paige could blame him. The dark green thrash of the ocean and the heavy blanket of storm clouds hanging above were ominously immersive. It must surely seem like some kind of climate change documentary playing out on an IMAX screen from Flower’s point of view. The animal may have been large but it was utterly dwarfed by the roiling seascape.
Paige’s phone pinged a notification and she pulled it out of her pocket to discover that at least one of her new friends was still awake.
Bella
OMG! Has he seen it yet?
Paige
No. Think he must still be sleeping.
Bella
Yeah… he’s so not an early riser.
Paige
Well, do I have a surprise for him
Bella
lol, what??
Paige
I feel a musical awakening coming on!
Bella
Yes! Do it!!
Paige
Celine Dion or rock?
Bella
Rock!
Paige needed no further encouragement as she Bluetoothed her Spotify account to her portable mini speaker and tapped on a playlist. There was nothing like the dulcet tones of AC/DC in the morning to get up and at ’em.
She grinned to herself as ‘Highway to Hell’ belted out and she increased the volume loud enough possibly to be heard in hell. To that she added the harsh motorised clatter of the high-end electric mixer which looked in pristine condition, like it had never been used.
Which was so very sad.
To rectify that, Paige had spied some local gourmet cream cheese in the fridge which she was currently combining with a seriously amazing artisan chocolate stash she’d found to elevate the basic cupcakes into a mouthwatering divinity. Sadly, there were no sprinkles to add to the top of the final product because hello, sprinkles. Clearly, they weren’t posh enough for the likes of Oliver Prendergast.
It took about two minutes to rouse the sleeping beast.
‘What in God’s name,’ he shouted above the mayhem, ‘is happening right now?’
Paige, who was singing into the spatula as she’d strutted and shimmied in front of the window/IMAX screen, startled. ‘Bloody hell.’ Paige, also shouting, whipped around, clutching her chest. ‘You scared the living daylights out of me.’
‘Consider us even.’ He pointed at the speaker. ‘Can you turn that racket off?’
Now she was recovering from the initial shock, Paige absently noticed he was still in his boxers from earlier when he’d stormed into her room looking as inconveniently hot as he did now. He had a T-shirt on this time though, one that looked old and soft and faded like he’d worn it a thousand times and she wondered how it might feel against her cheek as he cuddled her, warm from his skin and infused with laundry detergent and his deodorant.
The thought made her blink. What the hell?
She knew Oliver Prendergast was a good-looking guy, she’d googled him a lot since that day at the airport and, being a minor celebrity, there were plenty of online images to pore over. But, this very weird thought hadn’t come about from his physical attributes and nor had she thought about a man in such warm, snuggly terms for a long time.
Harvey had seen to that.
He’d ruined her ability to let down her guard – to trust – and with that, any chance of feeling attraction. To Paige, the two had always been inextricably entwined.
Ignoring his ruffled, yanked-from-his-bed-by-the-roots-of-his-hair appearance and his piercing blue eyes that were apparently what Roger Prendergast had been known for according to her research , Paige quickly killed both the speaker and the beaters. The sudden cessation of noise was almost preternatural against the stormy backdrop.
‘I’m pretty sure you just insulted the musical tastes of several million Australians,’ she murmured, fixing a smile to cover her consternation. ‘Considering they learn how to wrestle snakes and crocodiles before they can walk, it makes you a braver person than I am.’
He seemed unperturbed by her observation as he winced in her direction. ‘Christ.’ He squinted as he took in her retinal frying flares. ‘Those pants should come with a public health warning. You could have someone’s eye out with those.’
Paige supposed she should be insulted but it was hard to be pissed off at a guy who had a blanket crease on his face. And she’d bought them hoping for a reaction, right? Because no way would she normally wear anything this outlandish. Ever since Harvey had violated her privacy and shared those intimate, non-consensual images of her, she’d done everything she could to blend in .
But if her deliberately curated wardrobe was causing Oliver some discomfort then good. Maybe you shouldn’t have jilted a perfectly nice woman at the aisle, you psychopath!
Giving a little twirl, she beamed with every ounce of enthusiasm she could muster. ‘Aren’t they great?’
He looked genuinely puzzled by the question as his gaze drifted north to her T-shirt then further north to her hair which she hadn’t bothered to brush. By the look on his face she figured it was the usual bonkers morning flurry of ginger curls. When his gaze returned to hers, he gestured in her direction.
‘You have a… smudge of cocoa on your cheek.’
Given the level of abandon she’d used when making the cupcakes, Paige was hardly surprised but she feigned it anyway. Rubbing both cheeks with her palms, she dusted her hand down the side seams of her pants. ‘Better?’
As if the word better was far too euphemistic to describe her appearance, Oliver’s gaze shifted to the war zone that was the kitchen. His wince intensified as he surveyed his formerly pristine space.
Excellent.
‘What the hell?’ he spluttered as he glanced at Paige, his face a picture as he clearly tried to control the rising horror. ‘What on earth are you making?’
‘Snacks.’
He blinked at her in disbelief as if something that embodied an entire kitchen’s worth of mess could be boiled down to one tiny word. ‘For an army?’
‘Ha!’ She grinned. ‘Funny. Just a little something for us for during the week.’
‘Snacks,’ he repeated, as though computing the word had caused his mainframe to glitch.
And what a mainframe it was…
‘Yes. Snacks.’ Crossing to the oven, she opened the door to inspect the progress of the cupcakes. Another few minutes ought to do it. ‘You know those things you consume in between established meal times to get you through and give you joy? Or do you only consume Rice Krispies, green apples – which are, by the way, the boring-est apples to ever apple – and Waitrose frozen meals for one?’
Yeah, she’d snooped in his freezer.
‘They’re tart,’ he said defensively. ‘And locally sourced.’
Paige would probably have found his defence of green apples – of which she was also fond despite their inherent boringness – endearing at another time but Oliver Prendergast didn’t get brownie points from her just because his shirt looked soft and snuggly and he bought British.
‘And anyway,’ he continued, distracted by his continued perusal of the messy benchtops, as if glaring at them would cower them into some kind of self-cleaning mode. ‘Food is just fuel for the body.’
Oh, dear lord. He was one of them . What in the hell had Bella red-velvet-cake-is-life seen in this guy? Yes, he was a hot, posh Brit and there was no doubt he and Bella made a striking couple but he acted like he was eighty years old living from one bowel motion to the next. She was amazed there’d been no Fybogel in his pantry.
‘Well, that’s very sad.’
‘I like food.’ His brows knitted together in a serious V as he dragged his attention from the kitchen havoc. ‘Just not… obsessively.’
Spoken like someone who’d never had to think about a single thing he put in his mouth unlike someone with hips and thighs and ass that so generously made a home for extra calories in case they ever found themselves in a series of Survivor .
‘Hmm, okay. I bet I can change your mind about that. How about we start with some French toast?’
‘Oh.’ He shook his head. ‘I usually just have…’
‘Rice Krispies?’ Paige cocked an eyebrow. ‘Yeah, they’re all gone. The milk’s pretty low too. I’ll buy some more when I hit the supermarket later. Take a seat, it won’t take me a jiffy to cook up a batch.’
Clearly caught between his manners and the mayhem, Oliver hesitated slightly before giving into the chaos. ‘You want some juice?’
He turned to the fridge and Paige watched him as he noticed she’d done a little redecoration. ‘What the…?’
Paige pressed her lips together to stop the laughter rising in her throat from spilling out. Oliver was staring at her handiwork aghast. A magnetised Get Shit Done pad was the least horrifying thing attached to the previously pristine surface. Four crayon drawings belonging to her niece and Bunky’s older sister by three years – Lulu – sat pride of place attached by fridge magnets.
Lulu was as cute as her name implied but slightly obsessed with witches from fairy tales. The drawings were very good, if a little dramatic. Thankfully her parents – Paige’s brother Wilf and his wife Marissa – were unfazed by their daughter’s artistic expression and gave her carte blanche to explore her talents.
Although Wilf did often joke that one day Lulu would come into her higher power and then they’d both be frogs.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Paige said on a little laugh as Oliver turned startled, questioning eyes on her. ‘Lulu – that’s my niece, she’s the artist – did them for me for Christmas and made me promise I’d take them with me.’
Given Paige was also a little leery of being turned into a frog one day, she had no qualms about currying favour with Lulu.
‘And I didn’t know,’ she continued, ‘if you’d have any fridge magnets so I brought some of my own.’
Oliver glanced at the magnets as if seeing them for the first time which was fair enough – the art was scarily dominant.
They were a collection of the gaudiest, tackiest fridge magnets she could find at the charity shop. One from Blackpool featuring the pier circa 1970s, a Lady Di button magnet from the eighties, an Alton Towers Christmas offering from the nineties and, the pièce de résistance, a retro Arsenal fridge magnet from the noughties that she’d sourced online because Bella had described in great detail how very, very much Oliver Prendergast despised Arsenal.
He stiffened the second he saw it, his jaw clenching, and Paige suppressed a grin as he adjusted the drawings so he could pluck it off the fridge. Turning to her, he shook his head. ‘Absolutely no way. This stays here over my dead body.’
The clench of his jaw told her he was seeing red. Arsenal red, no doubt.
Paige lifted an eyebrow. ‘You’re not a Gunners fan?’ She couldn’t give a fig about football but this reaction had definitely been worth it.
‘Man U all the way.’
‘So… I shouldn’t wear my jersey around the house?’
His eyes dropped to her chest and he grimaced at the culinary ninja proclamation. ‘I’d rather read a thousand stupid T-shirts.’
‘Oh goody.’ She brightened. ‘I have plenty.’
Clearly not deeming that worthy of a response, Oliver opened the fridge and Paige turned back to the kitchen to get started on the breakfast. Without being asked, he set the table and, after clearing some space near the coffee maker, made them both a cup as Paige heated the pan and dipped the bread.
When the bread hit the pan with a sizzle, Oliver opened the sliding door to the deck and stepped out, possibly to toss the magnet into the sea. He shut it behind him but not before it allowed a gust of wind to swirl into the room. It ruffled plastic wrapping, blew cocoa dust into the air, tousled Paige’s curls and split Flower’s mad blond bangs right down the middle so he looked like a Machiavellian orchestra conductor.
By the time he stepped back inside with another flurry of wind, the French toast was cooked and Paige was placing their plates on the table. She moved the setting so they were sitting next to each other instead of opposite. Mostly because she figured it would irritate the crap out of him but also, why would anyone want to sit with their back to that view?
He frowned at the change but seemed less steamed than when he’d headed out and took the seat next to her without a complaint. ‘Looks good,’ he said, clearly surprised as he eyed the thin slices of apple she’d pan-fried and caramelised with a bit of sugar and added to the top of their toast along with a dollop of whipped cream cheese.
What could she say, she was quite partial to a tart green apple too…
Weirdly, Paige felt a tiny little glow flare to life in the centre of her chest at the compliment no matter how grudgingly it had been delivered. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
As she opened her mouth to take her first bite, her mouth already watering from the waft of sugar and cinnamon, Oliver said, ‘Wait.’ He shot her a querying look. ‘Aren’t you a vegan? And gluten intolerant.’
Paige paused, her forkful of delicious poised midway between the plate and her mouth. Well… shit . She’d pulled that out of her ass at the last moment to try and irk Oliver. She hadn’t thought about the fact that she was going to have to live with that little deception.
For the next couple of months.
When Paige had run her drip torture ideas for Oliver past Bella she’d concurred that two months of daily inconveniences would be more than sufficient. Paige’s payback plan was all about death by a thousand paper cuts rather than one big climatic event. Unlike Sienna, for example, who was cooking up something way more epic for Harvey.
Which suited her just fine. That son of a bitch deserved everything he had coming. She didn’t feel one ounce of guilt over it. Fuck. Harvey.
‘Um yes.’ She placed her loaded fork on her plate. ‘But it’s kind of a new thing. A new year’s resolution so I’m still getting used to it. But I… get out of bed and I try every day.’
Oh Jesus, what bullshit Pollyanna crap had just escaped her mouth? But she plastered a smile on her face, picked up a fork and shoved the food in.
‘And the gluten intolerance?’ he asked sardonically. ‘That new too?’
She smiled weakly around her mouthful, her tastebuds alive with the joys of sugar and fruit and gluten-laden carbs. ‘Oh no. But it’s mild so I can get away with the occasional slip up. I’ll grab some gluten-free bread and other ingredients when I do a shop later.’
Thankfully Oliver let the topic drop in favour of eating and his little hum of appreciation after his first mouthful was satisfying in ways Paige had forgotten. She’d loved cooking for Harvey. Had felt immense satisfaction when he’d complimented her on whatever dish she’d made and complained good-naturedly that she was trying to make him fat.
The guy beside her was far less effusive but somehow even the slightest sound of appreciation from Mr Food-Is-Just-Fuel felt more genuine than dozens of moments of what now felt like performative praise.
Harvey had played her but good.
‘How long have you and Bella known each other?’ Oliver asked as he finished his last mouthful. ‘I don’t recall her ever mentioning a Paige?’
Stalling for time, Paige picked up their plates and delivered them to the kitchen, piling them into the sink that was already full of dirty dishes. ‘Not long.’
But how long was acceptable to have known someone before a person felt comfortable enough to invite them to their bastard ex-fiancé’s house?
‘A week or two after the not wedding,’ she added, her gaze trained on his. He blanched a little at her directness.
Yeah, you might have put that behind you, Oliver freaking Prendergast, but actions have consequences.
‘Ah.’
Yes. Ah . To give him his due, he didn’t shy away from her gaze. In fact, for a moment, Paige thought he was contemplating explaining or maybe even justifying what had led him to do something so horrifically damaging to a woman he had purported to love, but then he appeared to change his mind.
He stood, breaking eye contact. ‘What are your plans for the day?’
‘I want to go into St Ives and check it out,’ Paige said as she fussed about decluttering the sink. ‘I’ll grab some groceries from the shop too so if you want anything just write in on the pad on the fridge.’
Oliver glanced at said pad and grimaced. It was clearly an affront to his minimalist tendencies but hey, at least the offensive Arsenal merch was no more.
‘I already have Rice Krispies on my mental list,’ she added with a smile. ‘And Hobnobs because I cannot live without them and then I’ll come back here and get stuck into some work. Do you mind if I set up my laptop at the dining table?’
Paige had never had such a picturesque work view and had to admit that while committing acts of karma wasn’t her usual jam, the amazing vista before her would help soothe her conscience.
‘Not at all,’ he confirmed. ‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a VA.’
‘Virtual assistant?’
‘Yes.’ Paige nodded. A lot of people had never heard the term but she supposed he’d grown up in a world where personal assistants were common. ‘I’ve been running my own business for almost four years.’
A quick scan of his kitchen and a once-over of her very un-put-together appearance led to two raised eyebrows which left Paige in no doubt that Oliver had probably expected her to say she ran a clown-hire business.
‘There’s a lot of call for that, then?’
‘I have several dozen clients on my list, yes.’
Oliver’s eyes widened this time. ‘Really?’
‘Uh huh. Some only have occasional needs, others are more active but I have plenty to keep me busy and solvent.’
Of course, busy and solvent were hardly #girlpower goals. She’d certainly had loftier ones when she’d been accepted into Oxford to study law. But it was better than the deep dark pit of despair she’d found herself in after Harvey’s betrayal.
‘How’d you get into that?’
It was on the tip of Paige’s tongue to say, Because another bastard man whose ego couldn’t handle rejection decided to wake up one day and ruin my life . But she didn’t. She just shrugged. ‘I did a job for one of my father’s clients a few years back when I was… in between things and it kind of snowballed from there.’
Paige had never expected the online collating of old electronic files to blossom into a business but before she knew it word had spread and she’d been juggling a dozen clients.
‘Does it have a name?’
Unsure that she actually wanted to tell him, Paige hesitated. The name was polarising. Some people thought it was funny, others thought it wasn’t serious enough. Not that Paige gave a rat’s ass what anyone thought, least of all the son of a dead British actor who’d never, according to what she’d read, done a hard day’s work in his entire life.
People’s judgement was just so damn tiresome.
She plastered a smile on her face. ‘What A Peach.’
Much to her surprise, Oliver just nodded as if he approved. ‘Is there some kind of story behind it?’
‘My first client called my dad and said what a peach I was and it just kinda stuck.’
‘Fair enough. And what sort of things do you do for a client? I mean, you can’t get them a coffee or anything right?’
‘Nope, but pretty much anything I can do remotely, I do. It’s what I love about it actually. The variety. Some clients just want some basic diary management, others want audio transcripts turned to text and don’t trust tech to do it for them. I help some clients with social media or run their newsletter campaigns. I’ve done market research or background information for a variety of different people from company CEOs to doctoral students to a couple of small publishing houses. Turns out I’m exceptionally good at organising.’
He glanced at the disorganised mess of the kitchen but didn’t say anything other than, ‘Sounds interesting.’
‘It is.’
Despite the reason behind the business existing, Paige was proud of what she’d created. What A Peach had been her silver lining in a very dark time and, bonus – the virtual world had allowed her to be anonymous after such humiliating exposure. Her logo and social media avatar was a peach emoji which she’d hidden behind ever since its inception.
But, thinking about the business genesis always raked over the not-quite-extinguished coals of her past life which was never easy and she was done talking about it as she delved under the sink for some washing up liquid.
‘Why don’t you head into town now?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll do the kitchen.’
Paige hadn’t expected that. Given the unholy mess she’d created, she’d expected to be on clean-up duties on her own. Was he afraid her cleaning skills were nowhere near as impressive as her ability to make an unholy mess? Or had her mentioning the wedding guilted him into it? If so she’d be sure to use it to her advantage over the next two months.
‘Oh, are you sure?’ She stopped short of batting her eyelashes as she said, ‘I did make the mess…’
‘Absolutely.’ He made a shooing motion. ‘You can take my car if you want. It’s only a ten-minute walk but it’s easier when you have bags to carry and more rain is forecast.’
Taken aback by his offer, she said, ‘Oh… thanks.’ Oliver kept surprising her and she hadn’t even been here twenty-four hours yet.
Bella had said he wasn’t a bad person but Paige’s internal narrative had billed him as an entitled twat because that made it easier for her to carry out this little scheme. The fact he’d been nothing but polite and accommodating, despite being supremely irritated, was exceptionally irksome.
‘Ten minutes is a long time to be dripping wet.’
Belatedly, Paige realised the connotations of what she’d said and so had he if that lip twitch was any indication. She hoped like crazy he didn’t think she was flirting with him.
Because she was here to wreak havoc not make goo-goo eyes with Bella’s exceptionally hot, bastard ex-fiancé.