grinned. “Do you want a paper?”
“ No thanks.”
A newspaper was the last thing she wanted to see right now, as she headed for the stores, snapping up a practical pair of leather trainers and black suede ballet pumps, some Marc Jacobs cargo-style jeans, a bomber jacket, a couple of plain tanks and tees, a baseball hat, a new pair of Police sunshades, and a handful of extra underwear. Imitating Adrik’s travel-light style, she also replaced the Bloomingdale’s paper holdall with a new sports bag.
“Short-notice trip?” the Victoria’s Secret salesgirl said brightly, as she took payment for the underwear and two sets of the most unsexy pyjamas the store could provide.
“ I don’t do packing,” Christie remarked, tucking her purchases into the sports bag. “Always grab stuff en route. Saves on clothes shopping the rest of the year.”
“ Tax free too,” the salesgirl nodded. “Cool.”
This is where I’m supposed to run for a different plane , Christie mused. I slip unnoticed into a different terminal, and tell myself that none of the last eleven years matters and I could probably get a job in a bar somewhere and no-one would recognise me…
“ Oh my God,” she overheard the salesgirl hissing to a colleague as she stood in the store’s entrance, weighing up her chances. “I just served Christie Harding – Adrik Maksimov’s fiancée…”
… Crap.
“ And look – look! There he is!”
“ Caught you,” Adrik greeted Christie. “Shopping in Victoria’s Secret. Is it my lucky day?”
“ Huh.” She moved the sports bag abruptly out of his reach as he pretended to peek inside.
He reached around as if to grab it, his other arm snaked around her waist, and he surprised her with a kiss on the neck. Christie gasped, all the more alarmed by the inner molten lava feelings that immediately ran amok from his touch.
“People are staring,” she whispered.
“ Yeah, let’s head out of here,” he said, straightening up. “Before I start to enjoy that part too much.”
“ Can I change first?”
“ Of course. I’ll even look the other way. But I think the other people might still be staring.”
“ I mean, go to the Ladies’ room.” She pushed him irritably on the shoulder while he grinned down at her.
“ Why would I want to go there, with you taking your clothes off out here?”
God, he’s so infuriating. Christie changed in a second washroom for the second time already that morning, feeling like a recidivist fugitive on the run, but glad to be out of Derek’s Goldman-Digger dumpster clothes. She was sorely tempted to stuff them in the bathroom trash bin, but knew that nothing would interest airport security more on a quiet morning than a heap of abandoned high-end clothing and the sales tickets from a bunch of new ones. It could all go in a charity shop in London tomorrow instead.
Seeing herself in new gear definitely helped. She tugged down the hem of the pale pink tee a little further over her hips in the Marc Jacobs jeans. She didn’t want to see anyone who resembled one of Derek’s alleged ex-girlfriends gazing mournfully back at her from the mirror. Or out of some cheap gossipy magazine cover.
Her cell buzzed as she shrugged on the bomber jacket. She opened the notifications, wondering if Derek had finally sensed her thoughts and was about to admit his mistake in the nick of time, tell her she wasn’t like any of the other women he’d dated in the past and whatever she was going through, they would deal with it together…
Text message from ADRIK: What’s taking so long? Don’t make me come in there. I mean it – women’s washrooms smell weird. X.
“ And what exactly would you know about women’s washrooms?” she demanded as she emerged, smirking a little in spite of herself.
“ Maybe one day you’ll find out,” he suggested, taking her hand again as they headed for their private charter check-in. The warmth ran up her arm, and it wasn’t just the new sneakers
“ No thanks.”
A newspaper was the last thing she wanted to see right now, as she headed for the stores, snapping up a practical pair of leather trainers and black suede ballet pumps, some Marc Jacobs cargo-style jeans, a bomber jacket, a couple of plain tanks and tees, a baseball hat, a new pair of Police sunshades, and a handful of extra underwear. Imitating Adrik’s travel-light style, she also replaced the Bloomingdale’s paper holdall with a new sports bag.
“Short-notice trip?” the Victoria’s Secret salesgirl said brightly, as she took payment for the underwear and two sets of the most unsexy pyjamas the store could provide.
“ I don’t do packing,” Christie remarked, tucking her purchases into the sports bag. “Always grab stuff en route. Saves on clothes shopping the rest of the year.”
“ Tax free too,” the salesgirl nodded. “Cool.”
This is where I’m supposed to run for a different plane , Christie mused. I slip unnoticed into a different terminal, and tell myself that none of the last eleven years matters and I could probably get a job in a bar somewhere and no-one would recognise me…
“ Oh my God,” she overheard the salesgirl hissing to a colleague as she stood in the store’s entrance, weighing up her chances. “I just served Christie Harding – Adrik Maksimov’s fiancée…”
… Crap.
“ And look – look! There he is!”
“ Caught you,” Adrik greeted Christie. “Shopping in Victoria’s Secret. Is it my lucky day?”
“ Huh.” She moved the sports bag abruptly out of his reach as he pretended to peek inside.
He reached around as if to grab it, his other arm snaked around her waist, and he surprised her with a kiss on the neck. Christie gasped, all the more alarmed by the inner molten lava feelings that immediately ran amok from his touch.
“People are staring,” she whispered.
“ Yeah, let’s head out of here,” he said, straightening up. “Before I start to enjoy that part too much.”
“ Can I change first?”
“ Of course. I’ll even look the other way. But I think the other people might still be staring.”
“ I mean, go to the Ladies’ room.” She pushed him irritably on the shoulder while he grinned down at her.
“ Why would I want to go there, with you taking your clothes off out here?”
God, he’s so infuriating. Christie changed in a second washroom for the second time already that morning, feeling like a recidivist fugitive on the run, but glad to be out of Derek’s Goldman-Digger dumpster clothes. She was sorely tempted to stuff them in the bathroom trash bin, but knew that nothing would interest airport security more on a quiet morning than a heap of abandoned high-end clothing and the sales tickets from a bunch of new ones. It could all go in a charity shop in London tomorrow instead.
Seeing herself in new gear definitely helped. She tugged down the hem of the pale pink tee a little further over her hips in the Marc Jacobs jeans. She didn’t want to see anyone who resembled one of Derek’s alleged ex-girlfriends gazing mournfully back at her from the mirror. Or out of some cheap gossipy magazine cover.
Her cell buzzed as she shrugged on the bomber jacket. She opened the notifications, wondering if Derek had finally sensed her thoughts and was about to admit his mistake in the nick of time, tell her she wasn’t like any of the other women he’d dated in the past and whatever she was going through, they would deal with it together…
Text message from ADRIK: What’s taking so long? Don’t make me come in there. I mean it – women’s washrooms smell weird. X.
“ And what exactly would you know about women’s washrooms?” she demanded as she emerged, smirking a little in spite of herself.
“ Maybe one day you’ll find out,” he suggested, taking her hand again as they headed for their private charter check-in. The warmth ran up her arm, and it wasn’t just the new sneakers
Similar Books
