So, in the interests of being polite, he’d chat with Courtney Flynn this morning, as they’d planned. But he wasn’t holding out much hope of this working out. The universe just didn’t make things that easy.
With a resigned sigh, Travis opened the front door and saw the young woman standing on the other side of it… and felt the sigh evaporate inside his throat the moment his eyes met hers.
A smile lit her face as she looked up at him from beneath a sweep of dark hair pulled back into a ponytail that draped across one shoulder. Her eyes were the colour of twilight, her cheeks a landscape of soft angles, her mouth a rosebud opening to greet the sun.
With the light catching her from behind, she looked like an angel.
“Hello, I’m Courtney Flynn,” she said, her smile widening as she held out her hand.
A beat passed, probably only a second in time, but in Travis’s head it felt like far longer. He was staring, struck dumb bythe young woman on his doorstep. When his brain at last re-engaged, he just about managed to return her smile.
“I’m Travis Stone,” he said, taking her outstretched hand to shake it. Her skin was soft, her fingers warm, and he felt a buzz of heat in his palm and almost didn’t want to let go when the courtesy handshake was over.
This is a job interview,he reminded himself.There are rules. Pull yourself together. What’s the matter with you?
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.”
It was only when he stepped back from the door to welcome her inside that his gaze moved from her face, which had left him utterly fascinated, and took in the rest of her.
Including the pregnancy bump beneath the bright blue top she wore.
She was pregnant. Quite a lot pregnant, by the looks of it.
He’d just been ogling a pregnant woman.
No, not ogling. That was the wrong word entirely. He’d been admiring… no, that wasn’t right, either. He’d been appreciating… no, she was a woman, not a painting.
For a writer, he suddenly wasn’t very good with words.
He’d been… mesmerised. Bewitched.
He’d beenfalling.
No! That wasdefinitelythe wrong word.
Wasn’t it?
“This is a gorgeous house, Mr Stone,” Courtney said as she climbed the front steps and joined him in the hallway.
“Actually, the house isn’t mine,” Travis said, the words tumbling out in a rush as he fought to get himself under control. “I’m staying here for a few weeks to get away from construction noise at my apartment building in London. My sister is friends with the owners of this place, and when I complained to her about how noisy things were at my flat, she suggested cominghere might be an option. The owners are travelling, but were happy to agree to have someone staying here and looking after the place, someone they know. Well, they don’t actually know me, but they know my sister, and that’s how I ended up here, and so…”
And he was babbling. Babbling like a complete and utter idiot. Snapping his mouth closed, he gave Courtney an apologetic smile.
“Anyway, come on through,” he said, waving a hand towards the room on the right of the hallway. “We can chat in here.”
She walked ahead of him, her gaze taking in the room as Travis gestured to the two sofas that faced each other beside the fireplace. When Courtney sat on the sofa facing towards the window, Travis took the one opposite.
“This is a lovely room,” Courtney said, setting her handbag down beside her. “It gets a lot of light.”
Travis turned to the windows behind him. “The bay windows make all the difference. It’s why I set my writing space up in this room. It helped that the owner already had a handy desk in the corner that they never used. All I had to do was shift a few framed photographs out of the way, plug in my laptop, and I was good to go. It’s a great room to write in. Since I arrived here, I’ve written more in a week and a half than I wrote in almost a month back in London.”
He was babbling again. Courtney didn’t want to hear any of this. She was here to find out about the job of becoming his temporary personal assistant, not be subjected to the boring details of how he’d come to end up here in this house and the impact it was having on his writing life.
“So, I’m glad you could come here today for a chat about the personal assistant job,” Travis said, and found that he meant it, despite the pessimistic thoughts he’d had barely two minutes ago when he’d been about to answer the door.
“Me too. I know you’re looking for someone who can jump straight in and get to work right away, and I know you’d probably prefer someone who has more experience as a personal assistant, but I think I can do this job and do it well, Mr Stone.”
