by Rachel Astor
Gamble on Engagement
McMaster the Disaster, book 2
Rachel Astor
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.
~ PROLOGUE ~
As we walked, hand in hand, the paparazzi cars pulled up and the photographers were fighting to get to us as fast as they could. We continued to walk, pretending not to notice them, although it was a little more difficult once the flashes started.
Finally, Jake smiled and gave the cameras a little wave. I took his cue and smiled along. A few of Jake’s fans came running up: three teenage girls and one super cute little old lady wanting an autograph for her granddaughter. The three girls even knew who I was and, I’m sure just out of courtesy, they asked for my autograph too.
Several minutes later, I cleared customs and Jake was free to go, since he wasn’t allowed past security. We tried not to, but there was absolutely no privacy, so we gave the press a little something to run in tomorrow’s paper when Jake kissed me goodbye.
“See you in a month,” he said as he walked away, his hand lingering on mine for a few seconds.
I nodded to him. I was surprised that I had to fight back a tear or two.
I continued past security and off to the gate.
The waiting proved to be a lot more difficult that I had expected. The corner of the confidential envelope was peeking out, just a little, from my bag. I tried not to think about it. I got up for a coffee. I took a trip to the bathroom. I chatted a little with the lady sitting next to me. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally called my flight number.
I jumped up, first in line, and I headed down the narrow hall to board my plane, the envelope clutched tightly in my hand.
~ 1 ~
It was a miracle the envelope was still relatively wrinkle-free the way I was clutching it for dear life. Okay, maybe not for dear life exactly, but knowing that the contents of the envelope held my fate for the next three months, and also knowing I wasn’t allowed to open it until I left the ground, was pretty much killing me.
The plane could not fill up fast enough.
And that’s when I started to panic.
What the hell had I been thinking, agreeing to a job knowing so little about it? And what the heck did I know about ghostwriting an autobiography for Pete’s sake? Cripes, I didn’t even know where I was going to live for the next three months. Well, England of course, but more specific than that? I had no freakin’ clue. What if I was stuck out in the middle of some forest or something with some creepy old Nobel Prize winner who doesn’t believe in electricity or running water?
Dear God, what if I had to use an outhouse?
My thoughts raced back to what the job placement officer had said on the phone. “Other than in public, you will have full access to the celebrity,” she’d said.
Okay, so that must mean this person at least goes out in public, right? It was then that I realized I didn’t even know whether this celebrity was a guy or a girl. Or young or old. Jeez, I didn’t even know if it was an actor, a singer, or what.
What was I thinking? Well, other than running as far away as possible from my old life, not to mention finally getting that vacation of my dreams to travel through Europe.
Unfortunately the job was only in England, which was great, but the dream had really been to travel all of Europe. So, first order of business, find out what one of those Rail ticket thingies cost. They have those, right? Yes, I’m sure I’ve heard people talking about taking the train here and there and everywhere around Europe.
But then again, maybe I’d be stuck working the whole time. I mean, how long does it even take to write a book?
My brain was getting all swirly again and I wished more than anything that the stewardess was already on her beverage cart. Of course, the stinkin’ plane would have to take off for that to happen.
God, was this thing ever going to take off?
I couldn’t take it any longer; I had to open it. It’s not like anyone would ever know that I’d opened it early. I slid my finger under the seal and started to rip. My heart raced in anticipation, and a bit of panic that I might get caught. I looked around again, making sure no one was watching.
Don’t be ridiculous Josie; no one cares what you’re doing, I told myself. No one’s even paying an ounce of attention to you. God, you’d think you were the Queen or something the way you’re acting. I slid my finger under the seal again.
My phone buzzed, jolting me back to reality. How did the Universe know every time I was doing something I shouldn’t be?
Every time!
I grabbed the phone and quickly read my text.
Have a great trip Jose. Be safe. Love Jake.
Aw… how in the world was I supposed to live without him for a month? And how on Earth could I have ever gotten so lucky to have a boyfriend like him? I mean, he was a movie star for bloody sake. A multi-million-dollar-per-picture movie star! It was inconceivable.
I held my phone to my chest, allowing myself a dorky girlfriend moment, just for a second, then sighed, smiling. No one on the face of the planet was as happy or as content as I was. It was quite the turnaround, really, from a few short weeks ago when I’d thought my world had effectively come to an end.
I shook the negative thoughts out of my mind. Nothing was going to ruin that perfect moment for me, especially considering I still had the anticipation of opening the most sacred envelope I’d ever held in my life. I tucked my finger under the corner of the envelope again, glancing to the left and the right, just to be safe. I started slowly moving my finger across the seal, savoring the satisfying rip that promised to release the name of its captor into blessed freedom.
“Eeee! McMaster the Disaster!” a scream reverberated from the front of the plane, causing me to jump practically right out of the plane, not to mention rip my sacred envelop flap into a jagged mess.
I had two choices, ‘fess up to my not-so-beloved (and now infamous) nickname, or slink down and pretend I didn’t have a clue what a “McMaster the Disaster” was.
The way the woman was barreling down the aisle though, I doubted she would take the hint that I didn’t want to be bothered. We’re talking full-out shoving people to get to me.
“Oh my God! You are so my hero!”
I smiled and looked around in hopes that no one else had noticed anything. But, since the girl had about the same amount of discretion as a charging moose, my fears were confirmed. Every single person on that plane was staring at me.
“Um, thank you,” I said, hoping to goodness she wasn’t going to be sitting beside me.
But of course, my luck never had been that good.
“I’m Missy, by the way,” the woman said. “I just cannot believe I am sitting on a plane beside McMaster the Disaster for an entire trip to Europe!”
I smiled, hoping it was hiding my horror. “Yes, me either.”
“So are you still dating Jake Hall? Oh my God, what’s it like to date a real live movie star?”
I smiled, wishing I could teleport to England. “Um, yes, it’s um… very nice, I guess.”
Worst of all, there was no way I could open my envelope. Not with this woman anywhere near me—she’d be over my shoulder and have it read in a second flat.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the breathing techniques from the yoga classes I used to take. “Hee, hee, hee, breathe…” I whisper-breathed, “hee, hee, hee, breathe.” Wait, that seems more like I’m in labor. Right, the yoga was breathing throu
gh the nose. I closed my eyes and sucked in a huge breath through my nose.
I opened my eyes to see that even Missy was looking at me weird, so I decided I should at least try to be normal for a while. I tucked the envelope into my carry-on, with Missy watching it like a hawk. I could tell she wanted nothing more than to ask me what was inside, but she just couldn’t bring herself to be that rude. A bit shocking for someone who’d just barreled through a plane shouting my cursed nickname, but I was thankful anyway.
I shoved the envelope back in my bag, but it kept catching on something. I bent down to see what the problem was, only to discover a blue velvet jewelry box that someone had snuck in there. My heart skipped a beat as I pulled it out.
Missy gasped.
I couldn’t help but think how nice the moment would have been had she not been there pretty much leaning on my shoulder, but what could I do? I glanced at her, smiling awkwardly and slowly opened the box.
“Oh my God!” Missy yelled, capturing the entire plane’s attention yet again.
I slunk further into my seat.
But she was right in a way. The necklace really was scream worthy. It was a charm shaped like a book, set entirely with diamonds, with the word “Diary” on the front cover.
A small note card with the words “Custom Made” was taped to the inside of the box, and in Jake’s handwriting it said, “Your diary will never be a disaster to me, Love Jake.”
“Oh my word, that is so romantic,” Missy said, clutching her chest.
I couldn’t help but let out a little giggle. I mean, it was silly, but I was just so… giddy over it.
I didn’t even care when Missy insisted on helping me put it on.
She gasped and pulled out her cell. “We’ve got to get a picture!”
Which was just so weird. I mean, I’d been in the papers once or twice, but it’s not like I was famous for real or anything, though it would probably just be easier to humor her. “Um, sure.”
She bounced in her seat, then leaned her largely coiffed head close to mine, holding her cell out as far as her arm would reach. “Smile!”
I smiled. Sort of.
I quickly pulled out my laptop while she put her phone away, hoping Missy might take the hint and find something of her own to do. Urg, why does the plane have to be so full? I was already getting a little claustrophobic stuck on the inside with Missy in the middle and another guy in the aisle seat. I pulled down my tray table and tucked my elbows into my body as tightly as possible, hoping Missy might do the same. But she just took it as an opportunity to rest her ample arm all over the armrest, her elbow hanging halfway in my seat.
She gasped. “Are you about to write a Disaster Diary entry? Oh my God, can I watch?” She bounced in her seat. “Eeee! I cannot believe I get to watch the famous Josie McMaster write in her Disaster Diary!”
The man in the aisle seat shifted rather uncomfortably, leaning heavily away from Missy and rolling his eyes.
Of course she didn’t notice though.
“Actually, no, I wasn’t going to write in the Disaster Diary. I was just going to do a little work.”
“Oh,” she looked so disappointed.
Not that I couldn’t write about this lovely little situation of her making an ass out of herself, not to mention me in the process, but she might take offense if I put it that way.
Urg, why couldn’t I have gotten a first-class ticket? Oh right, I did have a first-class ticket, which I’d cashed in so I could do a little traveling around Europe. Stupid McMaster, monumentally stupid.
“So what kind of work are you doing?” She leaned in close, resting her chin on her hand, her elbow still taking up my entire armrest.
Of course I hadn’t actually planned on anything I was going to do on my laptop, I was more just taking it out to distract her in hopes she would find something of her own to do.
“Um, well, you know, just a little research on this err… article I’m doing on…” I looked around, desperate not to reveal what I was really supposed to be working on—goodness knew what she might do if she knew it was a celebrity biography—but good God, all I could see around me were men in orange safety jackets holding onto their little orange directing thingies. “… the color orange and how it affects moods.”
“Oh!” Missy said, brightening even more, as if that was even possible. “I just love orange.”
Instantly, I spotted my mistake. The scarf around her neck, the polish on her nails, and even her luggage, were all a bright, safety cone orange.
“Oh yeah,” I said, letting out an unenthusiastic laugh. “I guess you must like orange. Boy, that luggage must be easy to spot coming around the carousel.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, her eyes wide, nodding. “Best luggage I’ve ever had.”
I nodded, gritting my teeth through my fake smile. “I bet.”
The next several hours were the absolute longest of my life. Missy droned on and on about all the fabulousness that the color orange beheld. She kept looking at my computer expectantly, no doubt wondering why I wasn’t taking notes. In a million years a real journalist would never take some random woman’s opinion as research for an article, but since I had no idea how I would actually research the color orange, not to mention I would give just about anything to pass some of the time, since I absolutely could not get that stinkin’ envelope out of my mind, I actually lowered myself to typing her ideas about orange.
I could not believe she did not even go to the bathroom once on entire trip. I swear my leg did not stop juggling from frustration for one second.
Finally, blessedly, so many hours later, I flew off that plane like a toddler needing to pee, not even caring if Missy thought I was being rude. I mean seriously, I’d already devoted way too much time to that woman. Plus, I had to get into my envelope as fast as possible since I didn’t even know where I was supposed to go once we landed.
I high-tailed it for the bathroom, not willing to take the chance that Missy might follow me, praying that she would go to pick up her luggage first. I snuck into the first stall and pulled the envelope out of my carry on.
A moment later someone barged into the restroom, singing.
Good God, it was Missy. I should have known, I suppose, considering the fact that she hadn’t used the restroom the whole time we’d been on the plane, but seriously, even my luck usually wasn’t this bad.
I carefully tried ripping the envelope as quietly as possible so as not to attract attention, hoping against hope that Missy would finish quickly and get over to the luggage even more quickly, grabbing her stinkin’ orange bags and be outta there before I had to collect mine.
I clutched the envelope, feeling like I was totally doing something wrong behind Missy’s back. Which was ridiculous, I know, but I really wasn’t very good at the whole secretive thing.
I took a deep breath, shaking off the feeling. Finally the time had come. I pulled the sheet of paper out of the envelope, my heart racing to find out who my secret celebrity client was going to be.
~ 2 ~
It was all I could do not to scream and jump out of that stall to hug Missy, which obviously I couldn’t do since she’d probably hound me until I told her what my secret was, so instead I did a silent little victory dance right there in the Heathrow bathroom.
I’m sure it looked really spectacular.
But it was certainly called for. I… was going to ghostwrite a biography for… a Prince! And not just any Prince either, but Prince Leo, England’s most eligible bachelor, favorite fodder for the tabloids and all-around, Hottie McHotterson.
Okay Josie, settle down, you already have a very handsome boyfriend. A very rich, and famous, and fabulous boyfriend (not to mention great kisser).
Okay, okay, okay I told myself. Just calm down. You are not going to get all sploofy around some guy just because he’s a Prince (oh my God, a Prince!). No, you will remain rational and calm and you will write in your diary this instant so as not to go thinking that you’re some
kind of magnet for super handsome famous guys.
Dear Disaster Diary,
I was running really late for the bus one fated January day. I know, I know, I was always running late for my bus, but this time I was just a teensy bit late, which meant I still had a chance to actually catch it. A slight chance, mind you, but a chance none the less.
I scurried out of my building and down the street as fast as I could in my new Betseyville heels, not really noticing that it had rained overnight and that a bit of the moisture had frozen into an invisible layer of death. Yes, you can see where this is going.
Anyway, I spotted my bus about to drive away from the stop and picked up my pace, really pushing those Betseys to their limit when all of a sudden I… was… flying.
After the mildly exhilarating (and seriously terrifying) trip through the skies, the crash was much less painful than might be expected, given that my forward momentum had sent me sailing head first across the icy sidewalk, arms and legs flailing like Bambi, only coming to a stop at the feet of an extremely well-dressed and handsome gentleman.
Come to think of it, that was really the most painful part of all.
I collected myself as best as I could and finally finished reading the letter, since, you know, I had absolutely no idea how I was supposed to meet my Prince. Okay, not my Prince, obviously. Apparently, there was supposed to be a driver awaiting my arrival somewhere near the baggage claim. Sheesh, I thought. I sure hope he doesn’t know what I look like and/or saw me exit the plane and head for the bathroom so fast it probably looked like I was having some sort of stomach issues. That would be just my luck.
Since Missy was still in another stall, I decided I should try to make a break for it while she was… err… occupied.
I unlocked the door silently and crept out, trying to not even breathe so as not to alert Missy. I thanked the heavens for the tiny miracle that allowed me to get out of there undetected.
