Then There Was You Page 7
He’d go back late tonight and review whatever tracks they’d managed to lay down. Then attempt to make up for the lost time tomorrow.
He had to shake this off. The timeframe they’d set for the new album was tight enough without their leader becoming as unreliable as Sydney trains.
What was she doing here? His mother had a reputation for trying to rehabilitate waifs and strays but this was a professional organization. Grace was a huge event, requiring someone at the top of their game. Oh, and a Christian would be helpful too. Had his mother even bothered to do any reference checking, or had Paige fed her some big woe-is-me story?
Tossing his car keys into the bowl on the entryway table, he shuffled through a pile of mail and shoved two envelopes bearing his name into his back pocket. Paige. It was so much worse now she had a name. It was bad enough when she’d been the anonymous blonde. Now Paige McAllister was burned into his brain.
They’d crossed paths for all of ten seconds in an airport on the other side of the world. He met hundreds of people every week. Why had this woman stuck in his mind? Besides, she had a boyfriend and a drinking problem, so he had no business thinking about her at all. It was like he was the butt of a cosmic joke.
He wasn’t a total dropkick. He did feel bad about what she’d overheard in the studio, but at least now she’d keep her distance. The last thing he could afford was to lose his head, his heart, over someone who wasn’t right. Again.
Josh drew in a deep breath. His family were experts at reading people. He had to get it together before dinner. At least if they suspected something he could chalk it up to a bad day of rehearsals. If he was lucky, maybe he could find a subtle way to enquire exactly how she came to be hired.
He leaned his guitar case against the staircase balustrade, dumped his satchel next to it, and strode down the white tiled hall toward the kitchen and laundry. Thanks to his unplanned run, he needed a bottle of cold water and a fresh T-shirt.
He wrenched the neck of his T-shirt over his head as he approached the kitchen, the chopping sound suggesting his mother had already started prep. The scent of frying onions and garlic sent his stomach grumbling.
“Hey. Need any help with dinner?” He headed for the fridge, head down, still working his arms through the sleeves.
A pause in the chopping. “You might want to think before you remove any more clothes.” Definitely not his mother’s voice.
An unbiblical word exploded through his mind. He froze, then attempted to wrench his shirt back over his head, only to find himself stuck and standing in his own kitchen, blinded by cotton, arms flailing in the air, torso exposed. Finally, he managed to grab hold of the hem and yank it down over his stomach.
And there Paige stood, like something out of his worst nightmare. She leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand resting on a curvy hip, the other holding his mother’s largest chef’s knife.
“What are you doing here?” Paige was impressed with how cool her voice was, especially considering her knees had about given out from a few seconds of staring at Mr. #1 Bachelor’s toned torso.
Thank goodness she’d recognized him from a glimpse of his head as he walked in, so had a few seconds to compose herself while he wrestled with reclothing himself. Long enough for her to see a small tattoo reading Hannah across one shoulder blade. She did her best to extinguish the flicker of curiosity the name written in cursive evoked.
Josh gave his T-shirt one last tug, then lit into her. “This is my house. What are you doing here?”
She shook her head. “This is the Tylers’ house.” If only he’d showed up a few minutes earlier. Before she’d assured Janine she was totally happy to slice some vegetables while she got changed.
“And I’m Josh Tyler.” He spoke the words slowly, as if she were stupid.
It all connected with the force of a comet. Great, just great. “You’re their—”
“Son. Ten points for such brilliant deduction.” Turning around, he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.
And here she’d been thinking getting asked to dinner at her boss’s house on her first day was a good thing.
Choking down her dismay, she forced herself to assess the situation. He was her boss’s son, so she may have to have more to do with him than she’d anticipated. But he was still arrogant and still a jerk and—bonus!—he still lived with his parents.
There were no chiseled abs or brooding gazes or cute accents in the world that could compensate for someone who couldn’t cut the apron strings.
He took a gulp of water, his eyes never leaving hers, as if he was worried she might steal the family silverware. What was his problem?
“Out with it. Did you have one of your girlfriends lined up for Emily’s job? Or were you hoping your mom would hire someone more your type?” Her stomach dropped. Had she really said that?
His gaze flickered over her, face inscrutable. “Since you asked, I don’t think you’re of fit character to be on the team for Grace. Let alone have such a critical role.”
She gaped at him. Of fit character? He didn’t even know her. Her fingers gripped the knife. Put the weapon down, Paige. He’s not worth it.
“Great, you’re home.” Janine breezed into the kitchen, bottles of soft drink in her arms, work attire swapped for a T-shirt and pair of jeans. “Paige, this is my son Josh.”
Paige twisted her lips into a half smile. “We met this morning.”
“Let me take those, Mum.” Josh transformed into a doting son as he took the bottles from Janine and placed them in the fridge. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to get changed before dinner.” He offered Paige a curt nod, then strode from the room, T-shirt sculpted to his broad, muscular back.
Janine let out a low whistle as she tucked some hair behind her ear. “Amanda was right about him being fouler than spoiled milk in January.” She turned to Paige. “Don’t mind him. The band is about to start recording a new album, and I’m told rehearsal didn’t go well today.”
Paige was certain his bad mood had nothing to do with music and everything to do with her, but she wasn’t about to tell her boss that.
She wasn’t sure how she was going to get through dinner with the glowering gargoyle at the table, much less survive the next six months, never knowing what corner he might be lurking behind.
Now the life she’d been desperate to escape didn’t seem so bad after all.
Well, he’d survived dinner. That was about the best that could be said. Josh walked down the hallway toward his bedroom, not even finding comfort in his usual ratty T-shirt and old boxers. He’d hoped a good pounding of hot water might loosen up the knots in his shoulders, but they were still as tight as before.
It rankled him—her, sitting at his table, laughing with his whole family. As if she belonged there. Luckily his two livewire nephews kept everyone on their toes and distracted from the fact that if looks could kill, both he and Paige would have been buried in the back garden before the food had even been served.
His mother approached from the other end of the hallway, carrying a basket of laundry. Not his. No doubt Paige would assume it was. He’d seen the look of smug judgment that crossed her face when she realized he still lived at home. Like he was some thirty-something freeloader whose mother washed his clothes and tucked him into bed with a good-night story.
He wasn’t going to deny there were benefits to the arrangement—like he ate far better at home than he ever would in some sort of bachelor pad. But the main reason was that both he and his parents spent as much time on the road as in Sydney, so it didn’t make sense for him to have his own place. Plus it made his parents feel better that Sarah was never home alone for long.
“These yours?” His mother paused in her approach and held up a pair of white athletic socks.
He had no idea. “Maybe. I’ll take them if they’re going.”
She threw them with an underhanded toss and he caught them midair. “You want to talk about what was going on tonigh
t?”
“What?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You know what. Why my thirty-two-year-old ordinarily civilized son morphed into a monosyllabic adolescent grunter. Is there some new house rule I don’t know about? Am I supposed to consult with you now, check that you’re up to being a decent human being, before I invite someone for dinner?”
He winced and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Sorry. Bad day.”
She studied him with all-knowing maternal eyes. “You’ve had plenty of bad days in the studio before, but you’ve never been so rude when we’ve had a guest. Thank goodness Paige’s parents managed to raise her with better manners than we did you.”
He hadn’t been that bad. It wasn’t like he’d been rude to her. “What do you even know about her?” The words slipped out before he could stop them.
His mother tilted her head. “Paige?”
“Yes.”
“I know she’s a brilliant logistics manager and her pastor back in Chicago raved about her. I know she’s an answer to prayer and if she hadn’t shown up, we may have had to resort to asking Emily if she would mind just crossing her legs until November. Why?”
Josh shifted on his feet. “I don’t know. I got an odd vibe. Like maybe she isn’t what she seems.”
His mother pursed her lips. “People are rarely what we think at first glance. I’m sure whatever brought Paige here from Chicago is a good story. So you’re right. I have no idea if she’s made mistakes she’s trying to leave behind, but whatever she has going on, God has her here for a reason.” She shifted the wicker basket to her other hip. “Besides . . .” She shot him a warning look. “You, of all people, know what it’s like to need a second chance. You might want to err on the generous side in giving people the benefit of the doubt.”
Her truth hit him straight in the gut.
“I don’t know what’s going on here. Maybe you’ve just let a bad day get to you, maybe there’s something you’re not telling me. But . . .” She grasped his shoulder as she walked by and leaned in on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “If I hear you’re making Paige’s life difficult, my son, I will take you down.”
Ten
Paige stood in Kat’s kitchen, staring at the scorched lumps that were supposed to be her famous vanilla cupcakes.
She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid as to not click that Kat’s high-end oven would be in Celsius not Fahrenheit. Instead, she’d been distracted by a call from Nate and now her usual light and fluffy cakes of vanilla awesomeness, cupcakes baked at 300°C came black on top, raw in the middle, and in haphazard shapes and sizes from being hacked apart as she tried to get them out of the tin.
She looked at her watch. Almost eight-fifteen. She was about to be officially late for Emily’s surprise morning tea.
A survey of the contents of the pantry showed nothing had miraculously appeared since the last time she looked.
Half-eaten boxes of cereal, tins of tuna, and boxes of protein bars mocked her. Not a packet of chocolate Tim Tams or chips to be seen, and no time to stop at a grocery store on the way. Maggie’s email had come with a DO NOT BE LATE instruction in bold, red, and 48-point font. There was no way Paige was getting on the wrong side of Janine’s EA if she could help it.
She was just going to have to drown them in frosting and hope to heaven no one lost a tooth biting into one.
Paige poured vanilla frosting over the rocks until it oozed over the sides and dripped down the edges, then she scattered the container of sprinkles haphazardly over the top.
The cupcakes looked like they’d been made by a third-grader. Excellent. Hopefully that would stop anyone from being tempted to try and eat one.
Culinary disaster in one hand, Paige grabbed her keys with the other and headed for the door. Grace would be all hers after today. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.
Half an hour later, she pulled into the parking lot. A trickle of sweat traveled between her shoulder blades. Even though she’d studied the Australian Road Users Handbook right down to the last footnote, driving on the left was still an exercise in palm-sweating-blood-pressure-rocketing terror, and leaving fifteen minutes later than usual had put her right in the middle of peak traffic. Apparently it didn’t matter what continent you were on. People across the world were the same during rush hour. Especially when it was raining. The Australians even had a few hand gestures she hadn’t encountered before.
The clock on her dashboard yelled eight forty-eight. She had seven minutes to get to the morning tea location.
Paige opened the car door, tugged her skirt down, slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed the plate of deformed cupcakes off the passenger seat. A gust of wind broadsided her as she climbed out of the car, slammed her door and locked it. She’d chosen today to wear her favorite pair of heels. What an idiot.
Stepping up and over the curb, she tried to protect the cupcakes from the rain as the wind battered her back, her feet sinking into the squishy grass as she angled toward the closest concrete path. The back of one shoe slipped off and she balanced on the other foot to pull it back on before continuing. Wha—The other shoe was now wedged in the sodden soil, and, plate tipping, she was headed face-first for the cement.
One second, Josh had been striding along, minding his own business and on time for Emily’s morning tea. The next, some grey-shrouded figure was hurtling across his path, one arm like a windmill. A hand slammed straight into his raspberry shortbread slice, tipping it out of his hand and onto the sodden pavement.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the cellophane packet sitting in the puddle, before realizing he’d somehow caught the destroyer under one armpit.
“You okay?”
A gust of wind blew the hood off her head and the American stared at him. After the dinner at his parents, he’d decided to call her that. Paige was too feminine a name for the little spitfire.
She glared at him, all big brown eyes and wild blonde hair, her face suggesting she couldn’t be less thrilled that he was the one who’d caught her. Well, he wasn’t exactly psyched about it either. They’d managed to go the two weeks since she’d come to dinner without seeing each other, which he was fine with. He’d been hoping the promising trend would continue until she boarded her plane home.
He’d also been looking forward to a piece of the raspberry slice since the night before and now it was probably ruined. All because the girl couldn’t manage to stay on her feet. Again.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” She shook off his arm and turned her attention to the ridiculous red shoe that stood wedged in the mud next to them. The bottom of her coat took a dip in a puddle as she crouched down and pulled her shoe out of the mire before shoving it back on her foot.
She was holding a plate of something in her other hand, but the angle she was at meant he couldn’t see what it was.
He grabbed a corner of the packet of raspberry slice, fished it out of its watery grave, and flipped it back over. He wiped the plastic with his sleeve and studied it. Some of the icing had smeared a bit, but it might still be okay. Thank goodness for watertight packaging.
He turned back to the American. “I’m guessing we’re going to the same place.”
“Probably.” Her hood was back up, her face shielded.
“Let’s go then. Maggie does not react well to lateness to a surprise function.”
Without even answering, she started walking, striding ahead of him. It was going to be like that, was it?
He easily caught up in a couple of steps. His mother’s warning rang in his ears. He was going to be civilized if it killed him. “So what did you bring?”
She turned slightly and revealed the contents of her plate with a huff. “These.”
“You’re joking.” The words were out before he could filter them. He was no Master Chef but even he could tell the lopsided cupcakes were burned. Her attempt to hide it was even worse. White icing slid off the tops and dripped everywhere. The multi-colored sprinkles
had bled so the colors swam together. What could she be thinking?
He grabbed her shoulder and she swung around to face him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She used her spare hand to push his from her shoulder.
“Have you been drinking?”
She stepped back as if he’d struck her, the hood falling of her head again. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You can’t walk straight and your cupcakes look like a stoned blind man made them.” He leaned in, tried to get a whiff of her breath, but the wind and the rain made it impossible. “Are you drunk?”
The heat in her glare was so fierce he suspected the recent wildfires had burned cooler. “No. I’m not drunk. Sorry to disappoint. I’m just a stupid blonde American who forgot that ovens here are in Celsius not Fahrenheit and can’t manage high heels in mud.”
The raw honesty in her expression would be hard to fake. She was either telling the truth or a world-class liar. “I apologize.”
He waited for her to tell him exactly what he could do with his apology. Instead, Paige looked at the plate in her hands, as if seeing it for the first time and a wry smile formed on her lips. Then something that sounded like a cross between a snort and laugh erupted from her.
The plate shook and a huge glob of icing slid off the top of one of the sad little cakes and onto her thumb. She looked up at him with such undisguised mirth in her expression that he couldn’t help but grin back. “You’re right about one thing though. These do need to be put out of their misery.” Then she turned and chucked the whole thing, plate and all, into a nearby rubbish bin.
She marched off, leaving him standing in the rain and staring after her. He shook his head. The American was getting under his skin.
He didn’t like it.
Not at all.
He’d fallen for women who weren’t what they seemed before. Twice before. It had almost cost him and his family everything. A third strike would put him out for life.