The Terrible Personal Shopper (Surprised by Love Book 1)

by Laura Burton

  No time to look that up.

  I’m a whirlwind of limbs, dashing back and forth, pulling on clothes, and spraying my hair in a cloud of coconut scented dry shampoo.

  But my body cannot move as fast as my mind. Thoughts flash past like I’m sitting in a truck on the freeway. Is this happening?

  I’m going on a date with Blaze Hopkins.

  There’s a knock on the door just as I slip into my red high heels and the shock of the sound almost topples me.

  “Just a second!” I shout. I take deep, steady breaths and load up my fake Gucci bag with my things.

  Blaze was a bit vague on the details of our date, but I can only imagine us having dinner in some fancy restaurant. He did say he’d stop by my room, but I hadn’t given him my number. I guess the front desk gave that private piece of information away.

  You can have anything when you’re filthy rich.

  I suck in a deep breath, march to the door, and pull it open.

  “Well, hellooo again.”

  My mouth drops open. It’s not Blaze.

  A sea of eyes blink at me quietly, and for a few seconds, there’s just stunned silence from both sides of the door.

  It’s a few of the stylists. A tall, ginger male, and two petite women with bright pink and red hair – each one of them is sporting a pair of those black, oversized glasses that seems to be some sort of uniform in this industry.

  “Hi,” I say. I clutch my purse and think about reaching for my pepper spray.

  The skinny male raises a bottle of champagne. “We got off on the wrong foot. Start over? I’m Olly.”

  I stare at him like he just spoke in an alien language. One of the girls lets out some kind of breathy laugh.

  “I’m Joy, and this is Hope.” She gestures to the girl next to her. “We’re twins.”

  “Right…” I say, not sure where to go from here.

  Then it hits me… These people want to come into my room. Or hang out. Probably because they got knocked down a peg by Blaze and saw that he likes me, so they won’t be able to get away with treating me like garbage.

  “I’m sorry, did you want to…” I begin, but the elevator pings just then, and we all look up to see Blaze marching out with the most dashing smile.

  Oh. Wow.

  I wish I chose to wear boots. Or that I sat down. Because balancing on a pair of heels with the wind knocked out of me makes the room spin. I clutch the door frame to keep my balance as I take in my date.

  Olly and the twins seem to do the same. We all fall into a revered silence.

  Blaze’s long, curly hair falls in waves over his ears and across his strong forehead.

  His deep eyes are so dark, they’re almost black onyx. I catch a glimpse of a small sparkle in them that matches his gleaming smile.

  He’s wearing a soft white shirt with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And he’s wearing the darkest pair of jeans I’ve ever seen.

  “Hello, gorgeous. Ready for our date?”

  His booming voice does something funny to my stomach, and I’m not the only one. Olly and the twins scatter to let him approach me. “Mr. Hopkins, we were just about to have a party…” Olly begins, his voice timid. But Blaze gives him one look and Olly shuts his mouth. For a second, I can’t decide if Blaze is thinking about punching the guy or giving him a hug. He seems to settle for a heavy hand on the man’s thin shoulder. Olly’s knees buckle slightly under the weight but he flashes a sheepish smile.

  “That’s really nice, but you don’t mind if I steal Leila from you for a few hours, do you?”

  He turns to smile at the twins, who both giggle and back off, probably to avoid a heavy hand on their shoulders. I don’t blame them. Blaze is a beast of a man. He stands so tall and strong, even I’m intimidated. At least I think what I feel is intimidation.

  I might be slightly aroused.

  There seems to be a thin line between the two sensations.

  Blaze holds out his arm for me, and after a quick glance at our audience, I shut my door and hold on to Blaze like my life depends on it.

  I really think it does, because the looks I’m getting say it all.

  I’m in trouble.

  Chapter 10

  Blaze

  There’s nothing like a shot of adrenaline to keep jetlag at bay. I should be exhausted, but I’m not.

  The second we landed at Heathrow airport, Martin put us in a car headed straight for the Gherkin. It’s a famous landmark in London that isn’t even exactly shaped like a gherkin. Go figure.

  Leila and the other stylists were sent to their hotel. They get to relax for the day. I, on the other hand, was stuck answering more dumb questions like ‘Do you like gherkins?’, ‘How do you feel about being in the world’s biggest Gherkin?’, ‘If you had to be a vegetable, would you choose a gherkin?’

  What I want to know is why anyone would build a glass tower shaped like a bullet and name it after a pickle. And what have any of these questions got to do with Demolition Beast?

  Thinking about Leila kept a smile plastered on my face as I gave interviews for the press. Her face continued to keep me in a good mood as I joked with Harper and Eddie on the Radio One show. My mood didn’t even dip when we sat through a two-hour long meeting with Martin and Harry, who went over every finite detail of the press tour.

  Talk shows. Press conferences. VIP meet and greets. Public appearances. Everything was planned down to the minute, although Harry insisted that we all have a few precious hours in the evenings to ourselves. He gave me a non-subtle wink. I’d roll my eyes, but today I’m grateful. I plan to spend all of those hours with Leila, and I promise to make every second count.

  Eddie’s lids looked heavy when we got off the plane, and his blinks lasted longer and longer. Harper kept her black sunglasses on and had us all fooled until she began to snore. Busted.

  I have no idea what time zone my body is in, but I’ve gone past the stage of extreme tiredness and am now coasting blissfully through some kind of adrenaline high.

  The day’s obligations are finally behind me, and I’m free to spend the rest of the night with Leila Scott. I’m going to savor it.

  She’s clutching my arm and walking beside me in her cute denim dress. Every time I look at her, it’s like someone sends a shot of pure dopamine to my brain. I can’t stop sneaking side glances at her as we approach the doors of the hotel.

  “So, where are we going? I’m starving.” Leila flicks her glossy hair back, and I get another whiff of her coconut shampoo. Man, she smells good enough to eat.

  She flashes me a grin as if my thoughts are obvious, but then she notices the crowd of paparazzi on the other side of the street and her smile slips.

  “Blaze! Blaze, look here.”

  “Blaze, over here.”

  “Who’s the lady friend, Blaze? Is she your new girlfriend?”

  “How long are you staying in London, sir?”

  Camera lights start to go off in rapid succession and Leila releases me. She looks stunned. The paparazzi will do that to you. I can’t imagine how shell-shocked she feels.

  When she doesn’t move an inch, I press my hand on her lower back, gently, and steer her to the car waiting for us. “It’s okay, just keep moving forward,” I whisper into her ear. Her walk is stiff.

  I have to admit her unpreparedness is odd. I guess she didn’t know it could get this crazy with a Hollywood actor. I’m almost worried, because this isn’t even close to the worst of it.

  Most of my former dates were with women who were glad to see the press taking our picture. They grabbed the opportunity to propel themselves to fame, or to, at least, get on the front cover of a magazine. None of them froze or panicked.

  They’d flash a charming smile, snuggle my arm, and maybe even give me a peck on the cheek. Anything for the publicity.

  Some of the models would just forget all about me and stand on their own, striking moody poses.

  Tonight, Leila makes a beeline f
or the car and jumps in before I can even open the door for her.

  Interesting.

  The door shuts behind me and Leila exhales loudly. “What the heck was all of that?”

  I lift an inquisitive brow with an amused smirk. “First time you’ve been exposed to the paps?”

  Leia fastens her seatbelt and won’t look up. The only sign she’s heard me is the little rise in the corner of her mouth.

  She keeps quiet during the short ride to our destination, so I rest my hands in my lap and look casually out the window as though I’m taking in the sights.

  Harry helped me pick out a small place away from the public eye. “I hope you like Italian,” I say, as the car rolls to a stop.

  Finally, she looks at me. Her pretty eyes meet mine and her face lights up like a sunrise off the coast of Bermuda. “Are you kidding me? I love pizza. And I’d fight to the death over a bowl of pasta right now.”

  “To the death?” I clear my throat to cover up a surprised laugh. “That’s a pretty violent thing to say… What do you train in?”

  I climb out and reach for Leila’s hand. She places it carefully in mine and I help her out of the car with a gentle tug. The soft brown waves of her hair float backward in the cool British air and her pink lip-gloss shines under the streetlights. “Train in what?” Leila’s lips ask me. I meet her curious stare.

  “Well, if you want to fight to the death, you’d have to train in something… Karate, Kung Fu…?”

  Leila’s light laugh tickles my ears. “I grew up with two sisters, I know how to handle myself.”

  We’re taken to a quiet corner of the dimly lit Italian restaurant and the waiter pours us both a drink. “Tell me about your sisters,” I say, after thanking the waiter.

  I listen in fascination as Leila launches into a collection of stories about her family.

  There’s a warmth to her that I just can’t put my finger on.

  Is it the soft curve of her cheekbones, illuminated by the candlelight? Or the way she rests her dainty hands so delicately on the table? Maybe it’s the soothing tone of her voice as she talks about the people close to her.

  Whenever she looks into my eyes, a rush of heat hits me and runs through my entire body. It’s the most delicious feeling. I don’t ever want to be without it.

  “...growing up without a dad, and an emotionally unavailable mom will do that to you, I guess.”

  I pick up my glass to buy myself some time as I return to the present. I was daydreaming the entire time she was talking. Vague childhood memories of my dad flash before my mind’s eye and I grit my teeth at the sudden thoughts of my mom. She’s been in rehab more times than I can count on one hand and I can’t remember the last time we spoke on the phone. “I know a thing or two about emotionally unavailable parents,” I say.

  Leila pretends to study the menu, lifting it up so I can no longer see her mouth. I know she’s pretending to read because her eyes are fixed on one spot.

  I can tell it’s a sensitive topic. How did we end up talking about unavailable parents and emotional baggage anyway?

  Time to switch the subject.

  For the first time in a long time, I don’t know how.

  I hate silences. They make me feel awkward, and I’ll do anything to fill them with something. An idea strikes me.

  “You know, I heard a funny story the other day…” I begin. It’s a lie. There is no funny story, but the opening line is effective. Leila is looking at me again. She drops her menu and smiles. “Oh yeah?”

  Now that I have her attention, I’m struggling to think of an actual story. My brain conjures up a really old memory of some stupid joke a kid told me once in third grade.

  “There was a guy not far from here who found a penguin wandering around the streets.”

  “A penguin?” Leila repeats, before taking a sip of her drink.

  “Yes. So this guy takes the penguin to a cop and asks him what to do with it. I mean, it’s a penguin, for crying out loud. The cop tells him to take it to the zoo.”

  Leila leans over and rests her forearms on the table. “That makes sense.”

  I shift in my seat and scratch the back of my neck as I recount the rest of the joke. I’m praying I can keep a straight face until I reach the punchline. “Well, a week later this cop is walking down a street when he comes across the guy and the penguin…”

  “That’s weird,” Leila interrupts.

  I hold back a laugh. Clearly, she’s not figured it out yet.

  “Yeah. Right? Well, the cop goes to the guy and asks him why he didn’t take him to the zoo and the guy says, ‘I did! We had a great time. We’re just on our way to the theatre now.’”

  Silence.

  I hold Leila’s blank stare for several blinks until the penny finally drops. “That was a joke,” she says, with her mouth a perfectly straight line.

  I nod, allowing a grin to take over my face, and then Leila bursts into a fit of laughter.

  “That was good. You had me there.”

  And just like that, the mood is light between us again.

  Our date passes by in a whirlwind of wine, compliments, and funny stories of days long gone. Every now and then, I’m pretty sure Leila’s gaze lowers to my mouth.

  Is she thinking about kissing me? Her slender hand rests in the middle of the table and the desire to rest mine over hers is almost too much. But just as I think I can’t control the urge any longer, she drags her hand away.

  I have no sense of time until the waiter hands me the receipt and wishes us a pleasant evening.

  Disappointment nips at my insides as I stand up and offer Leila my arm. She’s disappointed too. Her brows pinch together for the briefest moment.

  As we leave, she holds on to me like a lifeline and I rest my hand over hers. Everything zings.

  I’ve never hit it off with a woman like this before.

  Ever.

  She’s so sweet and genuine.

  I can see underneath her brave smile, there’s some sort of longing. It’s like she’s spent her entire life being the carer and trying to please others, while losing herself in the process. She’s so layered; the detective in me is itching to unveil each part of her. I want to know Leila, piece by piece.

  We’ve tried hard to stay off any personal topics, but she keeps bringing our discussions back to her sisters. She either connects a story of mine to something funny that happened to Lucy, or tells me about another one of Chessy’s crazy philosophies after I share a useless fact - of which, I am full of.

  I love that she’s family-oriented. Maybe it’s her devotion to Lucy and Chessy that draws me to her.

  “I love that you’re so close to your sisters. I feel like I know them now,” I think aloud.

  Leila hums, her cheeks dimpling.

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be an only child,” she shoots back with a sigh.

  “It wasn’t all bad,” I say. “Christmas was always amazing. Extra presents.” I give her a cocky smile, trying to get her off the trail of any kind of sadness. Growing up as an only child with an alcoholic mom and an overworked dad was not all sunshine and roses. But that’s not the kind of stuff you talk about on a first date.

  The ride back to the hotel is much more relaxed, and our hands rest agonizingly close on the seat between us. In fact, Leila’s pinky is so close to mine, it tickles the hairs on my hand and sends a delightful zing that travels all the way up my arm.

  We stand outside the hotel room like a pair of teenagers at the beginning of prom. I don’t want to assume anything, or invite myself in.

  Leila’s not offering, but she’s not going in, either. She fiddles with her card key for a while and then looks up at me, her eyes shining as we stand in some weird kind of stalemate.

  The key fiddling is a sign, right? Her eyes flicker to my lips again, and I swallow against the dryness in my mouth.

  “I had a great time tonight. Thanks for dinner, it was delightful,” she says, her voice barely
above a whisper.

  “The company wasn’t too bad either, I hope?” I say, adding a wink.

  For a lingering moment, Leila leans forward, clutching her purse and glancing at my mouth again.

  Kiss her. Kiss her, you fool.

  I want to, but something holds me back. There’s something behind her eyes, a flash of uncertainty, like Leila is fighting her own inner battle.

  Then, she clears her throat and takes a step back, cooling the air between us.

  “Harper gave a list of shoes to buy tomorrow. Is there anything you want me to get you?”

  Leila’s lashes flutter and my stomach aches with hunger even though it’s full of Italian food. Right, she’s moving the conversation back to her work. She’s here to do her job. How did I forget that so fast? She probably wants to keep things professional. Going for dinner could be labeled a business meeting. Having her for dessert might be crossing a line.

  “No, it’s all good. You get what you need for Harper.”

  Leila looks downcast for a moment, but she recovers. “Okay. Well… Goodnight.”

  Dang it. The moment to kiss her is gone.

  I picture myself lifting her up from the ground and capturing her mouth with mine, and devouring her until her lips are red raw.

  I give a little wave instead, and Leila disappears behind her door.

  My stomach drops as I lower my hand.

  I guess she’s not a kiss-on-a-first-date kind of woman. I respect that. Her hard-to-get act just makes me crave her all the more.

  No longer in her presence and struck by the fact that I’m now standing alone in an empty hall, a wave of exhaustion washes over me like a tsunami.

  So, Leila wants to keep things professional. I can do that… for now.

  All I’ve got to do is change her mind.

  Which is easy. I’ll become the forbidden fruit. Make her think I’m off-limits. I’ll be so professional; she’ll be begging me to kiss her.

  And I would love to see Leila Scott beg.

  Chapter 11

  Leila