Logan 02 Three Minutes to Happiness Page 2

  “Put down your details anyway. You never know.” Sorcha waggled her eyebrows at him.

  Finn glanced around the room and breathed in deeply.

  “Ladies, to the tables, please,” called a tall blonde who seemed to be running things.

  “See you later.” Sorcha squeezed his hand. “Remember, just be charming. You’ll be fine.”

  The row of women seated at desks seemed to stretch forever.

  “When the bell rings, switch tables, gentlemen,” the blonde intoned.

  With his stomach churning, Finn slid on to a hard wooden chair opposite a sultry brunette. “Hi, I’m Finn.” He reached to shake her hand.

  “I’m Belinda.” Loaded lashes batted up and down. “I’m a model.” She sat up straighter, pushing her torso out slightly, causing the low-cut front of her sparkly top to gape. “Tell me about yourself, Finn, what do you do?”

  “I’m an architect.”

  Belinda’s eyes widened. “Ooo, You must be an expert on erections then?”

  *****

  Every woman in the place was dressed to kill. Val dragged her bottom lip in and worried it with her teeth. And they all looked gorgeous. God, this was going to be humiliating. Would she be the only one here not to receive a single yes on her scorecard?

  She glanced sideways at Maggie, hoping against hope that she would magically hate this whole thing too and suggest they did a runner.

  Maggie gave her a double-thumbs-up.

  Val stretched her lips in a parody of a smile, and focused on the piece of paper she’d brought with her. Maybe she should have dressed up more for the event. But jeans and a black tee with a skull dead center had seemed a good choice before she’d left home. She’d straightened the kink out of her short bob. Had made sure that the ends of her bangs hung straight just across her eyebrows. And had carefully traced her signature cat-eyed kohl around her blue eyes.

  “Hi, I’m Andrew.” A man sat down opposite. A faint sheen of sweat beaded his upper lip, and his goatee trembled. He looked even more scared than she felt.

  “Hi, Andrew. I’m Val.” Three minutes. She’d come prepared. There would be no casual tell-me-all-about-you bullshit on this table.

  Five questions. Three minutes. And a yes or no decided.

  Andrew’s adams apple bobbed. “So…tell me a little about you.” He propped tweedy elbows on the table, and stared into her eyes.

  I’m a love-phobic divorcee. Val shifted on the seat and forced herself to maintain eye contact. “I work in a bookshop part-time, and I also work part-time for a photographer.”

  Andrew’s eyes skimmed her body in a way that made her itch to slap him. “Are you a model?” He smiled. The sort of smile a snake might produce, if it were able.

  “No.” Three minutes. “I’m a sort of trainee photographer.” Without the guts or the funds to make the transition to self-employed, but Andrew sure didn’t need to know that.

  “Ah.”

  Andrew looked as though he was about to ask her something else, so she quickly cut him off at the pass. “I thought the quickest way to find out if we have anything in common is if I asked some questions.” She waved her list in the air. “What do you think?”

  Andrew leaned back. “Okay, sounds good.” A genuine smile tinged with what looked like relief lightened his features.

  “Okay. Question one. What does Grey’s mean to you?”

  Andrew’s forehead pleated. “Grey? It’s a color.” Getting into his stride, Andrew beamed. “Not a color I’m particularly fond of, mind. I go for black.” His gaze lingered over her chest. “Enlivened with splashes of primary colors. You know, for ties and stuff.”

  “Um…” Time was ticking away, and she wasn’t getting anywhere. “Great. Question two, what’s your idea of a perfect date?”

  Andrew’s hand slid across the table toward hers. She pulled back without making it look too obvious. “I’d have to say that having dinner with a beautiful woman would be right up there. And then maybe coming back to her place for coffee.” He winked.

  A buzzer sounded.

  With a grin, Andrew stood and moved on to Maggie.

  Five questions were way too many to get through in three minutes. So for the next four singles Val mixed it up a bit, asking each of them different ones.

  Unfortunately, the unspoken subtext seemed to be the same with all of them. It was as though they were all listening to a silent soundtrack inside their heads that consisted of ‘Let’s get it on’. As a result, she had nothing ticked on her scorecard. And from the numbers swelling the room, there must be another ten men still to go. She glanced around. Maggie was giggling, and quite a few of the women seemed to be going all out on the mating display.

  Where’s a drink when you need one? Val puffed out a breath.

  “Hi, I’m Finn.” A deep voice announced another candidate. Val’s head jerked front and center. And, as if someone had turned a dial, all sound in the room faded away.

  Wow. The stranger before her had thick black hair, strong cheekbones, and a hard jawline. The eyes that met hers were deep emerald green. Val’s gaze dipped to his mouth that curved in a smile, forcing a dimple into one cheek. She swallowed. “I’m Val.” To her annoyance, her voice sounded husky.

  He was wearing a heavy Aran sweater in dark blue. Acres of it covered a broad chest and huge shoulders. The man must be 6’4”—at least a foot taller than her anyway.

  He pushed a hand through his hair. “So, I guess you’re going to tell me about yourself?” He actually looked bored at the prospect.

  The hairs on Val’s arms stood to attention. If he was so bored, what the hell was he doing here? She pulled in her bottom lip and chewed it. Maybe it was just the prospect of whiling away three minutes with her.

  She sat up straight. “I’ve been doing it differently,” she muttered. “I’m asking questions.”

  His gaze flickered to the piece of paper she was holding. “You have a list?” One eyebrow rose.

  “I have a list.” She nodded to make her point.

  “And if I get all the answers right, I get your number?” Interest flickered in his eyes as he looked down at the paper, as if trying to read it upside down.

  “Maybe.” Her answer was more than she’d given to any of the men she’d already met, but to be honest, he was the first one who had interested her.

  His fingers flicked in a ‘bring-it-on’ gesture.

  “Okay, first question.” She glanced down the list and picked number three. “Han Solo or Luke Skywalker?”

  “Princess Leia.” His mouth twitched. “Next.”

  “Take-out or restaurant?”

  “Home cooked.” His eyelids half closed, lending a dangerously seductive quality to his face. “I grill a mean steak.”

  Val rubbed a hand around the back of her neck. Is it hot in here?

  “Disco dancing or waltzing?”

  The dimple in his cheek made a brief appearance. “Neither. Can’t dance.”

  She grinned. “You’re not very good at answering questions. These are two choice questions—you’re supposed to choose one.”

  “Well, I’m pretty crappy at dancing, but if I had to choose one…”

  “You do.”

  “I’d go for waltzing. Or a slow shuffle so as not to show myself up.” His head tilted to the side. “Do I get to ask a question yet?”

  They only had a minute or so left. And she had been monopolizing the time available. “I guess.”

  Finn gazed at her mouth. Sparks seemed to crackle in the air between them, and attraction pulled the breath from her lungs at just that one, hungry look. “How many yeses have you ticked on your card?”

  It seemed wrong to tell him, somehow, that none of the men so far had even sparked an ion of interest. But they hadn’t. She was here under false pretenses. Had no intention of finding a man tonight.

  The thought of diving into the love pool after she’d almost drowned last time scared her witless. It was much safer standing on the
side, if a little lonely.

  “That’s sort of a personal question.” She crossed her arms and stared him down.

  “I know.” He grinned. “But it’s the one I’m interested in knowing the answer to. And you only have seconds to answer it.”

  “None.” There. It was out. She hadn’t chosen anyone to see again, and if that made her picky, so be it.

  “Good.” He crossed his arms. “I haven’t said yes to anyone yet either.”

  The bell rang.

  He leaned forward and spoke in a deep whisper. “Tick yes to me. I haven’t finished with you yet.” He stood and walked on to the next table, not looking back or giving her an opportunity to reply.

  The insufferable arrogance of the man! Her gaze was glued to his jean-clad behind as he walked away. Gorgeous, and he knew it. So not her type. Her gaze flickered down, Cowboy boots. What self-respecting man wore cowboy boots in Ireland?

  A hot one, a little voice inside murmured. A very hot one. She was his yes? He hadn’t exactly said so, but he’d certainly hinted that he wanted to see her again.

  “I’m Phillip,” a voice dragged her attention back to the table. “And I love walks in the moonlight.”

  She glanced at Finn’s name on her scorecard. And ticked yes.

  *****

  Nine dates later, and all Finn could think of was Val. As he said goodbye to yet another woman who hadn’t sparked his interest, he glanced over and caught her eye. She didn’t smile. Didn’t flutter her eyelashes. But a blush swept her face, and she crossed her ankles under the table before looking up at her next date.

  She wasn’t his type at all. Small and slight, with a boyish build where most the women he’d dated in the past had been tall and curvy. Her hair was cut in a sharp black Cleopatra bob, and the way she outlined her eyes emphasized the Queen of Egypt effect. He grinned, and boy, was she snarky. She’d made no attempt to flatter him or catch his attention—which had more or less guaranteed that he was hooked straight away.

  He shouldn’t be interested. But damn, he was.

  “You’re my last date.” Fake lashes fluttered, and a rather orange-skinned brunette grasped his hand with long red fingernails. “I’m Bianca.”

  “Finn.” He sat, tried to look interested, and wondered why on earth he’d flirted with a woman he had no intention of calling. I haven’t finished with you yet?

  “So, tell me about your job.”

  He answered the question Bianca asked automatically, but his thoughts flickered back to the woman who’d caught his interest. Jesus, what a corny line. When he’d said it, he’d been acting on instinct. The way Val looked, the way she asked her questions in that soft voice had been so different from the others. She’d bitten her lip and tried to hide the fact that she was attracted to him, where the others were full-on flirty.

  He couldn’t help but be intrigued. Bianca flirted up a storm. Her low-cut top showcased a pretty spectacular pair of breasts. But he wasn’t interested. Finn couldn’t help comparing the way Bianca flaunted herself, to Val, whose black tee-shirt hid a lot more than it revealed. Val really didn’t seem the sort to speed date, not that he really had much clue of the type, but she seemed awkward, unsettled at being there. And she hadn’t ticked any names, although that could have changed, after all they’d both seen a lot of possible dates since their encounter.

  The bell rang.

  “Thanks, everyone!” the organizer called. “Finish filling out your cards please, and give them in.”

  “It was good chatting to you,” Bianca fiddled with her hair and batted her eyelashes.

  “Yeah, you too.” He shook her hand and looked around for Sorcha—his reason for being here in the first place. She was queuing to hand in her card, and chatting to a guy in front of her in line. Finn had seen that look on her face before. The ‘you’re-a-yes’ look.

  Now was his opportunity to get over there and check out his cousin’s choice before the evening was over.

  He glanced over to Val’s table. She was gone. In the melee he couldn’t see her anywhere. The excitement that had been building within at the thought of catching up with her again, burst like a deflated balloon.

  A moment’s attraction had derailed his intention not to lead a woman on, and now she’d disappeared, robbing him of the opportunity to explain himself. He joined the queue and glanced down at his scorecard. A solitary tick yes. Maybe she hadn’t indicated that she wanted to see him again. If she had, he’d call and explain that he’d been strong-armed into coming along. That he wasn’t looking for a relationship.

  It’s not you; it’s me.

  He winced imagining delivering the words no-one wanted to hear. Damn, maybe he should just change his vote, avoid the whole thing. He remembered the look in her eyes just before he’d walked away. Her red mouth that had gaped slightly at his words, and the way she’d crossed her arms and blew out a breath that hinted of indignation.

  Damn, she was sexy.

  Has she ticked yes?

  Chapter Three

  Mordor it wasn’t.

  The fact that the cardboard Eye of Sauron above the front door wasn’t straight, but listed to the right was something that irritated Val every time she looked up at it, but there was no way she could drag out the ladder and straighten it. Not with the fifteen or so rabid Tolkien fans browsing the aisles. And definitely not with these feet.

  As the shortest of the bookshop employees, she’d drawn the short, hobbity straw.

  “I really appreciate you doing this, Val,” Andrew had handed over the huge plastic, hair-covered feet across the desk. “The rest of the costume is in the back.”

  There was no surprise that he’d picked the best costume for himself. His long straight blond locks hung to his waist, and his narrow waist was clinched in by an impressive belt with a huge plastic sword hanging from it. Val suspected he’d always fancied himself an Elf.

  Last night, she’d dreamed of Finn, his hair long, his face covered with a six o’clock shadow, swinging a sword and dispatching orcs to hell before joining her on a wolf fur rug in front of a flowing river for a Technicolor lovemaking session. The darned man was even invading her dreams. In costume. This job was getting to her. Andrew had suggested doing a Jane Austen week soon—she didn’t even want to think of a dripping wet Finn starring in her Darcy fantasy.

  Last week, she’d been able to wear jeans, sneakers, and a long brown wig for Twilight week, while Andrew had spent a fortune on glittery make-up in his recreation of Edward. They’d had twelve shoppers the whole weekend. None of whom had bought a single book.

  The assorted elves, hobbits, three Gandalfs and a cold looking skinny guy dressed in a grimy loincloth who kept muttering ‘my precious’ weren’t buying. Instead, they were huddled in corners asking each other about their costumes and arguing about which was best, the movies or the books.

  “Frodo,” Andrew called from across the room. Val shuffled over. “They’re not buying.” There was a touch of panic in his tone, a wildness in his eyes that wasn’t altogether to do with the fact that as he’d taken off his glasses and he couldn’t see more than a foot in front of his face. “Could you help me bring out the nibbles?”

  With difficulty, Val followed Andrew into the back room. She opened bags of snacks and poured them into large black bowls. “I’m not sure these themed days are working,” she said. “I mean, this lot already have the books and without some new product they have no incentive to buy.”

  “I know, I know.” Andrew was in full panic mode. He smoothed his blond locks with a shaky hand. He sank down on a chair, poking himself in the leg with his sword in the process. “Dammit.” He took the sword off, and flung it on the table. “Things are bad, Val. If they don’t improve, the bookshop will have to close.”

  She should have seen it coming—The Eye of Sauron would have seen it coming—but instead, the air left Val’s lungs in a sudden breath. “How long have we got?”

  “If I cut expenses to the bone, maybe I can save t
he shop, but…” His side-eyed glance was filled with apology. “I’m going to have to let you go.”

  *****

  No matter how Val balanced the books, the result was the same. She needed money, and quick. She was just covering her half of the rent for the flat she and Maggie shared as it was, and with the job in the bookshop gone, she was in trouble.

  She finished off the last mouthful of pasta and cheese sauce and set the bowl on the coffee table. Two options. Another part time job, or she could try to take on more photographic assignments. The job with Simon was fine and dandy, but being his part-time assistant didn’t pay enough, she needed work, and a lot of it.

  Before her marriage, she’d wanted to be a photographer, but had put her dreams on hold and taken an office job to pay the rent while her husband, Michael, studied for his degree.

  After the divorce, she’d gone back to college as a mature student and completed her photography course with honors. Now it was time to lay everything on the line, and develop her career. She guessed she could ask Mum for a loan, but really, really didn’t want to have to.

  After three weeks she should be over expecting a message from Finn but anticipation still coursed through her veins as she powered up the laptop, and flicked through the new emails in her in-box. Nothing.

  The automatic disappointment dive irritated her beyond measure. Val pushed away from the desk and stalked across the sitting-room. No doubt the bloody man expected her to make the first move.

  Maggie had been on three dates, all three men she’d ticked yes to had returned the compliment and tonight she was going out with man number one, Phillip, again. As well as loving walks in the moonlight, he was also a surgeon. To say Maggie was floating in loved-up heaven would be an understatement.

  Val strode into the bedroom and pulled the only pair of ‘girly’ shoes she owned out of the bottom of the wardrobe. She cast a look at her reflection in the mirror. Long azure dress with a wraparound top, and a sparkly cardigan over it to protect her from the cold. Her reflected face grimaced. Suck it up, Valentine, dressing girly is part of the job.