My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero (19 page)

He flips it over and breaks the seal before pulling out the heavy manuscript pages.

Turning to the cover, he raises his eyebrows.

“My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero,” he says, nodding. “I like it.”

I like it too. It was one of my main sticking points with Lisa. She wanted “At Last”, but I felt it was too melodramatic. And that says something coming from
me
.

“You wanted to be the first one to read the finished novel,” I say.

He runs his hand over the front cover before leaning over the table.

“Congratulations,” he says, kissing my lips. “I love you.”

Those three words still make me giddy. And Travis spontaneously said them all on his own. And then when I was on a euphoric high he asked me to stop referring to him as my boyfriend to every person we meet in life. He’s sneaky like that.

“I love you, too.” I say, and casually steal the last bite of his cookie. “Did you pick up the tablecloths for tonight?”

“Yes,” he says, pointing to a bag by his feet. “Though I still don’t think a house warming party was necessary.”

“Travis, how many times are we going to move in together for the first time?” I argue. “People want to celebrate our love.”

“Or they want free alcohol,” he laughs.

“Oh, I didn’t get to tell you before, but I finalised the theme for tonight,” I say, clapping my hands together in excitement.

“There’s a theme?” Travis asks and I just shake my head at his oblivious look.

“Of course. Anyways, remember the first night we moved in, and we didn’t have any of our furniture yet, and we ate that Indian food on the living room floor?” I ask, the nostalgia sweeping over me even though it happened last week.

“We’re going to make people eat on the floor?” he guesses.

“No,” I say. “We are going to do an
Indian
theme.”

Travis doesn’t say anything, which surprises me. I thought he would put up more of a fuss than this.

“Why do you look so calm?” I ask. “You usually get really twitchy when I come up with a new idea.”

“Because I know an elephant won’t fit up our building’s staircase,” he sits back in his chair and smiles.

I purse my lips and think about it. “I was just going to cater the food and have gold and red decorations and traditional music,” I say. “I never thought about any native wildlife.”

I quickly grab my phone from my purse and search “Traditional Indian Wildlife” on the internet browser. Before the results come up Travis covers the phone with his hand and gets a concerned look on his face.

“We just gave our security deposit. Can we at least wait a year before we lose it?” he asks.

I think about it for a minute before I smile. “You’re right,” I say. “Plus, it might be a little over the top with the Bollywood dancers I hired.”

“Do I even want to know how much this costs?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, are we talking about the
actual
cost, or the price of the joy everyone will get from experiencing something new, that they have never seen before?” I ask.

“The actual cost,” he replies.

“You don’t want to know.”

White Lies

BY EMILY HARPER

NOW AVAILABLE IN
PAPERBACK AND EBOOK.

To The Man of My Dreams,

I know I should let fate bring us together; that we are supposed to meet one starry night on the end of a boardwalk somewhere. And don’t get me wrong - that would be fab.

The trouble is this love thing is taking a
little
longer than I originally thought.

I mean, I’m a patient person, but is there any harm in trying to move things along a little? A slight push in the right direction?

So, I’ve decided to give fate a long needed vacation and take this matter into my own hands.

I thought you should know– in case you are also looking for me– to keep your eyes open. I’m on my way.

Hope to be seeing you soon,

Natalie Flemming.

P.S. If you’re Johnny Depp, can you please just tell your assistant to put my phone calls through? It would make this whole thing a lot easier.

One

Late, as usual, I sprint to the stairwell– the elevator in the building always takes a lifetime– and start jogging up the stairs. Clutching my side on the third flight, I remember that the office is on the twenty-third floor, and at the rate I'm going the elevator might actually be the better option. Exercise is over-rated anyways.

As I wait for the elevator on the fourth floor, with the newest edition of Lasso in my arms, the possibilities reel through my head. I know I’m not pursuing love the conventional way. Trust me though, I’m looking.
Everywhere
. Putting a want ad in a magazine to find the man of your dreams is not how I envisioned meeting my Prince Charming. But, there isn’t another castle besides the Royal family’s near where I live, and now that William seems to be going through with the marriage my hand has been forced.

So, I have abandoned the hope of being a princess (and let’s be honest, the in-laws would have been a lot of work), but I feel I have grown up and developed more realistic expectations of my future husband.

I’m an avid reader of Lasso, our company's new in-house magazine, that is supposed to be all about how to get a man and what to do to keep him; though half of the bloody thing is filled with advertisements for naughty call-in lines.  It actually started out as a bit of a blip and not even our own designers wanted to read it, but they soon discovered that if you pay enough people loads of money, anything can be a success. Now, Lasso has a readership of over fifteen thousand a month (though the press package says it is twenty). Every issue, it tells us lonely hearts that men want a woman who has a mind of her own, are independent and outgoing.  I read this every month, and do you know what I do?  The exact opposite.  I meet a man and tell him, verbatim, exactly what I think he wants to hear– which is all lies– so he’ll ask me out again.

One day, while drinking a terrible cup of coffee that my co-worker Rachel made– which I always tell her is the best I have ever tasted– I flipped through the August edition. Looking at all the lovely shoes I know I would never get my feet into, let alone be able to walk in, I came across it. It was as if a light went on all around me and I could hear the ‘hallelujahs’ in the background. There, on page fifty-three, was the beginning of the rest of my life.

Looking for a man, but seem to be looking in all the wrong places? Wondering what is wrong with you and why you are so blue when you should be saying “I do”? Did you know that only 7% of women that meet men in a bar or club end up having a lasting relationship? No matter what your mother says, it’s not you, and there is something you can do to find Mr. Right– right now! Place a want ad in next month’s issue for our Month of Love special and see what fate has in store for you. Don’t spend another holiday alone, hopeless, and resorting to desperate measures– resort to them now! To see your ad in the Love Wanted section just send a maximum sixty word description of your ideal mate with twenty pounds to Lasso Love Connection, 128 Foxham Street, London and see what love has in store for you.

So, I threw caution to the wind– well actually, I burned my ex-boyfriend’s stuff and threw the box full of ashes into the sea, but metaphorically speaking it was kind of the same thing– and I submitted my ad.

And who knows, maybe someone famous will respond to my ad. Like some lonely, well-known actor, tired of skinny, pretentious Hollywood stars, and who just wants a normal girlfriend. Maybe Johnny Depp will respond! I've always loved him since he played that man with the knives on his hands. There is nothing sexier than a man who can chop veggies any time of the day.

The doors to the elevator open and I quickly scramble in, straightening my posture when I see a striking man leaning on the rear elevator wall, looking at his cell. Wearing a navy suit with a silver and white tie, his face is in shadows, but I can see his lips slowly moving as he reads from his phone. Turning to face the doors as they close, I look to see the floor numbers counting up before I casually glance back over my shoulder. He’s still looking down. Even without the aid of styling products to keep every wavy brown hair in place he projects a casualness that seems at odds with his extremely smart attire. He has a strong jaw, and from what I can tell, a pretty good physique that he definitely didn’t get from sitting behind a desk all day. My eyes focus again on the arm which is holding his phone and my breath catches. I’ve always loved a man’s forearms and my imagination is telling me that underneath that perfectly fitted suit, his are
superb
.

He’s obviously someone important, and as I look down I can’t help but wish I had worn something a little more glamorous to work besides my grey pencil skirt with a thin black belt cinched around my waist.

I should have worn red: men love red dresses.

Not that I need to wear nice clothes to stand out. I mean, I’m not ugly. In fact, many people have told me I’m a natural beauty– though they usually want a favour at the time.  I have blond hair (naturally brown, though I prefer to call it extremely dark blond), blue eyes with a hint of grey that sound more exciting than they actually are, and I’m a size eight, though I’ve found a store where a size six fits me, and now I refuse to buy my clothes from anywhere else.
  

As the elevator slowly rises I continue to send glances in the mystery man’s direction, but he’s still completely focused on his phone. I squint my eyes trying to place him. I’ve never seen him before; it’s a large building, but I know if I’d seen him before I would remember. I try and shuffle back a little to see his face more clearly, but the two girls whispering frantically beside me block my way.

I clamp down my teeth and count to five in my head. I mean, I love gossip as much as the next girl, but don’t they realize I’m trying to have a moment with this incredible sexy stranger whom I’ve never met? It must be really good gossip if they’re not drooling all over this guy themselves. Not that they would stand a chance of course: I saw him first. Though I can't really hear what they are saying, I manage to catch "fired", "totally revamp", and "fired" again.

The elevator stops and the doors open. I wait to give a flirtatious smile to the man as he exits but it is the two other girls who get off. My nerves start to flutter when the doors close, and as the elevator rises again I can’t help but pray to every God I have ever heard of for this lift to get stuck.

From under my eyelashes I glance at the gorgeous stranger, willing him with whatever internal power I possess to glance my way, but he is so focused on his phone that I’m not sure he’s even blinking. I should probably leave him to it.

‘Ughmm. Hmm.” I cough into my hand and then place it on my chest, hoping to get his attention. He doesn’t look up.

I clear my throat again and now pat my chest but he still doesn’t move.

I take a deep breath and cough loudly– oh God, that sounded more like a goat– and now rub my chest.

“Are you alright?” His deep voice is even better than I could have hoped for.

I look up into the startling blue eyes of my stranger. Taken aback by his sudden attention and his interested look I almost forget to respond.

“Yes, thank you,” I smile in what I hope is a self-depreciating manner. “I must have had something in my throat.”

His square jaw is clean shaven, though there still seems to be a shadow of stubble threatening just below the surface of his olive skin. With my hand still on my chest, the man’s eyes take in its position before responding, and I can honestly say I’ve never been happier to be wearing a push up bra in my entire life.

“Do you work in the building?” He smiles as he asks the question, and I notice his teeth are impeccable– always a bonus.

“Yes, I work at Makka, the shoe designing firm.”

His eyebrow rises ever so slightly when I say this. “What department?”

“Accounting.”

He nods and puts his hand in his trouser pocket, my eyes following his every move. Realizing he is watching my gaze, I quickly dart my eyes back up to his face and add, “Accounting Manager.” Detecting a hint of a smile on his face, I try not to blush.

“Do you work in this building?” I ask, trying to break the awkward moment.

He smiles again and answers, “Not yet.”

“Oh, so you’re looking for a job, then?” I decide right then and there if he answers yes I will fire Hank, my assistant, and mystery man is hired. Hell, I’ll give him my job and I’ll be
his
assistant.

“Not exactly.”

“It’s a tough economy out there,” I say knowingly. “What field are you in?”

“Consulting, mainly,” he answers. His phone starts making noises again, but this time he chooses to ignore it.

“Consulting... what exactly?” I say, trying not to sound too interested– as though I am just trying to pass the time until the elevator arrives at my floor– though, I think we both know I am intrigued by his evasive attitude.

“Oh, you know,” the corner of his mouth lifts up before he answers, “this and that.”

We ride the rest of the way up in silence, but I casually dart my eyes in his direction. When the lift opens at my floor I turn to say goodbye but frown when he walks to the door and holds it open, indicating me to go first.

I look at him as I pass and then stand outside, waiting for him to exit the elevator as well.

“Is this your floor?” I ask to make sure.

He nods and proceeds to open the door to Makka. I walk through, again looking at him, quickly trying to figure out what is going on.

“Are you trying to get a job here?” I can’t help but sound incredulous. I don’t know a single man that works here that isn’t gay– except Hank, but he’s just in denial.

“Not exactly.” He smiles and unbuttons his jacket. The action immediately brings my attention to his abdomen, which, by the tailored fit of his shirt and trousers, I can tell he works out. A lot. If he’s gay, I’m giving up on love.