The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights: 6 Book Romance Collection. Zara Stoneley
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felt ropey, and out of her depth making a fool of herself in Alex’s A-list world, but deep down she was certain of one thing. Starting a brand-new family was the right way to go. Her friends were holding out for the fairy tale. That was fine for them. She wished them luck. Maggie knew that there was no point. She’d given it a go; it hadn’t worked out. Alex was wrong. There was no guy out there in the world just waiting for her to find him. That’s why she was getting on with having a baby. With a dad who wasn’t there when the baby was conceived. It was a top solution. She wouldn’t have to deal with any more Marcus-style rubbish.
After a wait that felt like an eternity, a forthright knock on the restroom door made her jump, “Alex?”
He marched in. “Here.” He handed her a plastic bag with the name of a souvenir store on it. “Change into these.”
She pulled out an I Heart NY t-shirt and some leggings emblazoned with stars and stripes. “It’s all they had,” he said, completely unapologetic. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Wait. What about shoes?”
“You’ll have to go barefoot.”
She began to protest “How am I supposed to walk without …?”
He cut her off. “Hurry up. I’ve got us some transport.”
The tee was extra extra-large. What was he thinking? She studied herself in a full-length mirror and pulled out the excess material, trying to imagine how she would look when she was nine months pregnant. Perhaps he’d been thinking ahead with the size choice. She eyed herself with displeasure.
Harrumphing with annoyance, she left the restroom and went to join Alex in the red and gold lobby. Barefoot, in stars and stripes leggings, she felt like such a letdown until she saw Alex and her heart cartwheeled. He was wearing a matching I Heart NY tee over his dress shirt. He cloaked his jacket around her shoulders, took her by the hand, laced his fingers into hers, and together they walked out of the movie theater to stand in the full glare of the canopy lighting.
A photographer appeared out of nowhere and pop, they’d been papped.
Maggie groaned. “See what you’ve done?” She splayed her arms in exasperation. Her balled-up designer dress dangled in the plastic souvenir store bag and the shoes that would make many women green with envy swung nonchalantly on the end of one of Alex’s long fingers. Apart from the broken heel, they looked quite attractive there. “If anyone’s crazy enough to publish that, it’ll do wonders for my reputation.”
Alex laughed.
The cheek. When she’d accepted Alex’s invitation, she’d been hoping that any publicity that came out of this weekend might raise her profile, get her noticed, and help her land a TV styling job she had her eye on back in the UK. It was one of her new projects, something she hardly dared pin her hopes on. When she’d said yes to Alex she’d been counting on a side order of glamorous press photos.
“Where’s the taxi?” There was a noticeable absence of yellow cabs, but a Central Park horse and carriage stood at the curb. Alex scooped her up into his arms. Caught by surprise, she had no alternative but to twist her arms around his neck. Held against his chest, his strong biceps tensed, she felt as light as a bag of popcorn.
“Your carriage awaits.” He carried her to the curbside and hoisted her into the horse-drawn carriage. Her eyes must have looked like they’d popped out on stalks. Dressed like a twenty-first century Cinderella after midnight, she ruefully imagined that any minute the carriage would revert to being a pumpkin, the driver would become a frog and the white horse would turn into a rat. She shivered.
A flash popped relentlessly. The rogue paparazzo was still lurking somewhere in the vicinity.
“Where’s security when you need them?” Alex grumbled ironically.
“Gone to call the police department, I shouldn’t wonder. What possessed you? You’ll get us arrested.”
Alex chuckled. Maggie’s mind churned. So much for her trademark fashion-conscious, but unremarkable, image.
“Magenta Plumtree – who styled you this evening?” She mimicked the voice of the presenter who’d interviewed them earlier. “Who designed your tacky leggings and the fabulous outsize t-shirt?”
“It’ll probably be on the internet by the time we get back to the hotel.”
“That’s not helping.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”
The carriage driver made a clicking noise with his tongue, snapped the reins and the horse clip-clopped forward. The sudden movement unbalanced her. She wobbled. Alex’s arm slipped around her. The electric sensation of his warm body next to hers was enough to make her delirious. She ignored the pool of sweet heat at her core. She opted to argue with him. It was safer ground than facing how hot all that hard muscle and handsomeness was. And how overwhelmingly attractive she found him.
“That’s easy for you to say. I’m a stylist, for flip’s sake. Fashion’s what I do. Why do you think I work so hard to stick with a neutral image? It’s not an accident, you know. It’s to keep my image low-profile. That way I can concentrate on giving clients my full fashion focus.”
“Relax. There’s nothing wrong with your fashion focus. Everyone loves what you do.” His eyes glittered. “We’re having an I Heart New York moment.”
“You don’t get it. I’ve just been photographed on a red carpet with a big-name celebrity looking like a tourist who just happened to be passing by and fancied getting a photo souvenir. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, now, for the icing on the cake, you’ve got us trotting around Manhattan in a horse and carriage making a spectacle of ourselves. I’m going to look ridiculous if this goes up on the net. Is hi-jacking a horse and carriage from Central Park even legal? We’ll more than likely end up spending the night locked in a police cell. You’ll not be splitting your sides laughing then.”
“I thought you could use some air and I wanted you to feel comfortable. That’s not exactly a crime.” Her heart fluttered. He’d done the best he could to be considerate – even if the I Heart NY t-shirt and hallucinogenic leggings did fall well short of the mark. “It didn’t occur to me that anyone would notice. Let alone a pap. I thought they’d all gone.”
She’d made a complete shambles of the night. An uncontrollable urge to giggle bubbled up inside her. She squashed it. “I guess I’m not cut out for this red-carpet stuff.”
Maggie shut Alex out. Had saying yes to this New York extravaganza been a huge mistake? The sounds, the lights, the non-stop pace of the city viewed from a hi-jacked horse-drawn carriage felt exciting and lovely – and bizarre. Never mind I Heart New York. She was having a Cinderella-gone-horribly-wrong moment.
Prince Charming does not exist.
Maggie’s grandmother had drummed into her that no matter how scintillatingly wonderful the Mr. Perfects of this world might seem, she should make no mistake – The One was a myth. Like aliens, unicorns, vampires, and every other fantasy out there. In the end, it turned out that she’d have loved to have been proved wrong. The thought made Maggie smile.
Safe in the cossetted luxury of Alex’s hotel suite, she went directly to the bathroom to brush her teeth and freshen up, sorry that she’d ruined the evening, the dress, the mood. She should stick to creating images for other people. She’d stepped out of her comfort zone and things had gone pear-shaped.
She joined Alex in the living room. Hands in pockets, he stood at the window glowering at the dark treeline below, the planes of his face reflected in the glass, spookily distant. His broad shoulders and the long lines of his athletic body made her fizz.
This