The Terrible Personal Shopper (Surprised by Love Book 1)

by Laura Burton

  I have to admit, having my best friend join me on the press tour does settle my nerves. She’ll be able to do the personal shopper stuff and I can just… be there.

  I clamp my teeth together. “If you’re going, there’s no point in me going too. Just call them up and…”

  “And what? Tell them what, Leila?” Her voice is laced with panic.

  “How about the truth?”

  “The truth? What is that, exactly? That I sent a lunatic to his apartment and let him get man handled by someone who has no idea what she’s doing?”

  “Man handled?” The words come out with a laugh. The laugh turns into a cough and I stop walking to regain my composure.

  “Yes. If they find out you’re not qualified, I’ll get fired.”

  I sigh with defeat as I climb into the back of a taxi. There’s no way around it, I guess.

  The cab trundles down the street and my ears ring with the sound of car horns.

  The idea of flying to foreign countries on private planes with my Hollywood crush fizzles away.

  “Fine. Make the call and just tell them you’re going instead.” It was foolish of me to imagine I could pull this off anyway, I add in my head.

  Josie ends the call, promising to send me the money for today, and I console myself with the thought that I can at least pay my share of the rent this month.

  I’ll look for another job tomorrow.

  The sky is a navy shade of blue as I scramble out of the cab. I straighten my dress before I put on my most serene smile possible. Then I walk up to the door to my sister’s apartment.

  “Hey, I’m back.” I try to sound happy and carefree as I walk in. Lucy is sitting on the couch with her gaming headset on. She’s in the exact position she was in when I left.

  Her eyes don’t leave the TV screen as she grunts back, and her high ponytail wobbles from left to right as she smashes the buttons on her controller.

  “How did it go, today?” she asks.

  Lucy is the only person I know who can simultaneously fight goblins and monsters on a computer game and hold a conversation. She says it’s easier than making eye contact and doing nothing else – something about not knowing where to look or what to do with her hands. I can’t relate, it’s extremely distracting for me. Usually, that is.

  Right now, I’m grateful Lucy’s main focus isn’t aimed at me. Maybe when I tell her how my appointment went, she won’t look at me with those huge disappointed eyes like I’m the biggest let down in the world.

  “I’m sorry, but I broke your tape.”

  The controller plops down in her lap and her head swivels so hard, I hear her neck crack. “Let me see.”

  I pull out the two pieces and Lucy frowns. I expect her to say something about how irresponsible I am for breaking her stuff. Or that I need to replace it immediately, otherwise she’ll never be able to finish her elf costume for the upcoming Comic Con she’s going to.

  But instead, she looks up at me, and her gaze meets mine for almost three seconds before she looks down again and a big smile breaks out on her face.

  Then, to my complete surprise, she begins to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  Lucy often laughs at inappropriate moments. I wonder if this is like the time I sobbed on her shoulder when I watched The Notebook for the first time. She laughed then too.

  Or when I told her Hank, my pet hamster, had died. She rubbed her arm and made a noise that sounded oddly like a cackle before she muttered something inaudible and left the room.

  “That isn’t even a real measuring tape,” she says, lifting the pieces up. I frown at her and drop my purse on the floor, kicking my heels off. “What?”

  When I join her on the couch, she holds the pieces up for me as if seeing them suspended in the air will suddenly make everything crystal clear. It doesn’t. All I see is my sister giggling at an imaginary joke and two lengths of measuring tape.

  “This came from a Christmas cracker.”

  “A what?”

  “My boss came back from Europe with these crackers… They have stuff inside, like jokes and a novelty gifts.”

  “And this was inside?” I ask, nodding to the tape. My frown deepens. “What does it matter where it came from? It’s still a measuring tape.”

  “No!” Lucy creases over and laughs so heartily, my eyes prickle with tears as humiliation floods my body. I don’t like being the butt of the joke, especially when I can’t work out what the joke is exactly.

  “It’s cheap and flimsy. Besides, this tape only goes up to two feet. It’s tiny. I use it for my dolls. Sorry, it’s my bad. I was distracted when I gave it to you.”

  The words You’re so big, you broke my tape! come flooding back and I bite my lip.

  “Oh, Lucy,” I say with a horrified whisper. “I pinged him with it.”

  Lucy stops laughing to give me an incredulous look. “Pinged?”

  I shut my eyes and recount the event to her. “I was measuring his inside seam and… and…”

  I motion with my hands as I say the word, “Ping.”

  I squint my eyes open to see Lucy looking at me open-mouthed. She blinks a couple of times, then a bubble of laughter rises from the pit of my stomach, and the next thing I know, we’re both rolling around, tears leaking out of our eyes, unable to catch a breath.

  I love Lucy. She has this beautiful ability to make me laugh, even when I’m laughing at myself. When we’re done, she doesn’t press the subject or ridicule me. She just asks if I’m hungry and goes into the kitchen to heat up a plate of leftover Chinese.

  I decide to not bring up the fact that I have no idea what I’m going to do for work from now on. We while away the rest of the night with spicy noodles and hot chocolate. Lucy tells me the latest Lord of the Rings news from her favorite fan sites.

  I watch Lucy’s face light up as she talks at the speed of light and plays her game. There’s a mixture of worry and guilt writhing around in my stomach the whole time. Or maybe it’s just the noodles moving around in there.

  I’m Lucy’s older sister. I should be the calm and collected one; the one taking care of her and keeping a job longer than a few weeks. Lucy has always been the sister I had to protect the most at school. I had to be her safe place at home too. Our mom couldn’t handle her anxieties and intense interests.

  She never tried to get Lucy support or any kind of diagnosis. It was left to me and Chessy to rally around her and help whenever Lucy got sensory overload and started to slap herself. Sometimes, she’d get a panic attack over the fact that her cereal was out of stock.

  We all figure Lucy is on the autism spectrum. But she was never deemed “severe enough” to get any formal help.

  In spite of her quirks and sensitivities, she’s been working the same 9 to 5 desk job for a magazine company for the past 9 years. She pays her bills, keeps the apartment pretty clean without my help, and is the one always offering to help me.

  I, on the other hand, just keep letting her down. Today, I let Josie down too. I’m good at doing that. Maybe I should put letting people down on my resume.

  When I finally retire to my room, I roll over onto my side and scroll through my phone, looking at the social media photos of Blaze.

  Did today really happen?

  Maybe this is just some weird dream. Maybe I’m going to wake up and find out I haven’t been fired from Perrier Francé’s; I never met Blaze Hopkins, never will meet him, and will never have to worry about embarrassing myself in front of him again.

  Oddly, the thought of waking up to find out today didn’t happen and I’ve got to go to work in the kitchen doesn’t make me feel better. I bury my face in my pillow and suck in a deep breath, nearly choking on a strong scent of lavender.

  Lucy must have sprayed my pillow with her sleep spray.

  When sleep finally hits, all I can dream about is Blaze’s huge arms and smoldering smile.

  Hey, baby… you don’t want to miss your flight.

  A w
eird squeak floats over to me from a distance, but I can’t place it. It’s not a siren, or the normal traffic sounds. It’s something else.

  Hey, Leila, it’s time to join me. Blaze is standing over my bed, his eyes glowing like two moons in the darkness. I wave a hand and groan. “No, Josie is going with you. Leave me alone.”

  “Leila. What the heck are you talking about? Wake up.”

  I open my eyes and squint against the brilliant sunlight flooding my room. “What?”

  The bed shifts under the weight of a person sitting by my legs. “You were talking in your sleep.”

  My vision clears just enough for me to see Lucy handing me a steaming mug. “You have a visitor.”

  “Who?” I take a sip and wince when the scalding hot liquid burns the top of my tongue. Great, now I won’t be able to taste anything for a week.

  I look at my nightstand. “What time is it?” My phone lights up. It’s not even seven yet. My brain cannot fathom who could possibly be here this early.

  “Leila! Are you up? Have you heard the news?”

  Chessy comes running into the room like it’s Christmas morning. I moan. It’s too early for Chessy’s energy.

  “What news?”

  Chessy plops on the bed and it squeaks under her weight. “Josie tried to call you a bunch of times but you weren’t picking up, so she called me.” Chessy sucks in a breath with a squeal and my heart sinks. I guess the events of yesterday were real. And my hopes of keeping the details low-key are out the window. I knew Chessy would be far too excited about the situation. “Did you turn off your phone or something?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she grabs my shoulders and puts her face two inches away from mine. Her eyes are shining with innocent joy. It’s like this girl cannot even comprehend why anyone in my position might feel anything other than total happiness. “Josie spoke to Blaze’s people. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were meeting him, by the way. But anyway...” She shakes her hair back with a nervous giggle. “He insisted you come with him on his press tour.”

  “What about Josie?”

  I yawn and set my cup down, trying to make sense of the situation.

  Chessy isn’t having it. “Leila! Get up! We need to get you ready.”

  I roll onto my back with a groan and place a pillow over my face. “Not now. It’s too early.”

  “No!” Chessy climbs onto me and yanks the pillow from my head. She probably woke up at five to do her hair and makeup. She has eyeshadow on, for goodness sake. And her hair is falling in soft waves over her face.

  I’ll never understand how anyone can put so much effort into looking good all the time.

  “You’re crazy, you know that?” I grumble. Chessy jumps off the bed and grabs my ankles. Without another word, she yanks and drags me across the mattress. “What the heck!” I yelp. Lucy is standing at the foot of my bed, seemingly unable to make up her mind about what to do. “Chessy, watch it,” she says. “You’re going to knock over the cup.”

  Chessy stops for a second and we both give Lucy a look.

  Really? Chessy is dragging me out of bed, telling me I have to go with some Hollywood actor on his press tour for weeks, and Lucy is worried we’re going to spill a drink on my nightstand?

  Chessy turns back to the task at hand and starts tugging on my ankles again. I grab her wrist. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  I sit up again and Chessy lets go with a sigh. “Josie can’t go on the tour.”

  “But I don’t understand. She was going to tell Blaze’s people…”

  “Well, things change. Plans change.”

  I shake my head at Chessy’s comment. “I don’t get it.”

  It takes Lucy, who squats down to look me square in the eye, to stop my mind from reeling. “Blaze’s limo is coming to get you in an hour.”

  I hitch a breath, the words hitting me between the eyes with a thwang. “What am I going to wear?” I whisper. Hold on, what, on Earth, am I going to pack? There’s no time to wash, dry, and iron all my nice clothes. But Chessy grins at me and rushes out to drag a big luggage bag into my room.

  “Don’t you worry. I’ve got you.”

  Chapter 6

  Blaze

  “Blaze, are you even listening to any of this?”

  I grunt and turn away from the plane window to look at Martin, my manager. He’s easily a decade younger than me; fresh out of college. But he gives me a discerning look over his thick-rimmed glasses. Whenever Martin does that, he looks just like my dad used to when he’d find me doing something I shouldn’t - like sneaking food into my bedroom.

  In truth, I wasn’t listening to him. That low, droning voice is enough to put anyone to sleep during the day, and it’s not even nine in the morning yet. Plus, I’ve already been up for five hours.

  I hate press tours.

  Early starts, late nights. Interviews after interviews featuring pointless questions like ‘If you died and came back as an animal, what animal would you be?’

  On top of all that, my co-stars and I have to pretend we don’t loathe each other the entire time.

  It’s exhausting.

  Instead of listening to Martin’s tightly-packed schedule, I was looking out for the car and revisiting the conversation I had with my PA last night. Turns out my suspicions were true.

  Leila is not the personal shopper my PA hired to meet me. What’s worse, the original personal shopper was insisting on doing the press tour in place of Leila, claiming Leila was merely her “assistant.”

  “No. It has to be Leila,” I said, keeping my voice firm.

  The one perk of being Blaze Hopkins is that very few people stand up to me. What Blaze wants, Blaze gets. Well, unless I’m speaking to my dad. All he has to do is give me one of his looks and I immediately feel small again.

  There was a cough on the other end of the phone followed by a silence that made me wonder if this would be the one time my PA would argue with me. But then there was a sigh and a resigned, “Yes, sir.”

  Now I’m jittery, watching cars and trucks come and go on the runway. I look at my watch. “She’s late.”

  “Who?” Martin looks up from his tablet briefly before he looks back down at it again. He doesn’t seem to be interested in the answer, and I’m glad, because I don’t know why I’m so nervous.

  Ever since Leila left my apartment, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. It didn’t help that she left all those reminders around my apartment - the smudge of lipstick on my glass, the scent of her floral perfume on the couch, where she sat.

  I can’t figure it out. Why has this woman made such an impression on me?

  Maybe it’s because Harry had me thinking about finding a woman to go on adventures with. Or maybe it was simply Leila - so quirky and upbeat in spite of her total incompetence.

  “Blaze is daydreaming again.”

  I’m jolted out of my head when a waft of heavy perfume floods the cabin. “You decided to show up, then?” I say, not needing to look to know who the woman that just sat across from me is. Harper Jewel, the lead actress in this production.

  She’s an A-lister with the humility of a narcissist.

  Shooting with her for three months was insufferable enough; Parading around with her on my arm for the next couple of weeks will warrant an Oscar.

  “You’re always early, that doesn’t make me late,” she shoots back. Just shows how little the woman knows me. My mom used to joke about my inability to be on time.

  Today, I’m early because of her.

  Not Harper; that woman’s ego is big enough to repel me even in the loneliest of moods.

  For Leila, that breath of fresh air. I can’t figure her out, but I want to try.

  For her, I’ll show up anywhere on time.

  I glance up to meet Harper’s angry glare. She has impossibly high cheekbones and an oddly angular face. I’m always struck with the unpleasant and overwhelming feeling that she’s wearing a mask. Most of her blonde curls are extensions,
and somewhere under the lip fillers and tattooed brows, there’s probably an insecure woman. It shows in the way she makes a game of putting everyone down just so she can feel less like trash.

  It’s not that I don’t agree with women being creative with their appearance and doing whatever makes them feel more confident. It’s the hypocrisy I struggle with. Harper will hold up one scene for hours just because she hates the way her hair looks, or how visible her pores are in the 4K cameras. Yet, she preaches about body positivity and being kind on social media.

  I’ve lost track of the times a stylist has run off set in tears because of something venomous Harper said.

  I look out the window again. The less eye contact and conversation I have with the toxic woman, the better. Thankfully, she seems just as disinterested in carrying on the conversation because she doesn’t say anything else.

  Another limousine rolls up and I watch Eddie, the antagonist in Demolition Beast, climb out with his phone to his ear. He is the exact opposite of the character he played in the movie.

  His character was conniving and outspoken, but Eddie is always quiet and mild mannered on set. He’s a man of few words. Most often found on his phone or sitting alone with his thick brows knitted together. Method actors. They take life far too seriously.

  Whenever Eddie does have something to say, it’s usually profound.

  With a disgruntled sigh, Martin gives up trying to talk to me about the schedule and slumps back in his seat with a glass of Chardonnay. He swirls the liquid and joins me in peering out the window.

  “Three weeks,” he reminds me. “That’s all. Twenty-one days and then you’re free.”

  I roll my shoulders back and shut my eyes as the anticipated stress settles on me like an anvil.

  “Correction,” I say. “You’ll be free. I’m flying to Ireland to shoot Derryman.”

  Martin grumbles something incoherent as I open my eyes again to watch the steady stream of cars and trucks going past.

  Two men wearing fluorescent jumpsuits walk around with what look like two giant ping pong paddles. An old man drives past in a golf cart with a stack of luggage.