Harlequin E New Adult Romance Box Set Volume 1: Burning Moon\Girls' Guide to Getting It Together\Rookie in Love (40 page)

“Okay, I guess the reality is that I’m embarrassed,” I admit.

He nods as though he knew that all along. “And you think she embarrassed you?”

“Well, she did, didn’t she? She let me carry on doing that stuff when she knew none of it was real.”

Liam stands up suddenly. “Do you want to go for a drink? There’s a pub around the corner.”

“A drink?” I repeat.

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking you out.” He smiles. “Unless you had other plans?”

“No,” I say quickly. “A drink sounds great.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re drinking cocktails,” Liam says as we reach the pub.

“Can’t I just have one?” I eye the special offers board above the bar.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll get the drinks if you find us some seats.”

I slip into a booth at the back of the small pub and watch Liam as he leans over the bar to order.

Of course I’m still mad at Zara. But I can enjoy this drink, can’t I?

He heads over to me a few minutes later, holding two drinks. “Couldn’t resist the two for one offer.” He winks at me as he places the mint green cocktail in front of me.

“Is this—”

“Mojito,” he interjects. “That is your favourite, isn’t it? That’s what Scarlett told me.”

Speechless, I nod and take a sip.

How does he even remember that? Oh, God. That means he probably remembers all the other things she told him, about how I hate books and only read gossip magazines.

He must think I’m some mojito-drinking, handbag-obsessed airhead.

Now probably isn’t a good time to reveal that I own every Spice Girls album. Liam probably listens to something intelligent, like Mozart.

He takes a sip of his cocktail. “Wow, that’s got a kick to it.”

“Haven’t you ever had one before?” I stare at him incredulously.

“It’s a girl drink,” he dismisses, waving a hand in the air.

“Well, I’ve drunk enough pints of lager. Isn’t that a ‘man drink’?”

He laughs. “I suppose it is. So, are you going to tell me what else was in this guide?”

I play with my hands, weaving my fingers together. “Well…well, I don’t remember
all
of it,” I lie.

“Just some of it, then.” Liam leans across the table.

Oh, God. If underwear wasn’t enough to put him off, what is?

“There was this bit about getting rid of old clothes,” I say slowly, as though I’m struggling to remember. “And learning to cook.”

He nods. “Go on.”

“That’s pretty much it.” I reach for my drink.

He finishes the mojito in his hand and peers at me suspiciously. “Why would you be embarrassed about any of those things?”

“You probably don’t understand because you’re not a woman.” I finish with a haughty laugh.

He fiddles with the straw in his empty glass. “Explain it, then.”

“She was letting me do all those things.”

“Didn’t you say she tried to talk you out of it?”

I grit my teeth. Is there anything this guy forgets? “Yes, but she didn’t exactly say ‘You’re wasting your time there, Megan, because I wrote that stuff and it’s all bullshit,’ did she?”

“Oh.” He slouches back in the booth. “And how would you have reacted if she had?”

“What does that matter?”

Liam shrugs. “Just wondering.”

I stare at our empty glasses. “Do you want another drink?”

“No, thanks.” He reaches for his leather jacket. “I’ve got to be somewhere.”

“Right. Sorry.”

I’d completely forgotten that I’d bumped into him outside the car park and people don’t tend to be wandering the streets if they’re not going somewhere. Unless they’ve had a big fight with their flatmate, obviously.

“Look, Megan.” He tugs his jacket on. “I really think you ought to tell your friend how you feel.”

“What would I say to her?”

“Tell her what you’ve told me.”

“Okay.” I stand up and take our glasses back to the bar.

“Are you going home now?” Liam asks when we’re outside. “I’ll walk you back to the bus station.”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

“No, it’s fine. I can walk that way to Scarlett’s.”

I stop walking, my feet rooted to the icy pavement.

What did he just say? Why would he be going to see Scarlett?

“Are you okay?” he asks, noticing that I’m not moving.

I compose myself, blinking away the hot, itchy feeling at the back of my eyes. “Fine.” I smile.

Helen was right about Liam and Scarlett.

And I’m falling for him. Where does that leave me?

Chapter Twenty-One

I check my phone on the bus home. Just to see if there are any apologetic texts from Zara, or a message from Scarlett explaining the precise nature of her relationship with Liam.

Finding neither, I’m about to toss it back into my bag when I spot the voicemail icon.

I’d forgotten about that. It’s probably just my mum with some more gossip. Hopefully something funny about Bryony that will cheer me up.

I dial the number and the voicemail lady informs me that I have one new message. I yawn and wait for it to play.

“This is a message for Megan Riley.” A woman with a Scottish accent is speaking. Where have I heard that voice before? “It’s Sue Weaver here from Oxfam. I was wondering if you’re free to cover on Saturday? Carol’s got the day off. Call me back on this number if you’re available.” She recites a mobile number.

Oh, shit. Why didn’t I call her before and let her know I’m not interested anymore?

I can’t exactly ring her now and try to wrangle out of it, can I?

And voluntary work will look good on my CV when I have to start applying for other jobs after Liam and Scarlett reveal their office romance.

I call the number Sue gave me and tell her I’ll be there on Saturday.

Our flat is dark when I climb the steps and fumble putting the key in the lock. I suppose Zara went out, too.

Not that I was too keen on Liam’s idea of confronting her, anyway. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

“Where have you been?” says a voice the moment I step inside the dark living room.

I feel for the light switch on the wall. “Out for a drink,” I answer as the room’s single light bulb flickers on and I see Zara, sitting very still on the sofa.

“By yourself?”

I try to kick the misaligned doormat straight with my foot. “No, I met a friend from work.”

“I’m going to talk to my boss at the magazine tomorrow,” she says after a pause. “Tell her that I’m not interested in the full-time role.”

“What? Zara, it’s the job of your dreams! I mean, apart from getting a book published.”

“You were right. I’m a fraud.” She shifts her position on the sofa, swinging one leg over the other.

I sigh and flop down next to her. “If you take the job, will you still going to be writing fluffy bullshit for girls like me?”

She smiles. “The fluffiest.”

“Then go for it!” I encourage. “Just don’t embarrass me like you did.”

“Embarrass you?” She rubs her nose, shooting me a puzzled look.

“I was doing all those things, thinking they were actually going to work.”

“Even though I’d already told you that they wouldn’t?”

I rub my fingers over a coffee stain on the pink sofa cushion. “That’s different,” I mutter.

“Is it?”

“Of course it is. I thought they were based on
something.
I didn’t know they were completely made up points that were going to have zero effect on my life.”

Zara raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t say the effects were zero. You got a pay rise, didn’t you? And we learnt that you should never cook unsupervised.”

“I didn’t do the rest of the steps,” I tell her, trying hard to repress the memory of the cinnamon chicken incident.

She stares at me. “What?”

“You must know what the last two points are, since you wrote them.”

“I know what they are. I just didn’t think…” she trails off.

“You didn’t think I could do them?”

She looks away. “Who were you going to ask out, then? Did you have your sights set on somebody?”

Now it’s my turn to look away. “Yes,” I admit. “But it was stupid and I’m not interested in him anymore.”

I can’t tell her about Scarlett. I just can’t.

“Okay. It’s not Tim, is it?”

“Of course it’s not Tim.” I give her a stern look.

I remember Tim’s face as I left him there in the car park outside work. I remember how blunt I was.

“I told Tim how I feel.”

Zara smiles encouragingly. “You did?”

“Yeah, he looked pretty crushed.”

“He’ll get over it,” she assures me. “See! That’s something positive to come out of this. Wouldn’t you normally be pretending you had some contagious disease to get out of a second date?”

She’s right. I know she is. It is a good thing that I felt confident enough to do what I did.

So why don’t I feel like that right now?

* * *

I arrive at Oxfam the next morning with my hair in a loose ponytail. I’m wearing my comfiest purple hoodie and an old pair of jeans.

Nobody important is going to see me, are they? Even if Liam and his nightmare mother make an appearance, it’s not like he’s important anymore.

Okay. So I have made emergency provisions for this. My hair is freshly washed and ready to be released from my ponytail into tousled curls, and I’ve brought my expensive lipstick with me.

I can see a skinny, dark-haired girl at the back of the shop when I walk in. She must be who was off last time when I worked with Carol.

“Hi.” I dump my bag behind the counter. “I’m Megan.”

The girl spins around and we stare at each other. I’d recognise her prominent cheekbones anywhere.

“You’re the occasional girl, are you?” Bryony asks, her over-plucked eyebrows rising.

“You volunteer, too,” I say, unnecessarily adding, “At Oxfam.”

She purses her lips. “Well, voluntary work is something I’m very passionate about,” she says, making me feel inferior.

“Have you worked here a long time?”

She swishes past me, and I catch a glimpse of her bare ring finger. “I’m one of the longest serving members of the team. Hasn’t your mum ever mentioned it?”

“No. Did she tell you about my voluntary work?”

So technically, my mother knows nothing about any voluntary work I’ve done. This is mostly because the Oxfam job is the only one I’ve ever had, unless you count that time I helped run the tombola stall at my school gala.

Bryony shakes her head. “Have you got a lot of experience? Because I can’t stand those teenagers who come in on some school program and don’t have a clue how to operate the till.” She rolls her eyes.

“Oh, yes. That shouldn’t be a problem.” I’m smiling so tightly my whole face is hurting.

Shit. Why did I say that? Now she’s going to think I’m some sort of cashier wiz when the truth is I can barely remember any of the training Carol gave me.

The shop is empty of customers, and I’m desperate to get Bryony talking about the one subject that will keep me going today.

I’m just perfecting my shocked expression for when I ask her how her wedding plans are going (and she’ll respond by sobbing and telling me all the details of how she dumped Jeremy for her university lecturer), when a girl strolls through the door.

She’s a skinny teenager with a bad haircut wearing bright pink Dr. Martens.

Bryony rushes out from behind the counter. “Hi! Is there anything I can help you with?”

The girl removes one earphone and gives her a blank look. “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

“If you need anything, we’re just over here.” Bryony smiles.

She’s like the polar opposite of the romance-reading volunteer I met when I first enquired about working here.

Maybe that’s the grief or the guilt or whatever she’s feeling.

“Know who that is?” Bryony nods towards the girl.

I study her fair hair and pale complexion before shaking my head.

“She’s Jeremy’s cousin, or second cousin or something. Obviously here to spy on me.” Her eyes roll upwards.

Here it is! My perfect starter to the only conversion I’m interested in having with Bryony Hudson.

I swallow and clear my dry throat.

What do I say? Do I pretend not to know anything and go down the “Oh, how
is
Jeremy?” route?

“Spy on you?” I ask, my eyes narrowed and my lips pursed in my best imitation of a confused expression.

“You haven’t heard?” She raises her left hand and rotates her wrist like she’s Beyoncé in the video for “Single Ladies.”

Obviously my mock confusion worked. I should have got an A in GCSE drama.

“Your ring!” I gasp, clapping a hand over my mouth a tad too enthusiastically.

Not that Bryony notices. “Such a cliché reaction. I think even my mother acted like that when she found out.”

I lean against the counter. “What happened?”

“I called off my engagement,” she says, inspecting her fingernails.

“You’re not getting married?”

She shakes her head. “Did you really think that I would? To Jeremy?”

Well, yes. Considering all anybody went on about was how bloody wonderful he is.

I shrug. She hasn’t mentioned the medical sciences lecturer yet, and it’s not like it would be normal in this situation to ask if she’s seeing anyone else.

“So, what about you?” she asks. “Finally succumbed to the charms of my big brother, I see.”

I hold a tight smile. “Actually, no. That’s not going to work out.”

Before Bryony can respond, a group of middle-aged women enter the shop.

“I’ll let you deal with them.” She waves me off with both hands.

I’m definitely going to call Sue Weaver after today and tell her I’ve decided to pursue other positions that will further benefit my local community.

* * *

Bryony allocates me enough time to scoff a soggy sandwich in the back room before disappearing for her own lunch.

My body is sagged against the counter when she walks in. Juliette Wiseman. All big hair and flawless makeup with her Burberry coat buttoned up to her neck.

My eyes follow her around the shop. But she’s alone.

I audibly exhale and go back to looking disinterested.

Why should I care about Liam Wiseman and what he’s doing?