by Lucy Hepburn
2 Busy 4 Love
By Lucy Hepburn
With special thanks to:
Erica Munro
Copyright
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004
New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © Working Partners Ltd 2013
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email [email protected].
First Diversion Books edition August 2013
ISBN: 978-1-62681-119-5
Chapter One
CHRISTY
9:00 a.m.
9:00 a.m. Penn Station – on schedule.
Running down to the train platform at Penn Station, Christy Davies swore her sister, Annie, must have had a falling out with Alexander Graham Bell in a previous life, and was still holding a grudge. Otherwise, how was it possible that on the morning Christy was scheduled to pick up her sister’s fiancé from Newark Airport, Annie’s cell kept cutting to voicemail? This was the third time Christy had called in the past hour. What would Annie’s excuse be this time? Maybe she couldn’t hear her phone, lodged somewhere in the pit of her handbag. Maybe from inside Annie’s little bubble, all noises sounded like birds chirruping. Maybe she was out of batteries…again. For Annie, chargers were something to do with white horses and knights of old. How could her own sister be so out of touch with the world? So irresponsible?
Workin’ nine to five
That’s no way to make a livin’
Barely gettin’ by
It’s all takin’ and no givin’
Even in the midst of the morning commuter crush, Christy’s iPhone’s cheesy ringtone cut straight through the racket. Something else she could thank her sister for. One of her little jokes. But still, Christy was relieved. At last this could be her sister returning her calls. Struggling through the crowds toward a vacant space beside a newspaper stall, Christy fished the phone from her bag and glanced at the screen.
“No!” she sagged, seeing that it was a number she didn’t recognize. “Annie, come on! Where are you?”
Clamping her hand over her ear to block out the station clamour, Christy smiled. The person on the other end of the phone could be a client, and that person would be able to tell whether she was smiling or not, even through the phone. “Doorman dot com, Christy Davies speaking. How may I be of service today?”
“Ah, Chris-ee,” slurred a thick, deep voice on the other end of the line. “That’s a real pretty name, Chris-ee. What you wearing, Chris-ee? You wanna tell me about the little extras you provide, eh, Chris-ee? A little room service maybe.”
“Oh, please.” Swiftly ending the call, Christy rolled her eyes. Crank calls were an inevitable occupational hazard of running a business advertised as “personal services.”
She glanced up at the departures board. Her train was due to leave in two minutes. Shrugging her soft grey leather bag over her shoulder, she began to ease her way through the crowds toward the platform, where the crammed train bound for Newark International Airport was boarding. Ducking and wriggling her way inside, she found her face lodged in the armpit of a large, damp man wearing an ill-fitting nylon suit as the doors hissed shut.
Why, oh why, couldn’t there be a GPS application on her iPhone for locating free seats? And what possessed her to perform yet another favor for Annie? Oh, who was she kidding—she hadn’t agreed to do it. She’d insisted upon doing it. She knew perfectly well that her sister couldn’t be trusted with any errand on her own, even though this particular errand involved the love of her life. No, Annie, left to her own devices, would forget. Or go to the wrong airport. Or get the time wrong. Or all three.
Besides, she’d do anything for Annie. She always had.
Gingerly she wriggled free from under the armpit and worked her way down the carriage in search of a little more room. All around her, her fellow passengers seemed resigned to the misery. Some lucky few were engrossed on laptops at their tables, others read books and newspapers, but the vast majority just stood, or sat, lost in their reveries, heading for work.
Aha! There it was—a vacant seat! She pushed her way toward it as politely as she could.
“Excuse me,” Christy said, “would you mind moving your purse so that I can sit down?”
It was clear why nobody else had risked the same request. The woman, whose purse had a whole cushioned seat to itself, was sharply dressed and coiffed, and possessed a devastating air of corporate ferocity. Christy paused for a moment to look at her; she probably wouldn’t have asked the question either if she had seen her terrifying ice-stare beforehand.
But the ice cracked and the woman forced a thin smile. “Sure.”
Christy smiled back. It was clear that the woman wasn’t going to scoot across to the vacant seat, so Christy would have to squeeze over her to get into it. The awkward maneuver caused her to lose her balance at the last moment and crash down on her backside, her hair swishing into her eyes. Not a good look. She glanced around sheepishly. Nobody seemed to have noticed, apart from the cute guy opposite. Fabulous! The honey in the corner had caught her impression of a hippo with two left feet. For a moment she locked eyes with him, returning his amused smile with a sideways grin and feeling a tingle of response at sharing a private interaction with such a great-looking man. Curly brown hair, nice face, cute smile—
Working nine to five…
Hurriedly she looked down at the handy palm-sized screen to register it still wasn’t Annie. Switching back into business mode, she turned her body toward the window so that she could deal with the call as unobtrusively as possible.
She recognized the caller—it was her client Delilah Dallaglio—so before hitting the ‘answer’ button she swiftly tapped in Mrs. Dallaglio’s details and brought herself flying up to speed on their most recent business.
Okay, Delilah Dallaglio: Central Park financier. Owns two apartments downtown. Daughter in Toronto. Son works at Penn Station. No mention of husband. Previous assignments consist of mainly travel, laundry, and staff management assistance. Most recent assignment was arranging a business trip to Greece to meet with Richard Branson. Nothing currently outstanding.
“Doorman dot com, Christy speaking. Good morning, Mrs. Dallaglio, how was your Athens trip?”
“Christy, honey, it was marvelous—you are an angel organizing such ideal tickets for me. The hotel was outstanding. Even Richie was impressed.” Mrs. Dallaglio was demanding, but she never failed to give Christy credit when it was due.
“Wonderful. I’m happy for you. How may I be of service today?”
The cute guy opposite was listening, Christy was sure of it, even though he appeared to be engrossed in paperwork. She caught his eye again and grimaced apologetically. He smiled back, his startlingly blue eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.
“Do you think you might pick up my dry cleaning for me?” Mrs. Dallaglio’s voice was strained and the line was growing crackly. “I’m in meetings all day and…need…tonight…”
Suddenly the line went dead as the train roared into a tunnel. Bad timing! When they were out the other side, Christy quickly hit redial and got straight back through to her client.
“Christy?” Mrs. Dallaglio replied, her voice still crackling. “Thank goodness…uptown…oriental
…corner Forty-Fifth and Ninth…an emergency…”
“I’ll deal with it!” Christy practically yelled down the line. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered!” An elderly man, the fourth occupant of their table, tutted impatiently. Christy could feel herself flushing. But there was nothing she could do. She had a business to run. “Don’t worry Mrs. Dall—”
But the line went dead again. She figured she had just enough information to get the job done. Christy sighed heavily. Obviously Mrs. Dallaglio was in a tricky situation and needed whatever was at the dry cleaner’s for an event this evening. Somehow, using her consummate skills in magic, conjuring, and time travel, she was going to have to fit this errand into her already packed day. Mrs. Dallaglio had been one of the first people who’d employed her services, and even though she did her best to treat each client the same, she had a particular soft spot for the woman. Turning her body even further toward the window, she tapped out Annie’s number again, crossing her fingers and offering a silent prayer for her to pick up.
But no dice. Straight to voicemail. For, like, the tenth time.
She closed her eyes and took some deep breaths. There was actually nothing to panic about, though it didn’t seem like it. She was right on schedule to make the airport for ten o’clock to meet Annie’s fiancé and had even had the foresight to print his name—Antonio—on a piece of card so that he could pick her out in the crowd. A clichéd way to meet her future brother-in-law for sure, but the best she could do given Annie’s scarcity of information.
She leapt in her seat when her phone rang again, and a fresh air of disapproval rippled around the table.
“Sorry,” she muttered, groping for the phone and glancing at the screen. Aha, at last! “Annette Davies, what on earth do you think you’re playing at? I have been rushing—”
“Chill out, little lady!” Annie’s singsong voice sounded as though she hadn’t a care in the world. “How’s my little sis?”
Classic Annie, blasé to the end.
“I’m fine.” Christy was desperate to get to the point of the call; she didn’t want to aggravate her fellow commuters more than she already had. “An—”
“So Chris,” Annie interrupted her. Time waited for no man…but that didn’t include Annie Davies. “Are you bringing anyone tonight? If not, Duncan was asking after you.”
“Haven’t we already covered this?” replied Christy with a sigh. “Look, An—”
“You can’t stay single forever, you know. And Duncan was just saying—”
“I’m busy, not single, okay?” Christy flushed.
“Yeah, too right,” her sister teased.
Christy’s eyes darted around the busy carriage. “Look, this isn’t the time or the place to discuss this. Listen up, Annie, I need to get some info from you…” She rummaged in her bag to locate the few sketchy details she’d managed to glean so far about Antonio’s arrival. “Antonio’s flight’s due in just before ten, right?”
“…Duncan’s come a long way since you two were last together! He—”
“Annie, can we please stay on track here? If you want me to pick Antonio up and sort everything out, then—”
“I could have gone to pick him up myself.”
At this, Christy snorted. “Oh yeah? Like you would have the first idea how to get to Newark Airport.”
“I’m sure I could have worked out something,” Annie said, more defensive than an NFL linebacker.
“Look, don’t worry about anything. You just get yourself organized for your party. Think of this as…my contribution to the effort. And it’ll be nice to get to know Antonio, okay?”
Far better that she do the job herself. At least then she knew it’d be done properly.
“Now, can we get back to Duncan?” Annie chirped on.
“Duncan?” Christy echoed. “Why, exactly?”
“Listen,” Annie’s tone was soothing, cajoling. “Just wait up a second. How long is it since you two split? Three years?”
“Two,” Christy shot back far, far too quickly.
“Even so,” Annie persisted, “it’s time your love life got resuscitated. You need to have some fun. You work way too hard, and Duncan—”
“And Duncan was all about the fun,” Christy said, more softly this time. “Too much about the fun.”
“But that’s what I’m saying; not anymore!” Annie seemed determined to plead Duncan’s case. “He’s made a real success of his business. Why do you think I—”
“Annie!” Christy wanted to yell down the phone, but settled for an angry hiss. “Enough about Duncan! I don’t have space in my life for a relationship right now! Maybe in six months’ time when my business is more settled.”
“You don’t just schedule love in like some dental appointment,” Annie criticized. “You just go with the flow!”
“That’s you, not me, Annie,” Christy corrected. “I don’t have time to go with the flow. I need to coordinate the flow for maximum efficiency. I create the flow.”
“Yeah, right.” Annie clearly didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Well, Annie wouldn’t. She let life happen to her, switching and flipping plans, avoiding responsibility—sometimes it was like they weren’t related at all. Christy was intrigued to meet Antonio—would he be as disorganized as Annette, or would he be a man who got things done?
No sooner had she hung up on Annie, after instructing her in no uncertain terms to keep her phone switched on, it rang again.
And again, immediately after that.
And just as she was apologizing for the millionth time to her fellow passengers, it rang again.
Each call was either from a client, or from somebody getting back to her about an inquiry she’d made on behalf of a client. She handled them with her usual polite efficiency, but as she dealt with each one she felt herself growing redder and redder. Finally she placed the phone back on the cluttered table and willed it not to ring again.
It bleeped instead. She had a text. She snatched it up as though it would self-destruct if she did not. As she stared at the screen, she could see it was not a normal text message alert. Someone had Bluetoothed her.
Can you please be quiet? I’m kinda trying to read here. Will.
Mortified, Christy thrust the phone into the pocket of her lilac suede jacket, slung over her knees. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at the guy opposite, who had, a minute before, looked as if he had been compiling a text on his phone. It must have been him! She felt bad. Noisy travelers were a pain—she winced at the realization that she seemed to have turned into one.
Still, she had one more call to make—she had to ring Mrs. Dallaglio’s dry cleaner to make sure her stuff was ready, before she forgot. Oh, well. Everyone on the train already hated her; one more call wouldn’t change that. She thought about ringing Mr. Simpson as well and her body tingled with excitement at the prospect; today, after all, was the day when she signed the deal on her dream apartment! But, no, that would be a call too far. Mr. Simpson knew she was coming. At least that assignment was in the bag.
Mission accomplished: she’d spoken to the dry cleaner on Forty-Fifth and Ninth and confirmed that Mrs. Dallaglio’s cleaning was ready for collection. She scheduled it in on her iPhone for 12:30 p.m., when she’d be in the area for Antonio’s suit fitting. Simple! She could relax at last, although not before texting back and apologizing to Will for…oh! This was her station! The train was shuddering and screeching to a halt and Christy knew that if she was to stand any chance of getting off it in time she’d need to move fast. Snatching up her things, she began the laborious process of departing the carriage. The ferocious businesswoman seemed only too pleased to stand up to let her out this time, but other travelers, the tired, frazzled ones who’d been standing throughout the journey, were less keen to make a path for her.
“Excuse me, please. Excuse me. Sorry,” she uttered as she squeezed her way out, trying to avoid crushing any toes as she shimmied th
rough the hordes.
Miraculously, she managed to leap from the train with half a second to spare before it began to move off again.
“Thank goodness,” she said to nobody in particular. The New York throng was going about its business as usual, paying no attention to the flustered, blonde, twenty-three-year-old who was clumsily fishing for her phone so she could finish her text apology to the man named Will.
But the phone was gone. Christy knew she’d put it in the pocket of her jacket, and she knew it wasn’t there now. No! Helplessly she looked at the departing train, only to see the guy she’d been sitting opposite, the one she presumed was Will, gesturing to her with a frantic expression on his face. He was holding her iPhone up at the window while trying, and failing, to slide the top open so that he could toss it out to her. Christy began to panic as the train started moving. She ran alongside the window as the train gained momentum down the platform. Before too long, the train picked up speed, and the window and the man were out of sight…The man who was holding her iPhone.
Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Her sister had once teasingly asked Christy what she would prefer to lose, her right hand or her iPhone? Christy had quipped that one was useless without the other. And they both knew she had only half been in jest. Right now she’d happily take a succession of crank calls, and the wrath of a thousand commuters, to have hers back!
Chapter Two
WILL
10:00 a.m.
New Brunswick, New Jersey
Disembarking at New Brunswick, New Jersey, Will pocketed the iPhone beside his own—a chunky, four-year-old Nokia, long ago christened ‘The Brick.’ Will wasn’t much interested in technology, one of the side effects of coming from an artistic background, he supposed. Sure, this fancy touch-screen thing looked good with nice, clean lines, but what sort of person would devote the necessary hours—days maybe—to figure out how to make it work? Back on the train, he’d manage to ring the last number on the girl’s iPhone and got through to some sort of dry cleaner, but they hadn’t been much help. Now he’d reached his own station and had business of his own to take care of. There wasn’t any more he could do right now. The girl could find a payphone and phone her own cell phone number any time, right? He smiled at the thought, recalling her gorgeous, clear green eyes.
