Fixed Up (2 page)

And this man was beyond attractive as he continued to talk in a deep voice. Clear, well-spoken words that barely made sense to her addled mind. She found it easier to concentrate if she didn't look at his mouth. Or his jawline. Or his beautiful, dark tousled hair.

‘You're sure there's nothing I can do to help?' His eyes searched her face.

‘No thanks, it was just an unexpected ladder incident.' One she'd definitely be adding to her list for future ‘ladder safety' sessions.

‘You should be able to shop in a store like this without risking death.' He stared curiously at Harper, as if trying to ascertain whether she really was okay. He was lovely, but clearly he thought this was
a situation.
One he needed to handle. Harper didn't want to be a situation that needed handling. She handled herself.

She dragged her gaze away for a quick glance at her watch. Only eleven minutes until her big meeting and she needed to get her head in the right space. Flittery flutteries returned to dance in her belly.

‘I'm fine,' she said again.

But Mr Lovely wouldn't let it go.

‘You're allowed to
not
be fine, after a fright like that,' he said. ‘We should protest to the management; they need more staff on.'

‘
We—'
Harper placed heavy emphasis on the word, ‘—shouldn't do anything. I said I'm fine.'

He took a step towards her. ‘I know the big cheese here. I'll get you a discount or something.'

Just drop it.
Harper didn't like him thinking she was a victim, some tragic babe in the woods. He might be the most swoon-worthy rescuer to walk these wide aisles but rescue services were no longer required today. This babe fended for herself, in and out of the woods.

‘Just because I'm a woman alone in a hardware store doesn't mean I need help. It's 2015 not 1815.' Her words blurted out harsher than intended and her face, her neck, even her ears flamed once more as she bent with a stiletto-induced wobble to pick two long-handled paint brushes off the floor. ‘Here,' she said, holding them like a crucifix, ‘you might need these to fight off any other blue-tongued devils you encounter.' She shrugged, awkwardly hitching her large bag on her shoulder and then walked back up the aisle the way she'd come.

Full of regret she'd arrived for her appointment so early, Harper wandered aimlessly through the store. A quiet spot in the power tools department offered a measure of privacy and she took a couple of deep breaths to regain her composure. She pulled her notes out of her bag, clutching them as she practised her spiel in her head. It'd taken days to perfect her pitch, but months to set up the meeting. Cliff King had repeatedly put her off. Too busy. Away travelling. At a funeral. His secretary gave every excuse imaginable until Harper had all but begged, offering to meet him anywhere, anytime.

Finally he'd condescended to an appointment. And she was ready—okay, maybe not champagne-chilling-in-the-bucket ready—but positive all her hard work would prevail.

Or rather, she had been ready. Harper studied the checklist in her hand. Now, for the first time, her DIY Divas logo didn't soothe her. Bulleted list points ran into each other and words jumped all over the page. Her nerves jangled. Her eye twitched. Her world had pitched sideways as she had when she'd tumbled into that man's arms. She pressed her fingers against her offending eye.

Stop thinking about the gorgeous man.

Peering round a chainsaw display she squinted at the shiny double doors separating the large store from the corporate offices. The wattage of a thousand bulbs illuminated the way through the lighting department, reflecting off the concrete floor. In seven minutes she needed to walk through that halo of light, through those lustrous high-gloss doors, wow Cliff King and convince him he needed DIY Divas. The success of her business depended on it.

‘What's a pretty girl like you want with a chainsaw?' A nasal male voice interrupted her thoughts.

Oh for God's sake.
Harper took a deep breath. She didn't look
that
good in her dress and heels but true to form, the Cassidy Curse, which compelled all Cassidy women to
choose
the wrong type of man, also required they
attract
them too. The squat Neanderthal before her was a case in point.

Thoughts of Mr Lovely drifted into her mind, but she pushed them aside. Tempting rescuers and grinning cavemen—all equally unsuitable for a woman whose mission in life was to be the epitome of independence.

Harper turned, putting on the bunny-boiler smile she'd perfected for moments like these. ‘You'd like to see what I can do with a chainsaw, would you?'

Now that was a woman Luke Colton didn't mind losing a fight to. Young and hot, she looked like she could beat the hell out of any guy, despite her size. And he'd had her right there in his arms.

Which was the safest place for her, whatever her opinion. No way in hell he'd stand by and let another preventable accident occur.

Just thinking about it—about her—made him forget what he was meant to be doing. He looked into his trolley, where a particularly nasty wallpaper sample offered a visual reminder. A foxy woman fell at his feet, gave him the brush off, and the next moment he had a trolley full of ugly florals?

He shook his head. How had his day come to this? He'd planned to dash into the store, grab what he needed and dash out again.

In. Out. Easy.

Only now he felt hot and bothered. Though whether it was the jumble in his shopping trolley or the sense he could've said or done something differently, he didn't know. When had he got so useless at talking to attractive women?

And how did all this shit get into his trolley?

He picked up a paint chart of fifty shades of green and balanced it beside a blue floral wallpaper sample. What was that saying again? Blue and green should never be seen. Did that apply to walls? He frowned and rummaged through the cart. Perhaps stripes would be better?

He turned back to the home decorating department but almost immediately a new distraction presented itself. Now
this
was love. He could almost forget about Her Royal Feistiness with this little beauty in front of him. Luke stood for a full five minutes at the end of the aisle gazing in open admiration at the latest object of his affections: a gleaming, stainless steel monster of an outdoor grill. He ran his hand over the lid, lifting it up and pulling open the woodchip smoker drawer to examine it more closely. He could almost smell the steaks, hear the sizzle. With summer holidays just around the corner this baby would be the perfect new toy for his deck.

The sound of high heels tapping on concrete caught his attention and he looked up to see that woman again. A jolt shot through him. He watched with renewed hope as she made her way down the aisle towards him. She walked slowly, her movements neat and precise. Her shiny dark hair bounced across her shoulders, moving in time to her swaying hips. Her skirt took up the same swinging rhythm, giving an overall impression of such smooth momentum that when she stopped, pausing to pick up a fat, white candle, Luke was taken by surprise.

Holding it close to her small, upturned nose, he saw her eyes close in a sort of rapture as she breathed deeply, once, twice, three times. Something stirred inside him at the sight of dark eyelashes fluttering against creamy-skinned cheeks, her expression of bliss. She drew one more breath before replacing the candle carefully on the shelf.

Seemingly oblivious to her surroundings she resumed her walk. Pretty pink lips moved in a silent soliloquy as she focused on a piece of paper in her hand. Then she was right there, walking past him and his trolley.

As if he were the Invisible Man.

‘Hi again,' he said, scrambling into her path.

She jumped before recognising him. She thrust her hands on her small hips, adopting a defensive stance as she looked up at him.

‘Holy cow, they're coming out of the woodwork today,' she said.

‘Who?'

‘The fiends and the nutters.' She gave him the once-over.

‘What? You think I'm a weirdo too?' Luke couldn't help being offended. Not just by her words, but by the wary look she shot him. ‘I'm as boringly normal as it gets,' he said. ‘You're the one talking to yourself.'

A pink flush swept across her face, right to the tips of her perfect ears.

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘That was rude. Again. It's been a crazy day.' Her finger circled her head in the universal sign for loco. ‘Though if you're so normal, why is your trolley overflowing with all that random stuff? It looks like you're renovating in Crazy Town.'

How true. Luke snorted back a laugh. ‘I had a sneaking suspicion it looked like it'd been put together by a blind person.'

The woman nodded. ‘Yup. Your sneaking suspicion was spot on. And that floral is horrendous. It's a throwback from the seventies. Don't do it to yourself.'

Luke picked up the questionable floral again. ‘It's not for me, it's for my mother. She loves flowers.'

‘Real ones, yes, not posies puked onto her wall.'

Luke laughed again. This woman was too cute. And frighteningly honest.

She took a hesitant step forward and pointed at the cart. ‘May I?' she asked.

‘Sure,' he said, watching as she pulled another sample from his trolley.

‘Now this I like.' She held up a silvery damask, her hands running over it like a caress. ‘This would be stunning for a bedroom, or even a dining room. What room is she decorating?'

‘Good question. I haven't decided yet.'

‘
You
haven't decided yet?' The woman's tone changed a little. ‘Is your mother incapacitated or something?'

‘No! She's great.' He pushed away the habitual pang of guilt, which resurfaced at the thought of his mother. ‘Fantastic for her age.'

‘Which would be ninety-seven, judging from
this
particular colour choice.' She held up a couple of colour charts. ‘Or perhaps reliving her Disney princess phase with this one?'

‘Damn. I've really got it wrong, haven't I?' Thoroughly bemused, Luke ran his fingers through his hair.

The woman nodded again as she gazed up at him. ‘Why isn't your mother here making her own suggestions? I'm sure she knows her own likes and dislikes. Women usually do, you know.'

Luke had no doubt this particular woman knew exactly what she liked. And clearly wouldn't be afraid to say it. His interest in her amped up another notch. She might be petite, but what she lacked in stature she made up in grit and fire.

And her voice was as sexy as all hell. Low and slightly throaty. It suited her, he thought. She looked like a good girl, a bit buttoned up, but then she opened her mouth. He wanted to keep her talking.

But she looked at her wrist and frowned. ‘I have to go,' she said, her tone stern again. ‘Good luck. My best advice would be to actually get your mother involved in the redecorating. Not too unreasonable, given she has to live with the results.' And with that, she took off.

Yowza
. Luke released an appreciative whistle as he watched her disappear around the corner for the second time in ten minutes. That sexy schoolmistress thing she had going was a knockout. With a stab of disappointment, he realised he should've asked her name. He should've found out something about her. She intrigued him. And she'd slipped through his fingers.

Twice.

He ditched the trolley and raced after her. He knew he only had a slim chance but he had to try. He could see her up ahead. She walked quickly, bouncing and swaying as she moved towards the entrance to the King of the Castle's offices. Still in the building. He tried to catch her but she gave the heavy door a vigorous push and disappeared from sight.

Luke considered following, but the thought of her adding ‘stalker' to the list of weirdoes she'd encountered today was downright degrading. Notching this one up as a lost opportunity he drifted back to the shopping cart, a sense of disappointment washing over him.

The cart stood exactly where he'd left it. He poked about at the contents, sighed, and continued his way towards the home decorating department. These samples wouldn't do. Whatever-her-name was right about that, even if she had it wrong about his mother; she had no need to set foot in a store like this as long as Luke could do it for her. He'd empty the trolley and start again.

So much for in and out.

***

Harper stepped into the reception area of King of the Castle, her skinny heel catching slightly as she adjusted from concrete floor to plush carpet. She approached the high desk, gripping her bag hard to stop her hand shaking, and peered over. There was no one there.

Odd.

Harper checked her watch. She'd timed it perfectly despite all the distractions back in the store and so she stood and waited for the receptionist to return.

And waited.

And waited.

The minutes ticked by. Harper could feel her eye twitching again and she fought the urge to touch it. She sat down on one of the large reception couches, sinking into the squashy cushion. Help, she thought. I'm being sucked into the couch. She pulled herself up and perched on the edge, her knees firmly tucked together and her back straight. She noticed she'd scuffed one of her shoes and kicked her foot out a little to examine the damage.
This is what happens when your silly shoes can't hack the pace of life
.

She fought the temptation to get her notes back out of her bag. Really, she didn't need them after all the research she'd done on Cliff King and his mega-franchise. Blindfolded and standing on her head she could have recited it all. Harper knew you didn't waste opportunities like this by not doing your homework. She had one shot and she sure as hell wasn't going to stuff it up.

She looked at her watch for the millionth time. Crap. She had to let someone know she'd arrived or her bacon would be fried. She was officially late now. Her fingers fiddled with her watch and her eyes flicked between the double doors leading back to the store and a subtle smoked-glass door just beyond the reception area.