Wrapped in You (2 page)

Trudy gaped at the list on her phone and then looked up at the blonde barista who was making her latte. “Love has twisted my boss’s mind.”

“Uh-oh.” The woman tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. “What did he do?”

“He made me go on holiday, and now he texted me this list.” She held up her mobile. “I have to prove to him that I’m in San Francisco and that I’m doing holiday things.”

The blonde wiped her hands and took the phone to look. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s a suspicious git.” And because he was smart. She hugged herself. She’d have told him to take a dive off the Tower Bridge if it weren’t for the fact that he said he’d make her a full partner in the new private investigation firm.

She wanted that more than anything. The business was the only place she’d ever felt competent and at home. She was so excited about being a partner that when he’d told her it wouldn’t happen until she took a holiday, she’d immediately booked a ticket. She hadn’t thought there’d be terms.

“This seems above and beyond what a boss would demand. And ‘Build a snowman?’ ” Brow raised, the blonde handed the phone back. “I hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t snow in San Francisco. You have to go to the Sierras for that.”

“Great.” She had no idea where that was. She rubbed her face, not caring that her makeup smeared on her finger and was probably smudged under her eyes. All she wanted to do was take a shower, drop into bed, and sleep until this “holiday” was over.

Holiday? More like a prison sentence.

And now there was the list.

The wanker.

“Here, take this.” Smiling, the blonde handed her the drink across the counter. “I know you ordered a regular latte, but I made you one with Nutella. It’ll make you feel better, guaranteed.”

Trudy stared at it suspiciously. The only thing that’d make her feel better was her hotel room and aliens blowing up the world.

But the woman was watching her expectantly, and she couldn’t bear to disappoint her. She took a careful sip and then blinked in shock. “This is good.”

“I know.” Smiling, the woman held her hand out. “I’m Eve, the owner of Grounds for Thought.”

“Trudy.” She took the blonde’s hand. It felt warm and capable and somehow reassuring. For the first time since she’d stepped off the plane that morning she relaxed a little.

The entrance pealed lightly, signaling someone entering. Trudy just huddled in her seat, holding the hot beverage closer.

Eve lit up, though. “Kristin,” she exclaimed as she went around the counter.

Unable to help herself, Trudy turned around to watch Eve hug a woman with a child in her arms. Kristin, apparently. The child was anywhere between one and two years of age, and the woman was beaming. The man next to her—her husband, likely—was tall, a little scruffy, and completely hot.

Trudy let her gaze linger on him. No harm looking, even if he was taken.

He glanced at her and did a double take, his gaze focusing like a laser.

He looked oddly familiar, although she knew she’d never seen him before. Trudy did a more thorough sweep of him.

She mentally snapped her fingers. That’s who he looked like: Han Solo. Same brown cowlicky hair, same naughty light in his eyes that made a woman want to look closer . . . No wonder he looked familiar. She’d had a thing for Han Solo ever since she’d watched
Star Wars
when she was five.

Even his smile was a bit naughty. He had the sort of smile that made you warm inside thinking of the trouble he could get you into.

But his clothing didn’t suit him at all. They fit fine: He looked great in the cut of the skinny dress pants and the collared shirt. It was just that his pants were teal and his shirt was peach. She’d have labeled him a hipster in style, but his color palette made him a clownster.

She shrugged. He was hot enough to overcome that. Kristin was a lucky lady.

She looked at his hand. No wedding band even though Kristin was wearing an enormous rock on her ring finger. Some men didn’t like to be marked as taken. Trudy glanced up and met his gaze. He didn’t seem the type. Despite the gleam in his eyes,
steadfast
was the word that popped in her mind when she looked at him.

He continued to stare at her. His focus was a heady thing.

She could just imagine what he saw: a haggard looking woman with raccoon eyes, hair sticking up from trying to sleep on the plane, and dressed in more leather than all the people in this coffeehouse combined. She’d stopped caring what people thought of her a long time ago, but the way he watched her made her want to fidget in her seat.

So she narrowed her eyes at him.
Die
, she mentally told him.

He grinned. Then, amazingly, he strode to her and held his hand out. “I’m Mason Miller.”

“Good for you.” Ignoring it, she picked up her latte and turned away from him.

“You’re from England,” he said cheerfully. “I love London. I love visiting the museum of body parts.”

Frowning, she faced him. “You know the Hunterian?”

“Of course. It’s the best thing to see in London. Fascinating with just enough gruesome thrown in to keep it fresh.”

It was, but she’d never met anyone else who liked it. Her mother hadn’t been able to eat for a week after taking her there as a child.

“Are you here visiting family for the holidays?” he asked.

“No.”

“Friends?”

“No.”

“Business?”

“Is my body language unclear?” she asked, gesturing to herself. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Yes, but everyone has a lapse of judgment from time to time.” He grinned. “So is it business?”

“I’m on holiday.” She wondered if the words sounded as bitter as they tasted.

“You’re on vacation in Laurel Heights?” He shook his head. “Does not compute.”

She shrugged. She’d heard Summer’s sister Rosalind talk about this area one time when they visited Jon at the office. It seemed as good a place as any.

“It’s just Laurel Heights seems like a strange place to stay,” he continued, oblivious of her mental death threats. “Most tourists stay around Union Square, or North Beach. Laurel Heights isn’t a draw for most people.”

“I’m not most people.”

“I can see that.” He stepped closer. “You never told me your name.”

“No.” She arched her brow. “I didn’t.”

“Mason,” the woman named Kristin interrupted, giving the two of them curious looks. “I’m going to sit at the table in front. Will you be okay bringing the drinks over?”

“Sure thing.” He watched them walk away and turned back to Trudy. “My
friend
Kristin’s being kind enough to give me pointers on how to deal with employees. Least I can do is bus over drinks.”

Trudy frowned. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“You weren’t exactly hiding it.”

Eve slid a drink and a plate of pastries across the counter. “I’ll have the latte up in a sec.”

“Thanks,” Mason Miller said with a smile. He carried them over to where his friend sat with her child.

She watched him go, having a hard time convincing herself to be relieved instead of lonely.

It was jetlag. Trudy picked up her phone and refocused her attention on the list again. “I really do hate Christmas,” she muttered.

“Why?” an interested masculine voice asked. “The holidays are so much fun.”

She turned and shook her head at Mason. “Don’t you know how to mind your own business?”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. He pointed at her phone. “What do you have there?”

“Nothing.”

He craned his neck to look. “It looks like a list. I like lists. They’re irresistible. Let me see it.”

She had no idea why she handed him her mobile.

His eyes darted over the items. “It’s like a scavenger hunt. What’s it for?”

“It’s extortion from my boss.” Something in the way he watched her, waiting for her to explain, made her want to tell him. “I have to send him a picture of each of these things, to prove that I actually vacationed instead of staying in my room, drinking gin, and watching action movies the way I normally spend the holidays.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a wanker.” Mason just kept staring at her, waiting, so she sighed. “Because he thinks I work too much, and he’s dangling a promotion over my head to make me bend to his will.”

“He sounds like a caring boss.”

Jon was the best, but she’d never admit that out loud. “He’s a wanker,” she repeated.

“I’m up for a promotion, too.” Something lit in his eyes, and he stared at her in a way that was much too interested.

She edged her barstool away. Why was she talking to this man?

He tapped her phone. “I can help you with this list.”

She arched her brow. “The snowman?”

“I’m resourceful,” he said modestly. He leaned in. “Here’s our deal. I help you check off every item on the list, and you be my date to my holiday party. You have to attend one, so you might as well come to mine.”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “Why would you want to take me to your holiday party?”

“Because you’d fit in with the rest of my team.” He leaned forward. “Like I said, I’m up for a promotion to be the Vice President of Engineering, only my CEO has some concerns about me leading the team.”

“Why?”

“He thinks I don’t fit in well with the other engineers.” He frowned. “I’m not as edgy or hip as the rest.”

“And showing up with me would make you look edgy.”

He grimaced. “That sounds bad, but we should look at it like a win-win situation. I help you get your promotion, you help me get mine. How long are you here?”

“I leave on Christmas.”

“My party is the Friday before Christmas. That works out perfectly.” He began tapping at the screen on her mobile.

Trudy sat up. “What are you doing?”

“Texting myself the list, so I have a copy. I’ll be able to plan better that way. I also saved my contact info here, so you can get in touch with me.” He handed her phone back and pulled his from his jacket pocket. “You never told me your name.”

“Trudy,” she said reluctantly, staring at his contact info. He’d saved it under “Stud Muffin.”

“Your last name?” When she didn’t reply, he shrugged. “I like to save both first and last names. Humor me.”