He winked at her. “Out ofsix. Third row out of six ain’t half bad.”
“Orhalf good!” she countered. Then she strode toward him and gripped him by the shoulders. In her heels, they almost stood eye to eye, but Sloane’s presence was always larger than life. “Believe me,” she told him. “After this U.S. tour, you won’t be able to blow your nose without someone trying to snap a photo of it. But right now, and especiallyhere, you’re not a headliner. And the busking? It’ll only be for a day.” She booped him on the nose, which Ash hated because it reminded him how young and green he still was, even at twenty-three. But Sloane had gotten him this far, so he had to trust whatever came next.
“One day?” he asked. “How is that going to get me any exposure?”
Sloane raised her brows. “Because that, my friend, will be the meet-cute heard ’round the world.” Then she shrugged. “Okay, not around the world but across the UK, and that is all we need.”
And that was how he met Annabeth Calder-Payne, a nineteen-year-old tennis prodigy who’drecently been splashed all over the tabloids for sneaking around with the brother of her biggest opponent. She’d been accused of everything from using the French teen to spy on his sister to sabotaging her matches. At least, that was what the beautiful blond Scot had told him after she’d slammed his guitar case shut with her foot and boldly proclaimed to the small crowd that had surprisingly been appreciating his impromptu concert, “Show’s over, folks. This cowboy’s mine for the rest of day, ay?” She shooed folks away as a very strategically positioned photographer snapped photos of the dramatic display.
“Thanks for this,” Annabeth said as she nodded down at her to-go cup of tea once they were nestled safely in the back of a café.
“I didn’t buy it,” Ash reminded her. “Youdid.”
She laughed, brightly painted lips parting to reveal a slightly crooked right tooth that did nothing to lessen her radiant smile. She was gorgeous, but despite Sloane telling himnothingelse about today’s events other than suggesting he just “go with it so it looks natural,” Ash was sure that their orchestrated meet-cute had nothing do with anything real happening between him and the UK’s tennis darling.
“You’re not interested in me,” Ash stated matter-of-factly.
She barked out a full-on belly laugh. “God, no!”she exclaimed, and confident as Ash Murphy was, he couldn’t hide the wince at such a blatant bruise to his ego.
“Please,” he continued drily. “Don’t hold back.”
She reached across the table and gave his hand a conspiratorial squeeze, reminding him that,Hey…we’re in this together…even if Ash had no idea whatthismeant.
“Look outside the café window,” she told him, and Ash leaned to his left to get a better look at the front of the café. “How about some subtlety, Babe?” she added. “Ay, you stick out like the tourist you are, don’t ya?”
He straightened and cleared his throat. “I like your accent,” he told her. “Even if you aretakin’ the piss.”
She raised her brows, clearly impressed, and Ash gave himself a mental pat on the back.
“Okay. Okay. You brushed up on your colloquialisms, I can see.” She climbed onto her knees on the wooden chair and leaned across the table so her mouth was so close to his ear that he could feel the warmth of her breath, which surprisingly did nothing to him in the region below the belt. “Right now, there’s a photographer outside who thinks I’m leaning in for a kiss. You’ll be all overThe Mirror, The Sun,and theDaily Mailas the guy Annabeth Calder-Payneliterallypicked up off the street and made a household name. You’re welcome, by the way.”
She leaned back and lowered herself into her seat again, crossing her arms as she grinned triumphantly.
“I don’t get it,” he told her. “Why would you do that for me? You don’t even know me.”
She took a sip of her tea and then shrugged. “If I’m your girl, Britain loves you. And if you’remyguy…in public, at least…then Freddie’s family might let me within three feet of him again someday.”
Ash saw the tiniest crack in her confidence with this admission. “Is Freddie on board with this?” And did people really do this? Staged relationships to hide their private lives?
Annabeth pressed her lips together and nodded. Then she sniffled, sat up ramrod straight, and squared her shoulders. “Will you do it, then? Trade me a few fake public snogs for launching another leg of your career?”
He learned early enough that when it came to his career, every relationship was some sort of transaction, which meant this was no different.
“I head out on tour soon in the United States,” he told her. “So we’ll have to make the most of the time I have while I’m here.”
She beamed. “Is that a yes, then?”
This time he leaned forward, resting his cheek against hers as he whispered, “As long as you promise me you’ll never step on my guitar case again. Took me three months ofactualbusking to buythat thing, and it’s lasted me five years, thanks tono one stepping on it.”
Annabeth laughed as he straightened in his chair. “I like you, Ash Murphy.”
He raised his brows. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were becoming friends as well as business partners.”
She kicked his boot under the table. “I would like that,” she admitted. “I don’t have many at the moment.”
Ash cleared his throat. “The boots…they’re off-limits too.”
Annabeth laughed, and then she told him all about growing up on the tennis court, trading traditional schooling for private tutors and friends for coaches. He told her about the ranch, his brothers, how he never felt like he quite fit into his small-town life, and how he’d gotten fired from six British pubs in less than two weeks.
