What If He’s the One. Kathy Jay
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apologize,” he rumbled. “It was inconsiderate.”
“It’s okay.”
She’d been miserable. She’d felt cut off and abandoned, but she’d understood. Like she’d understood why her dad had left her mum pregnant, and why her mum had left for Spain without her when she was only eight years old. Understanding why people left each other behind was what she did. It was practically a talent. And one that had come in handy when she’d walked away from Marcus. Bouncing back from the heartache was another matter, but she’d become quite good at that too. She’d dreamed up a foolproof method for guaranteeing that she’d never have to bounce back again.
The car sped towards downtown Boston. She turned away, feigning interest in the grey city they’d landed in, all the while scraping at one nail with another so that some of the blue peeled away revealing a pale streak. It was high time they put this clearing the air of Alex’s behind them. She decided to steer the conversation onto safer ground.
“I gather Mercy of the Vampires is going out with a bang.”
“About time too. The show has been running my life for a decade.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve caught episodes in hotels all over place. I’ve watched Jarvis and Jago wreak havoc in German, French, Italian, and Spanish.”
“You’re a fan of the show?”
“It’s kind of impossible to avoid it, frankly.”
“Well, it all ends in hellfire just before Christmas, you’ll be glad to know.” Maggie refused to let herself look at him. She kept on staring out of the car window.
“Rumor has it you go out in the sunlight with a string of garlic wrapped around your neck and Nick, I mean Jarvis, strangles you and then rams a stake through your heart, just to be sure he’s finished you off.”
“It could happen,” he joked. “And I don’t mean in the TV world. Nick’s not best pleased with me at the moment. In fact, that’s an understatement. He’s furious. We’ve got a day of back-to-back promo here in Boston tomorrow. And the same again in New York next week. If he can find a string of garlic that’s long enough, I think he’d happily throttle me.”
Maggie knew she’d detected an atmosphere between the brothers. “Best strike Paris off your promo tour list. They use a lot of garlic there.”
“Nick had better watch it. It might turn out that Jago’s the one who can’t be trusted with a string of garlic.”
The deep rumble of his laugh gave her tingles. When she’d agree to style Alex and Nick, she’d been fascinated, and a smidge nostalgic. Part of her had wanted to prove that he was just someone she used to know. Only he was turning out to be a whole heap of fantasticness more than that, and she wasn’t at all sure how to deal with that.
Play. It. Cool.
She splayed her fingers and looked at her hands. She’d paint her nails sunshine yellow next.
Alex steeled himself the minute the car pulled up in front of the hotel. The driver opened the car door and he stepped out, throwing a quick glance about to see if Nick had arrived yet. Knowing him, he’d probably taken a spur-of-the-moment detour. Loyalty to his family came first, but the conversation he’d just had tugged at the frayed edges of his stoicism. He’d gone to LA for Nick, put his own life on hold, and forgotten all about Maggie. Something inside him sparked the moment she stepped onto the plane. She was lovely – with hints of the bubbly, colorful girl who stood out from the crowd he used to know. She’d changed, though. He couldn’t put his finger on it, exactly, but she’d become sort of buttoned-up.
He automatically glued on his sunglasses, despite a heavy sky and grey pavements slick with rain. He summoned a bellhop to take care of the luggage and stood back to play the gentleman, guiding Maggie into the all-mirrors-and-marble lobby with his palm placed protectively in the curve at the base of her spine. Despite the long flight he crackled with energy at her scent of wild flowers. A wicked knot tightened his gut. It would be tempting to see if he could unbutton her, prove that he could have the exact opposite of the soporific effect he’d had on her ten years ago.
The hotel was old and elegant with a smooth, marble floor, a grand carpeted staircase, and a glittering chandelier, which cast a welcoming glow over the lobby, where a clutch of smart Japanese tourists had gathered on bygone chic sofas and chairs, chatting animatedly over their cameras and shopping bags.
Ignoring Maggie completely, the immaculately groomed receptionist went to check Alex in. He took off his sunglasses and slid a glance in Maggie’s direction, gesturing with one hand. “You can take care of the lady first.” He only slightly growled. The receptionist’s face reddened.
“I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were together.” Recognizing what she’d just implied, her face burned some more.
She tore her eyes away from him and checked Maggie in, tapping manically at her computer keyboard, in case her colleague, who was answering the phone, finished talking and got to deal with him before she finished with Maggie. Normally he’d have been amused, tempted to play the game.
He was so ready to drop the whole Jago and Jarvis thing, couldn’t wait for the promo to be over. And right now he was more interested in Project Magenta. Shamefully, when he’d learned that Maggie was the highly rated stylist who’d been booked to work with him in Boston his first reaction had been “Magenta Who?” It hadn’t taken him long to figure out exactly who she was and curiosity kicked in. Regretful curiosity that he’d left things unfinished with Maggie.
When it was Alex’s turn to check in the receptionist switched from ultra-speedy to incredibly slow. She finally gave him his cardkey and he turned to speak to Maggie, but she was already attempting to push the big gold trolley laden with her baggage in the direction of the elevators. She was having trouble. One of the wheels was spinning in useless circles and instead of going in a straight line the trolley kept veering off to the left. A smile that started somewhere in his chest burst onto Alex’s face and cracked his superficial mask.
He strode across the lobby with purpose and caught her up.
“Where’s your bellhop?”
“Gone for a tea break, or something.”
She gave a shove. The dodgy wheel wobbled and the trolley didn’t budge.
“This is all I need,” she gasped. “To get stuck with no bellhop and the trolley-from-hell with a doolally wheel and a mind of its own.” She rolled her eyes. “Yay.”
“Don’t be such a drama queen. There are enough of them in my world already.” The comment earned him a withering look.
“What do you suggest?”
“Chill out, Maggie.” Since there was absolutely no sign of the bellhop, he hauled her small mountain of baggage off the less-than-useless trolley. “I’ll bring your stuff to your room.”
He picked up a heavy bag in each hand and headed for the elevators.
Maggie grabbed the handle of his compact case and wheeled it off, hurrying ahead to press the button.
“Haven’t you ever heard of travelling light?” He stepped into the elevator and dumped her bags on the floor.
“Not when I’ve got handmade bespoke tweed jackets to tote across the Atlantic because the Wells brothers can’t fit a UK photo shoot into their busy schedules and only have a two-day window in Boston that will work for them.”
She fixed him with her doe-eyed gaze. He always had been a sucker for the appeal of those come-to-bed eyes of hers. It was amazing he’d resisted her for so long when they were friends.
“Point taken.” The doors slid closed. “Which floor?”
“Two.” His fingers collided with hers as they both made to press the button. She pulled back as if he’d given her a static shock.
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