He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms across his chest. “I guess I’ve learned something new today.”
“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Alex, I need to go.”
“Because Papa Smurf is waiting for you.”
Exasperated, I roll my eyes. “Yes, Papa Smurf and Smurfette and the whole blue gang. They’re all waiting for me outside with Gargamel and Azrael. Happy?”
His smile teases as he replies, “Doesn’t Gargamel want to kill the Smurfs?”
“Well, don’t you know a lot about them,” I quip.
He shrugs. “I watched the movie a couple weeks back with my nephew.”
“Right.” I refuse to be moved by the fact Alex watched a movie with a kid. People do it all the time. It’s normal human behavior. Nothing more.
“He loves the Smurfs. He was sick, and I wanted to do something nice for him.”
Seriously?
“Well, that’s kind of you,” I sniff.
Alex shrugs. “Not really. His mom had to work, and I was at a loose end. He’s a good kid.”
I point blank refuse to let the fact Alex is a kind uncle to some kid I’ll never even meet touch my heart.
“Good. Well. That’s that then.”
He shoots me a questioning glance. “What’s what then?”
“You’re an uncle, and I’ve got to go.” I balance the cake boxes in front of me and resume my walk out of the kitchen. Thrown by Alex, I’m not looking where I’m going and I almost walk smack-bang into Sophie. “Oops!” I exclaim as I let go of the boxes.
She catches them with significantly greater dexterity than I could manage right now. “Got ’em,” she says with a smile and then hands them back to me.
“Thanks, girl. That could have been a disaster.”
“I’ve got your back,” she says to me with a wink. “Alex, can you please go next door? Larissa wants to meet you. Oh, and you need to go, too, Darce.”
“Sure,” I reply.
“Who is Larissa and why does she want to meet me?” Alex asks.
“Larissa Monroe. You know, the actress,” Sophie explains. “She’s Darcy’s boss and she asked me to come get you.”
Alex shakes his head. “Sorry. No can do, even for Darcy’s boss.” He shoots me one of his looks and I narrow my eyes at him. “Bailey needs me in the café.”
Sophie waves his excuse away with a flick of her wrist. “I’ll cover you until you’re back.”
He seems to think for a moment before he says, “I guess.”
“Good. Now go!” Sophie instructs.
Alex lifts his hands in surrender. “Okay. But you need to know it wasn’t me trying to steal the plants.”
“For the last time, Alex, I wasn’t stealing plants!” I exclaim in utter exasperation, winning a fresh smile from the guy.
Really, Alex Walsh has got to be the most infuriating person I’ve met in my entire life. And I work for a celebrity, so that’s saying something.
Sophie hustles us both out of the kitchen, and we plod in silence through the café, out onto the street, and into Cozy Cottage High Tea next door.
All tables in the place are full, servers buzzing around, and I find Larissa standing in front of one of Alex’s photographs on the far wall above one of the tables.
“Larissa,” I say as I arrive at her side, “I’ve brought the photographer for you to meet. This is Alex Walsh.”
She turns and looks up at him, her face aglow. “Alex Walsh.” She grabs his arms, pulls him down to her height, and air kisses him. “You are a genius.”
I harrumph. “Genius” is going a little far, isn’t it? But this is Larissa. When she and Therese discussed the Guatemalan fertility stones this morning, she said they would revolutionize humankind. Hyperbole could be her middle name. (It’s not, it’s Mabel, but she doesn’t want anyone to know that particular gem.)
“Good to meet you, Larissa,” Alex says. “I’m glad you like my work.”
“Like it? I adore it. It’s so whimsical yet rooted in the reality of our existence.”
“Yes,” he replies with a nod. “Absolutely.” He shoots me a small smile, and I press my lips together.
I don’t want to bond with this man. Sure, Larissa can say some pretty out-there things so I get why he’s smirking, but really, I’m not his comrade in all this.
“Alex Walsh, you must exhibit for me. Say you will. I want all of these. All of them.” She gestures with her arms, and I notice most of the people in the room are looking at her, recognition dawning if their expressions are anything to go by. She swings her eyes to mine. “Darcy, tell him about my vision.”
“Oh, I, ah,” I begin uncertainly, “Larissa’s opening a gallery next door. She wants all the artwork to be black and white photography, which yours clearly is.” I gesture at the handful of photos on the walls. They’re landscapes and cityscapes, all with big, dramatic skies. Just like the photo next door in the café, they’re absolutely stunning.
“You’d want to sell them?” he asks.
“Of course!” Larissa replies as though he’s just asked a preposterous question like “Do birds fly?” or “Are the contestants on The Bachelor only in it for the fame?” Preposterous. Of course they’re on it for “the right reason,” which is true love. Everyone knows that.
He shrugs. “Thanks, but I’m happy with them where they are right now. They kind of add to this place. I’m gonna have to pass.”
I blink at him. Alex is saying no to Larissa? No one ever says no to Larissa!
She gawks at him, the shock registering on her face.
Part of me wants to fix this, to make Alex agree to what Larissa wants. The other part of me—the morbid part that likes to watch horror movies late at night despite the fact I know they’ll give me nightmares—wants to see what will happen next.
With a stunned look on her face, Larissa mutters, “I don’t know what to do with that.” She turns her gaze to me. “Darcy? Fix this.”
My morbid, horror film-watching part slinks back into the shadows as Personal Assistant Fix It kicks in. After all, keeping Larissa happy is my job, remember?
“Alex, why don’t we discuss this? Larissa’s got a vision for your work. I assure you, it’ll be very tastefully and respectfully done.”
Larissa nods like she’s one of those bobblehead figurines. “I’ve got a vision,” she repeats.
“This could be huge for you, Alex. Right now, you’re exhibiting what? Five photographs in a café?”
“Six, actually, if you count the one next door.”
Splitting hairs much?
“Six, then.” I paste on a smile so fake, I could also be one of those contestants on The Bachelor, talking about our “connection.” “My point is, Alex, with Larissa’s exciting new project, you’ll be able to exhibit a large body of work and sell it for a lot of money. It’ll be amazing exposure for you.”
I watch Alex hopefully, waiting for his reply. If he repeats his initial response, who knows what Larissa will do? She won’t even know. As I mentioned, she doesn’t hear the word “no” a whole lot, unless it’s in conjunction with the word “carbs,” too, of course. She uses that a lot.
He gives a nonchalant shrug, as though this isn’t a huge opportunity for him. “Let me think about it.”
I reel back from him with a jolt. I always knew Alex Walsh thought a lot of Alex Walsh, but his response to being offered to exhibit his work in a major solo show put on by Larissa Monroe is a noncommittal, unexcited, downright mediocre “let me think about it?”
My eyes dart to Larissa’s. Her forehead is creased and she’s looking at Alex as though he’s speaking in tongues (which he may as well be, as far as she’s concerned). “What does that mean?” she asks, looking directly at me.
“Could that become a yes?” I ask him tentatively.
There’s a hint of a smile on his face when he replies, “It’s a ‘persuade me.’”
Persuade him? Is he serious? Who does he think he is, fr
eaking royalty?
“Look, Alex, this is a huge opportunity. Larissa Monroe endorsing your work will put you on the map.”
“On the map,” Larissa echoes, her eyes wide.
“I get that. It’s just, well, I’ve not exhibited in a while, and I like the photographs where they are right now.” He looks up at a nearby photo.
“They do look amazing there,” Larissa says.
“But they’d look even better on the walls of your new gallery,” I say to her as I shoot her a meaningful look.
“They would. Alex Walsh, say yes,” Larissa instructs.
I hold my breath as we both await his response.
His eyes pass from Larissa to me and back again. Finally, he says, “Look, I’m happy to be a part of this on one proviso.”
“What’s that?” I ask a little too eagerly.
“I get creative control.”
Relief washes over me, and my smile turns from brittle to genuine with a puff of air. “That’s great. Isn’t that great, Larissa?”
“So, so great,” she gushes.
And then, my initial euphoria evaporates as his words sink into my brain. “Wait. You want creative control?”
He gives another one of those frustrating shrugs. “It’s my work. I get to choose what I exhibit, the theme, placement, that kind of thing.”
“But—” My eyes swing to Larissa’s. She’s got her brows knitted together as though she’s thinking hard. She gives a short nod, and I turn back to Alex. “That sounds reasonable.”
Larissa totters on her heels over to Alex, takes one of his hands in hers, and pulls him down to air kiss him. “This is going to be amazing. Alex Walsh, I know the synergies that already exist between us will grow transcendentally as we travel on this journey together.”
I take in Alex’s perplexed expression and have to suppress a giggle. Unless you’re in Larissa’s world, she can come on a little strong. Or crazy, depending on your point of view.
“Okaaay,” he replies uncertainly. “Well, thank you, Larissa. I guess we’ll talk some more about this soon. But right now, I’d better go get on with my job.” He quietly pulls his hand away from her grasp. “So, ah, thank you,” he repeats.
Call me bad, but I quite enjoy seeing him nonplussed by Larissa.
“Oh, no. Thank you, Alex Walsh. You are the talent. I am merely your creative springboard, your nurturer, the sunlight to your bud waiting to flower.”
Alex’s face has gone from perplexed to utterly bewildered as he replies, “Sure. Flowers and . . . all that. It sounds really good.”
I bite my lips together so hard to stop a giggle from exploding out of me, I think I can taste blood.
Larissa turns to face everyone in the room, her arms outstretched. “We have our man.”
All the people at the tables who have been watching the scene unfold break into applause. Larissa laps it up, smiling and clutching her hands against her chest as though she’s won a frigging Oscar—not just simply talked a barista into exhibiting his photos in her new gallery next door.
“Thank you all. We will be opening our little gallery with this rather wonderful man here,” she hooks her arm through Alex’s, “in only a few weeks’ time. It’s right next door, and we would love it if you could all come to see it.”
A couple of moments later, Larissa is busy having selfies taken with a few of the High Tea patrons, and I find myself standing next to Alex, still holding the cake boxes in my hands.
“Now that I’ve agreed to do this, how’s it gonna work?” he asks.
“Well, I guess to start with, you’ll need to get a full catalog of your photographs, so we can begin to work out what to exhibit.”
“Sure. Do I get that to Larissa?”
“No. You’ll need to get it to—”
And then it hits me, like a heavy blow to the belly. Why the heck didn’t this occur to me before? I’ve just talked Alex into working with me. Not Larissa. Me. The guy I can’t stand to be near. The guy who makes my blood boil simply by being alive.
The guy I’ve got history with who I’d really rather forget.
I swallow, my throat tight. “You’ll need to get it to . . . me.”
“To you, huh?” His grin is wide, his eyes dancing. “Does that mean we’ll be working together now, Darcy?”
I open my mouth to reply, then close it again. Working with Alex Walsh? How fan-freaking-tastic.
Chapter 4
I take a large swig of cheap sparkling wine, followed in short succession by another. Although the bubbles tickle my nose and make me want to sneeze, I need the alcohol to hit my bloodstream. Then I can get on with forgetting my week.
Two more large gulps and I’ve drained my glass, which I plunk down on the table in front of me with a clack.
Seated at the table with me at Jojo’s Karaoke Bar, our regular Saturday night hangout, are Sophie, her boyfriend, Jason, and my other BFF, Erin. All three of them are watching me closely.
“Thirsty?” Jason questions, which receives an elbow in the ribs from Sophie. “What did I say? You’ve got to admit, she drank that real fast.”
“Darcy only ever drinks a full glass of bubbles that fast if there’s something wrong,” Sophie explains before looking back at me. “Darce, is there something wrong?”
I tap my foot against the side of the table. “No. I’m fine.”
Erin shakes her head. “No, you’re not. We know you too well, Darcy Evans.”
“Is it because of that Initial Meeting with that guy Devan? Because that’s not your fault,” Sophie says.
“What’s not her fault?” Jason asks.
Sophie shakes her head. “That’s privileged information, Christie. Inner Circle only.”
“And I’m not in the Inner Circle?” he asks.
“You’re not a girl,” Erin explains. “It’s us three.”
“Oh.” He crosses his arms. “It’s like that, is it?”
“There are some things us girls need to keep to ourselves,” Sophie says to him. “We need to maintain at least some element of mystery.”
“How intriguing,” Jason replies as he and Sophie gaze at one another with goofy grins on their faces.
I let out a defeated sigh. If there’s one thing I can’t stand when my own love life is in the pits—okay, buried so deep down in the earth no one could ever find it—is loved-up, sappy, deliriously happy couples flaunting their love in front of me.
Okay, I heard it. I know that’s a bit harsh. Sophie and Jason are a great couple and deserve all the happiness they can get. But come on! When is it going to be my turn already?
I can’t even find a straight guy to date.
“Hey, guys,” a voice says behind me.
Jason leaps out of his seat to go greet the newcomer. “Glad you made it, man.”
I turn to see who he’s invited, hoping maybe it’s a cute, single, potentially dateable doctor friend of his, only to lock eyes with the one person I did not want to see tonight. Or any night for that matter.
Alex freaking Walsh.
The person I stupidly persuaded to work with me just to keep Larissa happy.
The person I least like being around.
“Are you kidding? Miss out on terrible karaoke and fake champagne?” He laughs as Jason shakes his hand.
“Come take a seat,” Jason says.
Sophie greets her cousin with a hug, Erin grins at him and says, “Hello,” and I give him a brief nod and choose to remain seated—and rue the fact I don’t have magic powers that would let me whisk myself back to my apartment and away from Alex in the blink of an eye. With a full bottle of sparkling wine, of course.
Alex sits opposite me, right in my line of sight, and fixes me with his gaze. “Darcy,” he says the way he always does, his tone even with a hint of amusement.
Really, what’s so amusing about saying my name? Nothing, that’s what.
“Alex,” I reply coldly, looking him over briefly to show my disdain for him.
Bu
t damn him, he looks good. I wish I could say he was ugly, like he has a snaggletooth and frizzy hair and teeth the color of sunflowers. He doesn’t. In fact, he’s the opposite of ugly, although I don’t think I could ever bring myself to call him anything better. “Non-ugly” is about as good as I can manage. Alex Walsh is non-ugly. There. I said it, and it fits him perfectly.
“Have you come to sing?” Sophie asks him eagerly.
“Me?” He shakes his head. “No way. I am the world’s worst singer. Believe me, I’ll be doing you all a big favor by not singing tonight.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter if you’re no good at it,” Sophie says. “I’ve been told I sound like a howler monkey up there, but I don’t let it stop me from having some fun.”
Alex blinks at her in surprise. “Who called you a howler monkey? That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”
“Oh, just some random guy. My point is that it doesn’t matter if you sound like a primate. We’re all here to have fun. Let off some steam.”
“Howler monkeys aren’t primates, you know,” Alex says, and I roll my eyes. Trust him to get nitpicky. “Primates are gorillas, orangutans, chimps. We humans are primates.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You’re a biologist now, are you?”
He gives a modest shrug. “I volunteered at an orangutan sanctuary in Borneo a while back. I like animals, I guess.”
“I didn’t know you did that,” Sophie says.
“Volunteering at an orangutan sanctuary sounds so cool, man,” Jason says.
I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to hear about Alex doing good deeds.
“Anyway,” Sophie says, “whether a howler monkey is a primate or not, my point is that it doesn’t matter if you can’t sing.”
“Well, I can tell you one thing right now,” Alex begins with a laugh. “There would have to be a pretty darn good reason for me to get up and sing at a karaoke bar.”
“Like you had to do it to save the world from aliens or something, right?” Jason offers.
He is such a boy.
“Exactly. Sign me up for karaoke when the little green men turn up.” He gives a self-satisfied smirk.
No More Terrible Dates Page 4