1: In Which Shes Blindsided (1/2)

1: In Which She’s Blindsided

*******

Victor was late.

No, scratch that – Victor had merely taken it upon himself to further piss me off and forget our engagement; an engagement I’d forewarned him about exactly a week ago.

Prick, I thought to myself, glancing at my phone for the hundredth time. ‘Prick’ and Victor didn’t go together. Words like ‘gentle’, ‘sweet’, ‘safe’ and ‘average-looking’ were usually associated with him, which was why I’d initially picked him out.

But now this gentle, sweet, safe, average-looking guy had just stood me up at one of the most important functions of my year – my mother’s birthday party.

“Amor?” a voice I knew and hated all too well said from behind me. “Where’s your date what’s-his-name? Vic?”

I spun around to face my older sister. “Traffic.”

Grace pulled a face. “I hate it when that happens.” Her hand travelled to the protruding curve of her belly. “Oof. Your nephew is already a handful.”

I forced a laugh. “Poor you.” Show-off.

Grace gave me a pitying look, the words I’d just said mirrored in her face. “Well, I’ve got to go make sure Mum’s not pouring herself a fourth glass of red. You know how she is.” And she left, head held high; her modest, grey Versace dress swishing at her modest, fat ankles.

I despised the way Grace acted like our mother was a senile halfwit with one foot on the other side. It wasn’t fair to her at all, considering the fact that she could still hold a decent conversation and swoon over George Clooney.

For the billionth time, I tried Victor’s number and for the billionth time, I got voicemail.

“Sonofabitch,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “I’m going to castrate –”

“Amor?”

Oh great, I thought, turning around and ready to lash out at whoever it was who was probably going to ask me why I was dateless at my mother’s fancy birthday dinner.

“You are Amor, right?”

I realised that my mouth had dried up. Clearing my throat, I swallowed. “Yes. And you are...?”

“Your date.”

Without warning, ‘my date’ leaned in, possessively wrapped an arm around my waist, and brought his lips down against mine. The sensation of his warmth against mine instantly warmed me somewhere else; somewhere south – and I pulled away.

“What the hell –” I began.

“The agency sent me. Your loverboy had an accident this morning. Motorbike.” He shrugged. “I’m the replacement.”

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed, grabbing his arm and attempting to tug him out of the crowded entertainment lounge. It was like pulling a boulder. “Could we go somewhere private?”

“Sure. Whatever.” He allowed himself to be dragged behind me.

Mentally cursing to myself, I led him to the study, slamming the door shut behind us.

“Victor doesn’t own a bike,” were the first words out my mouth.

“No, he was hit by a bike. Poor cunt.”

I stiffened at the word. “Who are you again?”

“Ash.”

“Ash,” I repeated monotonously. “The agency sent me a guy called Ash.”

He reached into the pocket of his suit. “Want one? You look like you could use one.” He proceeded to light a cigarette.

“You can’t smoke in here!”

He glanced around the cluttered room. “I don’t see a no-smoking sign. Could it perhaps be written in invisible ink?”

I glared at him, all the while thinking about my best moves out of this situation. Ash or whatever-his-name leaned against one wall, languidly regarding me and puffing on his cigarette. With Victor out of commission for god-knows-how-long, I was stuck in a jam. All my family and friends were under the impression that Vic was my dependable, interesting-looking boyfriend. He was always present at work gatherings, family get-togethers and even funerals.

And now he’d gone and gotten himself hit by a motorcycle.

Why was he walking? With the money I fork out, he should be loaded!

Someone at the agency obviously thought I was desperate enough to accept a guy called Ash. And now that I looked at him, I could see that they really thought I’d be grateful. With midnight-black hair unkempt and on the long side, an errant five-o’clock shadow and were those tattoos creeping up his neck?

“What the hell is that?” I asked, ignoring politeness and pointing an index finger at his neck.

He reached up and stroked his nape. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I spat, approaching him to get a closer look. I peered up at the inked skin. “A scorpion. A fucking scorpion?” I shook my head at how I was turning into a cursing truck driver.

“I’m a Scorpio. Don’t believe in that shit but I got it done anyway.”

“Were they high?” I said, more to myself. “Why you? No one’s going to believe I’d be dating someone like you!”

He chuckled, his glittering green eyes veiled with menace. “Right backatcha.”

There was a knock at the door and Grace’s high-pitched voice came in. “Amor? I know you’re in here. Someone saw you,” she called, no doubt wondering if she should add ‘with a man’. “We’re about to cut the cake.”

“Great. My sister.” I shook my head, so close to hyperventilating. Ash seemed to sense this.

“Look, I’m good at what I do, okay? By the time the night is over, everyone will think you’ve fallen in love with someone else,” he said calmly, loosing his tie. “And call me Ashton.”

“Okay,” I squeaked.

“Now come here.”

I reluctantly obeyed him. “What are you –”

“Giving your sister a show,” Ashton interjected, unbuttoning the first two buttons of my blouse. “I take my job very seriously.” His fingertips lightly brushed the skin of my collarbone.

Despite myself, I felt a blush creep up my neck. “It’s not necessary.”

“It is to me.”

Unlocking the door, he pulled it open. I braced myself for Grace’s critical eyes. She didn’t disappoint.

“I thought Vic was in here.” She threw Ashton a disapproving look.

“Didn’t I tell you? Vic and I...we’re over,” I told her, relishing in her shocked face. Grace didn’t believe in splitting up; she and Milton had been together since the day he’d loaned her his special fountain pen for their finals in elementary school.

“Ashton West.” Ashton stuck a hand out to clasp my sister’s. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Um...right. I...I’ll just... Is that a scorpion?” Grace’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Correct. You have very good vision,” Ashton replied. He turned to me. “Babe, your buttons are undone.”

My hand flew to my chest. “Right. Thanks. Shall we...? Grace, the cake?”

She shook her head, as if trying to shake away the image of my peeking lace bra. “Of course.” She bounded away.

I shot Ashton a glare. “Way to go. Babe? No one will believe this.”

“I’m great at long-term. In fact, I’m the best,” he said simply, his arm slinking around my waist. “You just need to chill and remember the story of how we fell in love.”

“Oh, this’ll be good. Do tell me how we fell in love.”

His hand ran down my hipbone. “I’m your new lawyer. It was love at first consultation.”

I snorted. “You? A lawyer?”