Sure. Why not? She wasn’t wearing a wedding band.
His usual approach to anyone who didn't fall for his charm was to forget them and move on. Win some, lose some.
This time, he didn't want to shrug and walk away. Not just because of what Micki said.
“You'll have to trust me on that one.” Smiling, he touched her elbow lightly.
She pulled her arm away, and shook her head. “I don't know you well enough to trust you, Nick.” The hint of a smile twitched her lips but didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re hardly in the most trustworthy profession, after all.”
No need to remind him of that. He knew.
Some days, he couldn’t say for sure which of his own feelings were real and which were an act. That was one of the things he hoped to figure out on this trip away. When Micki, his on-set wife and real life friend-but-not-quite-girlfriend suddenly announced her engagement to someone else, she’d thrown him a curve ball. Her accusation that he was superficial had thrown him even more.
But the sadness shadowing Cara’s eyes wasn’t an act. It was just as real as the emotion he’d seen in her face when she'd given the tramp her breakfast. Along with compassion, he’d seen the same deep sorrow he glimpsed in her eyes now.
Which reminded him….
“The homeless guy. Are there any services we can contact that would help him?”
“I plan to phone someone about him as soon as I get to my office.”
Her expression changed, became a mask. No compassion. No sorrow. Just impatience to get away.
Somehow, he knew this mask was the act. He was a good enough actor to recognise that.
“Sorry Nick. I didn’t expect you so early. I don't have time to stand here chatting.” She shook her head. “It's Monday morning, and I need to get a lot of work done before the management meeting.”
He swallowed the burn of hurt over being dismissed like that.
Some of the actors he’s worked with would already have gone into their ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ routine.
That wasn’t his style.
And he’d seen the real Cara. Her fake business-like mask only reinforced his determination to get to know her better, and discover more of the woman she hid behind her buttoned-up exterior.
Instead of taking offence, he shrugged and smiled.
“My body clock is out of whack, I’ve been awake since three. I decided to go exploring and get an idea of what I could do for the store.”
Her lips pursed, and her doubting eyes made it clear she didn’t expect he’d be able to do much.
“That's what I'm here for, to help get more customers in, right?” he asked.
That wasn’t all he was here for. He couldn’t shake the feeling of rightness.
The crazy sense that God had this all planned. Micki’s challenge, Gran’s request, the lot.
Why, he didn’t know.
But he intended to have fun finding out.
~~+~~
Before Cara could come back at Nick with the snarky comment she had lined up, the sliding glass window into the Security Office behind her opened. Harry stuck his head through and frowned at her.
Oh no, now what?
Harry wanting to talk to her usually didn’t mean good things. If she was Ms Scrooge, the Head of Security was the Grinch.
She felt decidedly wobbly. Whether it was Nick’s proximity or her lack of breakfast making her tummy churn, she couldn’t tell.
Cara turned towards Harry with an attempt at a smile. “Good morning.”
He nodded back, unsmiling as usual, and squinted at the note he held.
“Miss Cara, I got a phone message here from Mrs Pettett. I’m to make sure to tell you as soon as you get here. Her and Young Mr Pettett won't get here till just before the morning meeting today, but that Secret Santa actor bloke's coming in. Mrs Pettett wants you to look after him, no-one else. She said you weren't to —”
He paused to puzzle out a word. “Del-e-gate? You got to work with him the whole time he's here. Anything he wants, you got to be the one to do it. That's more important than your other work, she said. And Young Mr Pettett said he'd email you about what he needs for the big meeting this morning. He's got a list for you.”
Cara’s heart plummeted. She was stuck with Nick, by order. The last thing she wanted.
Fainting wasn’t high on her wanted list either, but she felt her cheeks go cold and the room start to spin. She clutched the wide windowsill of the hatchway to stop herself swaying. Missing breakfast this morning on top of having nothing but a cookie for dinner last night clearly hadn’t been wise. But her volunteer evenings at the helpline always took away her appetite.
Nick looked at her, concern on his face.
Raising her chin, she tried to straighten her shoulders, but failed.
Seemingly oblivious, Harry peered past her. “Looks like you found the actor bloke then. Good-oh.”
The sliding glass window of his hatch slammed shut, narrowly missing amputating the tips of her fingers. The baubles sticky taped to it rocked perilously.
Nick grabbed one of the straight backed metal chairs and put it next to her. “Here. Sit down.”
She slumped into the chair. “I'm fine.” The wobble in her voice betrayed her.
“You don't look fine. You won't be any use to anyone if you faint, you know. And judging by the dust on that first aid box in Harry's office, he won't be much use to you, either.” He smiled, head tilted to one side.
The man had way too much charm.
He also had a point.
“It’s years since I last fainted, and I don't intend to start again now.” She looked up at Nick with the hint of a smile. “I'll add updating staff first aid training to my list for the New Year.” An unwelcome thought closed her eyes for a moment. “If we still have staff to train, that is.”
Shaking her head, she forced her eyes to open and saw Nick’s keen gaze on her sharpen.
Had she said that out loud? Trust him to pick up on it.
Her brows twitched together. Pulling herself upright in the chair, she attempted a business-like expression.
“Are things really so bad?” he asked.
“Of course not. I'm babbling. Just low blood sugar. I need some breakfast, that's all.”
Nick’s sceptical glance told her he didn’t quite believe her, but he’d play along.
“Sure. You gave your breakfast away. I assume there's a staff restaurant? Let me buy you breakfast.”
No breakfast with Nick.
The faster she found someone else to give him the store tour and got away from him, the better for her peace of mind. Mrs Pettett couldn’t possibly have meant for her to spend every minute of her working day with him.
Unfortunately, she suspected her unpredictable and autocratic boss did mean that. On top of her normal workload, of course.
Cara shook her head.
“There's no staff dining room here?”
“Yes, there's a cafeteria. But you don't need to buy me breakfast. I have coffee and cereal bars in my office.”
She couldn’t help smiling at his disappointed pout and the beguiling tilt of his eyebrow.
Nick had one advantage, and he was shameless enough to use it.
“I heard Harry tell you Mrs Petty's orders. Anything I want, you have to do. That's what he said. Well, I want you to let me buy you breakfast in the staff restaurant.”
She shook her head again and tried to keep a straight face. “It’s Mrs Pettett, not Petty.”
Shame the smile sneaking onto her lips gave her away.
“Please?” he cajoled. “I want to feel I helped the guy as well. I probably would have passed him by. Only you stopping made me notice him. Let me buy you a replacement breakfast.”
“But if you do, I won't have given him anything.”
“We'll go halves,” he said. “You don't have to eat a stale muesli bar that's been sitting in your desk drawer for a year, and we'll both have given something to the homeles
s guy. I need those good boy points with Saint Nick too, you know.”
He gave her a wide-eyed and hopeful look, like a cute puppy wanting to follow her home. Any second now, she’d cave and agree.
Nick smiled that adorably crooked smile of his.
He was exactly the same sort as Dad. A charmer, with an irresistible smile, and probably just as little substance behind it.
And worse, her every memory of Nick was attached to Christmas. Too much a reminder of that terrible Christmas she tried so hard not to think about. Her one evening a week at the helpline reminded her too, but it was a form of absolution.
No absolution about being around Nick. That would simply be trouble.
She looked away from him. So much charm at such close range was like radioactivity. Impossible to escape, and just as lethal. How she'd manage to stand up again, she didn't know. Her legs felt boneless as a Gumby doll's.
Low blood sugar, that’s all this was. Eating something was the answer.
Surely letting him buy her a coffee couldn’t hurt, a traitorous part of her mind whispered. Look but not touch, like a dieter at a banquet.
As she moved to stand, he offered her his arm.
The temptation to take it was strong, but she resisted. “I’m okay.”
Her sensible self yelled at her to get away.
He’s too handsome, too charming. Men like that seem wonderful, until things so wrong and they walk away leaving you to deal with the mess.
Definitely not someone she'd fall for. And definitely not someone she'd trust.
But she didn’t need to trust him. Just work with him for three weeks. She’d make sure she didn’t spend enough time with him for trust to be an issue.
So why was she leading him towards the stairs down to the basement cafeteria?
Chapter 3
Nick followed Cara along the hall, hoping they were headed for the staff dining room.
She turned back to him with a half-smile. “You are Santa, you don't need any points. And the cakes downstairs in the staff cafeteria are probably staler than my cereal bars. That's why they're cheap. They serve us what didn't sell yesterday in the fourth floor customer restaurant.”
He gave her his best smile in return. “So I get a bargain. My good guy points, at half price. That should appeal to you, an accountant.”
Cara shook her head, but her lips curved. She pulled open a door opening onto a stairwell.
“You have a deal. Don't say I didn't warn you about the cafeteria, though.” She glanced at her watch. “And ten minutes, no more. You heard Harry say Mr Pettett had a list for me. I have a load of reports to prepare before the eleven a.m. meeting.”
Ten minutes with her was better than nothing. Her contradictions intrigued him enough not to want to let her go.
He held the door open for her.
“Are you sure you don’t want to hang on to my arm going down the stairs. You still look paper white.”
Okay, that was an exaggeration. Maybe he just liked the idea of her holding his arm.
But he was worried about her. Though a little colour had returned to her cheeks, her brown eyes were Bambi huge in her pale face.
Too stubborn for her own good, she refused his support, making it clear she preferred to cling to the handrail instead.
At least he could make sure he walked beside her to catch her if she wobbled.
In the cafeteria, a few strands of tacky tinsel and a lopsided plastic Christmas tree made an unsuccessful attempt at festivity that did nothing to brighten the depressing dinginess. The tables and chairs were a mish mash, probably hand-me-downs from the customer restaurant like the food. The room held an unappetising reek of old cabbage, burnt toast, and grease.
No wonder no-one was here, apart from them and one frowning overweight woman wearing an apron, listlessly stirring something behind the counter. The food on display looked as drab and uninviting as the peeling paintwork.
He shook his head. The window displays were a clue, but now he knew for sure the business was in trouble. This place smelled off, in more ways than one. Gran hadn't told him things were so desperate.
Lord help them if they were hanging their hopes on him. He wasn't that big a star.
Cara looked up from her examination of the meagre collection of cakes. “I don't know which one of these is the least stale. I did warn you. This is why I never come down here if I can help it. Mrs Pettett doesn't spend a penny more than needed anywhere customers don't see. It might be good business sense, but it doesn't do wonders for staff morale.”
Nick ordered coffee, flat black or flat white being the only choices, and paid for her custard slice before she had a chance to open her purse and protest. They sat at one of the Formica tables, and Cara slipped her coat off.
He couldn’t look away from her, his gaze attracted like iron filings to a magnet.
Her modesty, buttoned up tight in her prim grey skirt suit and white high necked shirt, made such a contrast to the girls he usually spent time with. She hid far more than she revealed of her figure, yet the curves merely hinted at made her even more appealing.
And she’d look so soft and sweet if she unpinned her shiny dark brown hair and let it curl loose around her shoulders....
Lord, I have to work with Cara for three weeks. I can’t let myself think that way about her. Please, redirect my thoughts.
Too late, he was already thinking that way about her.
Focus, Gallagher. You’re here to do a job. Do it. Get a handle on what’s happening with the store.
“Tell me, how bad are things here really?”
Maybe that would shock her into giving him an honest answer this time.
Cara looked down and wouldn't meet his eyes. “I told you, I wasn't thinking straight when I said it. Hypoglycaemia, remember?” As if to prove the point, she nibbled at her pastry.
So far, she hadn't eaten enough to raise her blood sugar more than a fraction.
“Cara, tell the truth.” Somehow, he knew she wasn’t the type to lie easily.
Biting her lip, she lifted her head and gave him a straight look. “I don't want to lie, Nick. But I can't give any information about the store's finances to you, without Mr or Mrs Pettett's permission. Let's just say it would be useful if you being here helps bring in more customers and gets them spending more. The store needs help.”
Nick guessed Cara’s words revealed only a fraction of the bigger picture. The store stank of a business in trouble.
While he was in London his plans had been to enjoy himself doing touristy things, and think through his response to the producers and his agent when he went back to L.A.
For fifteen years he’d played a good boy. The show had triple ratings when his character married Micki’s character, his high school sweetheart. But when the season ended with his character teetering on the edge of infidelity, and his agent pressuring him to take sexier roles offering bigger money, it was time to reconsider.
He didn’t feel comfortable playing storylines that went against his faith, but he’d be laughed out of Hollywood if he insisted on playing a monogamous husband.
Micki’s shock announcement of her engagement and the way she’d more or less dared him to stick with a difficult situation instead of always looking for the easy ride hadn’t helped.
She hadn’t meant with the show. She’d meant with life.
No wonder he’d wanted time out to think.
Now, it looked like the Lord might have bigger plans for this trip.
This seemed exactly the sort of situation Micki claimed he was too shallow to persevere with. Maybe she’d meant more than three weeks, but it was a start. Her words had stung.
He looked across the table to Cara’s worried face, as she waited for his reply.
“The store needs help,” she repeated softly.
“I'll do what I can. I don't know what that will be yet, but I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty with a bit of work. I’m not shy of publicity, either.”
&n
bsp; Cara smiled, a real genuine smile at last, lighting her pale face like switching on a lamp in a darkened room. “Thank you. We need all the help we can get. I’d hate it if anyone loses their job here.”
She looked around the dining room and the smile faded. “You can see why I usually eat at my desk. Staff morale is at an all time low. If we have to have Christmas music through the PA, I wish we could at least play proper carols, something more uplifting. But Mrs Pettett doesn't want to risk offending anyone by reminding them of the Christ in Christmas.”
So she was a Christian? No wonder even that hint of an untruth earlier made her uncomfortable.
Thank You Jesus.
Though why it mattered when he was here less than a month, he didn’t know.
Cara kept speaking, shaking her head. “We’re force-fed Xmas instead. I don’t like Christmas much, but Xmas is even worse. Listen to this one.”
‘Santa Baby’.
The singer’s breathy croon implored Santa to bring her lots of goodies.
Cara’s serious eyes, intent on him as she waited for his answer, made his insides do funny things. Or maybe it was just the muddy instant coffee.
“I’m probably not the best person to ask,” he said. “Sure, Christmas should be about Jesus. The reason for the season, and all that. But I like presents, too.”
The disapproval in her eyes at his flippant reply shouldn’t have stung, but it did. He reminded himself - he wasn't planning on anything serious. That would be taking Micki’s challenge too far.
He wasn’t even here until the New Year, after all. Three weeks. Then back to LA to decide what to do about the soap.
He'd do what he could to help the store while he was here, but once December was up, that was it.
~~+~~
Cara looked at Nick and shook her head.
Seemed he was just as spoiled and superficial as she’d expected.
“It's the perfect example of everything I loathe most about Christmas,” she said. “I know we want people to buy, but there must be more to life than gimme gimme gimme.”
“What don't you like? The song, wanting presents, or Christmas itself?” His amused smile looked very close to being patronising.
Love In Store Books 1-3: Collection of three sweet and clean Christian romances with a London setting: The Wedding List, Believe in Me, & A Model Bride Page 15