The Terrible Personal Shopper (Surprised by Love Book 1)

by Laura Burton

  She’s the human personification of pure adrenaline. And I like it. A lot.

  Yes, yes, it’s probably just infatuation. A fleeting feeling.

  If my history is anything to go by, it’ll be gone in less than a week and I’ll be back to square one. Which is worse than feeling no connection at all.

  But there’s always a chance that, this time, things will be different. Besides, Leila holds me captive, and she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

  Right now, I can’t stop looking at her lips, or thinking about sliding my arm around her tiny waist, or wondering what her neck smells like.

  If she knew what thoughts were crossing my mind, she’d probably call me a creep.

  While I wrestle with my thoughts, Harper and Leila start talking about clothes and hair like a pair of high-schoolers.

  This is not what I pictured. Leila getting friendly with Harper isn’t something I’d call a positive development.

  But it might be for the best. It’s always smart to keep on Harper’s good side. If she takes a dislike to Leila, Harper can make her life a living nightmare. And that would make my life a living nightmare too.

  Not to mention, it would put a serious downer on the entire trip.

  Martin snores, breaking me out of my head as I take my seat and watch Leila chat away to her new bestie. I pour a drink and nudge Leila lightly with it. She gives me a quick smile. “Thanks.” Then she turns back to Harper like I don’t even exist.

  This is new for me.

  I guess I didn’t expect to have her undivided attention, but to be ignored? I mean, if it wasn’t for me, she’d be stuck with those sniggering stylists. Don’t I deserve a little attention?

  “I’m so glad you’re on this trip, Leila. Listen, as soon as we arrive in London, I want you to pick up a few things for me.”

  “Oh, sure. That won’t be a problem at all.”

  I lean across the seat and hover near Leila’s cheek so I can give Harper a pointed look. “Now listen, you can’t just go and-”

  “Oh, stop.” Harper raises her palm with an eye roll. “You can’t hog the personal shopper. She can work for me too. Besides, what are you hiring her for, anyway?” Her eyes scan me up and down before she lifts a brow at me.

  Leila laughs. It’s breathy and fake, a vain attempt to break the proverbial ice between Harper and me. But it doesn’t work.

  Harper is right to be suspicious. How many men like me hire a personal shopper?

  It was my PA’s idea, after I appeared in the Estelle magazine feature titled Top 10 Sexiest Bachelors Who Don’t Know How to Dress.

  Being in the limelight comes with some surprising drawbacks.

  For example, before I became Blaze Hopkins - three-time Academy Award winner and most wanted actor in Hollywood, it didn’t matter what clothes I wore.

  I could walk out in a pair of ripped jeans and a plaid shirt and no one would bat an eyelid. Now, I make front page news if I choose to wear Adidas over Nike. My PA suggested a personal shopper to help me figure out what my style is. I was mostly going along with it, but then Leila showed up in my apartment.

  I haven’t even thought about clothes since then.

  Harper doesn’t know it, but her question is very apt.

  Why did I hire Leila to join me for the press tour?

  The story I’m going with is that I want to pick up some things in every country we travel to and I need someone who has an eye for fashion, and the time to pick things out for me.

  But the truth is that I couldn’t care less if she went to Costco and picked up a roll of trash bags for me to wear instead.

  Anyway, I didn’t hire her to date. I’ve got to remember that.

  I know Harry said he’d hook me up with his matchmaker if I didn’t find myself a woman by the end of this trip, but I don’t care how many people scream at me about what a genius she is. I don’t want some insufferable, loud-mouthed woman telling me who my soulmate is.

  What a way to remove the fun out of dating. No, thanks.

  If I’m being totally real, I hired Leila to kill two birds with one stone. First, to appease my PA and make her think I'm following her advice. Two, for my own mental health. Leila is a shiny new ball with an unpredictable nature. I never quite know what she’s going to do, and the thrill of the unexpected makes me feel alive.

  “Okay, you two, don’t be fighting over little old me,” Leila says, chuckling. “There’s plenty of Leila to go around-” As soon as the words escape her lips, she throws a hand to her mouth. Harper and I share a look, then break into a fit of laughter.

  “I didn’t mean…” Leila starts, then she throws her hands over her face.

  “You’re right,” I say, sitting back and looking at Leila with my warmest smile as she peeks through her fingers. “If Harper wants to hire you too, that’s just fine. Besides, this is a long trip and you’re not exactly going to be shopping for me the whole time.”

  “Exactly,” Harper chimes in. “Now, let me go over the finer details with Leila…”

  I raise my palms and let Leila and Harper continue their conversation. Even as I shut my eyes, I can sense Leila’s body next to me. Her perfume wafts over me like a gentle breeze rolling over the ocean.

  Leila’s voice is so soft and musical; I could listen to it all day. In fact, I can already feel my heartbeat slowing and my breaths turning long and deep. I picture myself lying in bed, with Leila sitting next to me reading A Tale of Two Cities until I'm headed for Snooze Ville.

  Can you pay someone to read to you? If that’s not an actual job, it should be.

  The plane jerks suddenly, jolting me awake, and I blink several times to process that the cabin is dark. All the shutters are closed on the windows and nothing but the rumbling engines fill my ears.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been out, but Martin is in a deep sleep, resting his head against the side of the plane. There’s a little patch of drool dribbling down his thin chin. I can only see Eddie’s arm, but his laptop screen is flashing pictures of some action movie. Harper has an eye mask on and a pair of headphones over her ears. The seat next to me, where Leila was sitting, is empty.

  My stomach clenches with guilt. Did she go back to the other cabin?

  I brought her here for a bit of fun, and Harper got her shiny claws into her and I fell asleep.

  Leila probably felt uncomfortable. I wonder if I snored?

  Just as I’m internally kicking myself, Leila returns, looking flushed. She beams a big smile at me. “You’re awake.” For some reason, she sounds delighted.

  “I’m sorry about that… What a buzzkill to be up here with us.”

  Leila chuckles and plops down into her seat. “Don’t worry about it. Harper and I had a nice chat, then Eddie told me all about his comic book project.”

  I groan. How did I sleep through all that? Eddie. The guy barely says a word. Now he’s talking to Leila about that comic book… The one he hopes to have made into a TV show that’ll rival The Walking Dead. I wonder how Leila didn’t fall asleep too listening to that.

  “I’m so sorry you had to endure that,” I say, shaking my head.

  “I’m not. It was nice… He reminds me of my middle sister.” Leila’s eyes glaze over as she looks at the wine bottle on the table in front of us. “Lucy is a huge fan of The Lord of the Rings, and she’ll talk to anyone who will listen about it all. For hours.”

  “Huh, how about that?” I roll up my shirt sleeves, a heat flooding my body. “So, you have sisters?”

  Leila shoots me an odd look, her smile dropping. I have no idea what made her react that way. I hope she’s going to talk about what’s on her mind, but instead she just says one word. “Yep.” Then she draws her hands into her lap and clears her throat. “How about you, do you have any siblings?”

  I grin at her. “I thought you said you’re a fan? You don’t know all about me?”

  Leila’s forehead reddens, but something flashes behind her eyes. Is it anger?

 
; “Sorry,” I blurt, picking up on her irritation and wondering how to fix it. “I’m so used to every part of my private life being plastered all over the media, I don’t often talk about myself.”

  Leila hums, apparently thinking about it. Then her expression turns sunny again and I exhale with relief. “So, is any of it true?”

  I pour myself a drink and offer to refill her glass, but she shakes her head. “Well, let’s see…” I set the bottle down and pick up my drink. “I guess it depends.”

  “Is it true you’re from a small town in Vermont? Raised by a single dad who died shortly after you graduated from high school?” Leila asks. Her tone is so casual; I almost choke on my drink.

  My throat clams up, so all I can do is give a curt nod. “How can you ask such a personal question without even flinching?”

  Leila’s nostrils flare and she looks down with a guilty grin. “Sorry. You’re right… You said you wanted to ask me some personal questions.” She meets my gaze again and my heart picks up its pace. “So, Blaze Hopkins. What would you like to know?”

  I hold my breath, looking into the eyes of this exquisite creature. She’s a gorgeous bundle of surprises, and I can’t wait to uncover more of her secrets.

  What would I like to know?

  The short answer is everything.

  But I can’t admit that. It’ll make me sound like a complete stalker and she’ll have a restraining order on me by lunchtime tomorrow. I search my brain for something interesting to ask. Anything. But the one pressing question on my mind tumbles out of me before I can stop it. “Are you single?”

  Chapter 9

  Leila

  Is Blaze Hopkins hitting on me?

  Chessy’s voice in my head screams like a cheerleader. I imagine her doing somersaults and cartwheels in my skull. But imaginary Lucy shakes her head, saying, “No, no, no.”

  How do I answer that question? I mean, I guess I can tell him the truth: I’m as single as they come. I’m so single, I haven’t had a boyfriend since high school, and even that only lasted a few weeks.

  It’s not that I haven’t tried to date. Chessy has set me up a few times. But each date was a total disaster.

  Seriously, though, are blind dates ever successful?

  Anyway, I’ve never worked in the same place long enough to start a romantic relationship. The idea of sneaking around and stealing kisses at the office is totally a fantasy of mine.

  I don’t belong to a gym, or a club. So, the only guy I speak to on a regular basis is Bert, the seventy-year-old handyman who comes to fix the shower from time to time.

  But I don’t want to look woefully sad. Not to playboy Blaze Hopkins who has had more relationships than Lucy has elf figurines in her collection. And those are just the ones I know of from the gossip magazines. There’s probably dozens more in his past.

  I gulp and start to play with my hair but then stop when the action brings a devilish smile to Blaze’s lips. “Define… Single?” I ask, slowly. The Lucy side of my brain winning.

  Lucy doesn’t trust easily. She’d tell me to tread very carefully, because whichever way this goes, Blaze and I will be stuck together for the next three weeks.

  The worst thing I can do is jump into something with him and have things to go south, then still have to spend the remainder of the trip working with him.

  No, I’ve got to play it cool.

  Chessy would say that’s nonsense, of course. She’s an idealist.

  Well, she prefers the word optimist, but they both mean the same to me.

  Blaze smirks and cracks his knuckles, and his broad arms rippling with muscles. Even if I had a boyfriend, Blaze would probably be able to beat him to a pulp and sweep me up in his arms, if he wanted to. He looks at me with a glint in his eye, as though he’s thinking precisely that.

  “No.” Blaze’s face falls. But when I said no, what I meant was no-please-don’t-beat-my-imaginary-boyfriend-to-a-pulp. “I mean, yes. I mean…”

  Why can’t I speak like a normal person around this guy? Surely, he’s not asking me of my relationship status because he wants to date me? I mean, I’m a hopeless mess. I’ve done nothing but make a total fool of myself from the moment we met.

  I glance at his hands again, now resting on his thick thighs, and there’s a flutter of excitement in my chest. Am I against the idea of dating Blaze?

  I’ve spent way too many nights telling my sisters over Ben n Jerry’s ice cream that Blaze will be my husband one day. But back then it was just a silly fantasy. There was no way in my wildest dreams that I was ever going to get a chance to meet Blaze, let alone convince him to fall in love with me.

  Now he’s sitting next to me, looking at me with a big pair of puppy dog eyes and asking if I’m single. “So, which is it?” he asks. “Are you single, or is there some guy out there…?”

  “Nope. No guy.” I shake my head, biting my lip. “What about you?”

  His face breaks out in a beam as wide as his face, and he actually growls a little, then leans forward. My heart hammers in my chest and I hold still, not daring to blink as he looms over me, smothering me in a wave of manly pheromones and confidence that make me weak at the knees.

  “There’s no guy in my life, either.”

  I roll my lips inward. He’s playing with me. Does he get some sort of kick out of making me squirm? Because he keeps doing it, and I can’t decide if I like it or not.

  I don’t hate it. But I think I should.

  “Right.” I scratch my arm and swallow against the foolishness. But then Blaze rests a heavy hand over mine and the touch sets my skin on fire. “Have you ever eaten steak in a London restaurant?”

  I’ve never been to London, period. I shake my head and the movement makes my hair swoosh from side to side. Blaze squeezes my hand and another bolt of heat rushes all the way up my arm. “How would you like me to take you out for dinner tonight?”

  My stomach spins like a dryer. With the jet lag, I’ll be a zombie after seven. But the thrill of having dinner with my celebrity crush might just be enough to keep me awake.

  I’m going to need to call my sisters for backup and a pep talk. But it’s like Blaze said, this will be a long trip and I won’t be shopping all the time.

  Maybe having dinner with Blaze isn’t the worst idea in the world, if I can just get my act together and stop rambling when I’m around him that is.

  Decided, I let a grin take over my face. “It’s a date.”

  It’s raining when we land in Heathrow airport, which is terribly ironic. I have an issue with people stereotyping England as a dull, rainy country. So, of course, fate would have it that my very first glimpse of London in real life is through gray clouds and misty rain.

  I fight to stay awake during the cab ride to the hotel, and keep my composure as everyone goes their separate ways.

  When I finally get into my own room, the first thing I’ll do is collapse and catch some sleep.

  Meanwhile Blaze, Harper, and Eddie have to get ready. Then it’s straight to a private room where a crowd of reporters is waiting for them.

  They say there’s no rest for the wicked. I guess there’s no rest for celebrities either.

  My room is hardly fancy, and it’s not even in the same hotel as the actors. Instead, the stylists and I are booked in at the Travelodge across the road. But I’m pretty happy with that. The more distance between my room and Blaze’s, the better.

  I throw myself on the double bed and bury my face in the pillow, and my body sighs with relief. No need to keep up appearances now. I can relax.

  Sleep takes me before I even think to take off my shoes.

  The room is dark when I wake up to the sound of my phone vibrating. I reach for it from the nightstand and squint at the picture of Chessy on the screen. I pick up. “Hey, sorry I didn’t call… I fell asleep.”

  Before I can say anything else, my baby sister squeals and throws twenty questions my way.

  Have you seen Blaze yet? What was the plane like?
What did they feed you? What time is it over there? Have you seen a red phone box yet?

  Question after question, I don’t know which one to answer first.

  “Chessy, give Leila a break. She’s probably jet-lagged.”

  I sigh at the comforting sound of Lucy’s sensible voice.

  “The flight was great, but I’m wrecked. What time is it?”

  I glance at the clock and jump so violently; I roll off the bed with a thump.

  “What was that noise? Are you okay?” Lucy’s voice is now panicked.

  “Did you just fall off the bed?” Chessy asks, sounding more amused than concerned.

  I put them on speaker and throw the phone on the bed as I dash to my bag. “I’m late for a date.”

  One loud gasp and a squeal fill the air, but the sound of my racing heartbeat seems loudest of all. I’m not sure how my sisters will feel about me going on a date with Blaze, but I don’t have the time to find out right now.

  “I’ll tell you all about it later. Okay?”

  Thanks to the time difference, they’ll still be awake when I get back. My sisters make sounds of disgruntlement before they say their goodbyes. “Keep your location on your phone. You know, just in case,” Chessy demands before the line goes dead.

  I snort. It was my idea for us all to download a Find My Loved One app. So everyone knows where everyone else is at all times. I never expected my sisters would need to worry about me, though. I wanted them to have it so I can come to the rescue the next time Lucy has a panic attack on the bus. Or the next time Chessy is trying to get out of a bad date.

  I never do anything remotely dangerous, I don’t have panic attacks, and when life throws me lemons… Well, I take my lemons like I take a shot of tequila—with a pinch of salt.

  I take the world’s fastest shower while leaning at odd angles to avoid getting my hair wet. Praise the woman who invented dry shampoo. It was a woman, right?