GirlMostLikelyTo (2 page)

Even thinking about it made her want to knee him in the
nuts. Too bad she hadn’t a clue where he was. Since Brendan’s new passport,
supposedly for a trip he’d planned for them to take, arrived just before he
scarpered, not hard to guess he’d skipped abroad.

She reported the theft to the police, who didn’t seem
optimistic she’d get her money back. She also complained to the bank, who said
they’d investigate but that whoever had taken her money had used her PIN and
shown her driving license. The implication being it was her fault. Wren had
never told Brendan the number but he’d seen her type it into keypads. She
hadn’t thought she needed to be careful in front of him. As far as she knew,
her driving license hadn’t left her purse, but seemed she was wrong. Maybe
Brendan’s new woman had pretended to be her.

In the meantime, the bank offered her a loan to clear the
credit card debt while they investigated the matter, so at least she was paying
less interest. It was some consolation, but not much.

Wren felt like an idiot for not seeing through Brendan. He
was tall and blond with a lovely smile and she’d been blinded by his easy charm
and handsome face. A musician by trade, he only worked intermittently,
apparently because he was waiting to be discovered. So she paid for their meals
out, their cinema trips, their taxi rides and carried on doing it long past the
point she should have stopped.

None of her family had liked him, which stupidly made her
even more determined to make it work, particularly after what happened with
Leo. She hadn’t told them about the missing money though she wondered how long
it would take them to find out. With two brothers and her father all policemen,
any hopes of keeping this secret were small.

“So you fancy meeting up for a coffee next week?” asked
Peter, who unlike Leo and Brendan had neither charm nor good looks, which was a
plus, but zero personality, which wasn’t.

“I don’t think my boyfriend would like it,” Wren lied.

Peter pointedly eyeballed the empty chair next to her. “But
Belinda said he’d dumped you.”

Wren gritted her teeth.
Thank you, Belinda.
All Wren
had said to her aunt was Brendan wouldn’t be coming because they’d had a
difference of opinion. “I haven’t given up hope of seeing him again.”
Because
I’m going to kick him where it hurts when I do.

“You’re not ready. I understand.” Peter patted her hand.

She fought the urge to wipe it on the tablecloth.

Desserts were delivered to the table. Apple and blackberry
crumble swimming in custard. Wren hated custard.

When the call finally went out for all the single girls to
line up for the bouquet toss, she hid behind her two brothers. The big lumps
were useful for something. She heard her mother tsking, and ignored her. But damn
if the bouquet didn’t sail over James and Matt to land right on Wren’s head.

Bloody hell.

Tomas

Tomas sprawled in the pew behind Marco and Veton, wondering
what God thought about the travesty taking place in this house of worship—not
that he actually believed in God. As the bridal march started, Marco slapped
his broad-shouldered cousin Veton on the back. They stood and moved into the
aisle. Tomas levered himself upright. As far as he knew, Veton had seen his
bride just once before today, when she’d been paid half the sum agreed on for
taking part in this sham marriage. Tomas had the other half of the payment in
the pocket of his leather jacket.

Not that it
was
a sham marriage. The damn thing was
legal unless Tomas piped up and informed the authorities of just what had been
involved here. There was no love involved, no promise of commitment, no
sex—probably just an English woman who needed cash and an Albanian thug who
required a legitimate way to stay in the country. Quite an irony that what
Veton did to make money in this country was almost totally illegal.

Another of Marco’s men walked the bride down the aisle and
the vicar smiled as they reached the point where Marco and Veton stood. Tomas
wasn’t sure if the vicar was naïve or greedy. When the bearded guy droned on
about the blessing of love and the sanctity of marriage, Tomas erred on the
side of him being stupid. Marco smirked at Tomas as if he guessed what he was
thinking. Tomas smiled. The one thing he
really
didn’t need was Marco
reading his mind.

Thank fuck they didn’t have hymns, but maybe that was why
the vicar had given them the spiel about love, just to drag things out. Tomas
wondered if Marco was capable of loving anyone but himself. The silver-haired
forty-year-old was an arrogant, ruthless bastard who used people, particularly
women, and then threw them away without a backward glance.

Tomas’ views on love had been jaded even before he started
to work for Marco, but Marco’s enterprises had swiftly taken him the rest of
the way to cynical. His abiding memory of his parents was that they’d hated one
another throughout most of his childhood. He’d learned to keep out of the way
in case he got caught up in their arguments. He didn’t support the idea of
staying together for the sake of the children. He’d have been better off with
one or the other. Maybe with neither.

“You may kiss the bride,” the vicar said.

Veton took full advantage of that. The bride didn’t seem to
mind. She shouldn’t for the amount she was being paid.

Once the registers were signed, Tomas adding his almost
illegible signature to the book, they trooped out of the church. The bride got
her money and before she walked away, she threw Tomas her bouquet. He caught it
instinctively.

Ha, bloody ha.

Chapter Two

Adam glanced round the city-center apartment that was to be
his home for the next three weeks and despite his bad temper, he smiled. He
guessed that had been Ally’s intention. Seemed the day she’d told him she had
to sort out a problem with the wedding caterers, she’d sneaked up to Leeds and
stuck numbered Post-it notes on everything. Sink, hot and cold taps, microwave,
fridge. A folder on the kitchen counter was labeled “Open Me”.

Adam checked the index and flipped to page nine to see what
she’d said about the hot tap. “Twist right for hot water—don’t burn yourself.”

The next page said, “Cold tap—twist right for cold
water—apply if you burn yourself.” He smiled. A year ago, a note like that from
a personal assistant would have incensed him. Now he knew how to laugh at
himself—the guy most likely to flood the entire building because he left the
tap on.

Note to self, never leave a tap on.

The white-walled apartment had one large living space
overlooking the River Aire with a view of the city beyond. Two black leather
couches sat face-to-face, with a glass coffee table between them, just the
right height for Adam to rest his feet. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall with
a DVD player on a shelf beneath. The place was smart, stylish and boring.

A balcony jutting over the sluggish river held a circular
table with a mosaic-tiled top and two chairs. Ally had left a waterproofed
Post-it out there—“Sit here, admire the view, eat toast, drink coffee. You can
also feed bread to the ducks. See pages nineteen and twenty on how to make
toast and coffee. Picture of duck on last page.” Adam snorted when he flicked
to the back and saw photos of a shark and a duck. Ally had written, “Don’t feed
the sharks.”

In the bedroom he found a note on the bed saying, “Lie here
and go to sleep.” He sat down and lay back. “I’m lying down, Ally, but I’m not
sleeping. Are you listening?”

He’d always thought he preferred his own company. An only
child with wealthy parents deeply involved with their jobs, he’d spent his
boyhood being cared for by a succession of nannies. It wasn’t them he wanted to
love him. Everything he could ever need had been provided for him except for
the one thing he really wanted. He’d never made friends easily and when he did,
they let him down. Adam eventually decided it was better not to trust anyone.

Carrying that philosophy into his adult life, he became a
guy difficult to work for—demanding, awkward and intolerant. He’d never had a
relationship, sexual or otherwise, that lasted. His staff turnover had been
horrendous. Then twelve months ago, he’d put an ad in the paper, inviting
applications for the position as his personal assistant, not realizing how much
it would change his life.

The ad had been designed to weed out the weak.
Would you
like to work for an inconsiderate, demanding bastard? For a ridiculously large
salary I want someone to work twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and
sixty-five days a year. Three hundred and sixty-six next year. You’ll speak at
least three European languages, and it would be an advantage if you were able
to do at least some of the following—dive, cook, ski, sail, ride, climb, fly
and bench-press one hundred kilos. If you don’t like being shouted at, don’t
apply.

Ally had captivated him at her interview but about the only
thing she could do was cook. Despite Caspar’s shaky past, with time spent in
jail, he was perfect for the role, and Caspar didn’t come without Ally.

In the year they’d worked for him, Adam thought he might
have smiled more than he had in his entire life. Ally wouldn’t let him get away
with being miserable or rude. She either laughed at him or was rude back.
Watching and listening to her and Caspar had taught him how to be a better man,
or at least put him on the right path. He really hoped he wasn’t the
inconsiderate, demanding bastard he used to be. Letting Ally maneuver him into
this vacation proved he’d changed.

Though three weeks in a grim Northern town wasn’t exactly a
vacation. On the train coming up here, he’d opened the folder of information
Ally had made for him and discovered he was going back to school. He didn’t yet
know exactly what he’d be studying but the name Ezispeke Language Academy
suggested it wouldn’t be atomic physics. Ally said it was something he wanted
to do, but when had he said he wanted to learn another language?

He rolled onto his side on the bed and flicked through the
folder. She’d prepared lists of meals and how to cook them to cover the first
week. The ingredients had been placed in the fridge and cupboard. After that he
had to sort things out for himself. She’d printed out details of places to
visit—museums, art galleries and local landmarks, and included scenic drives,
hikes and train timetables. And in his heart, Adam knew these three weeks
weren’t just about learning a language, they were about learning how to get a
life.

* * * * *

Wren stared through the window of the bus taking her to have
lunch with her parents and brothers and wondered what to say about Brendan.
She’d avoided the subject yesterday at the wedding, saying it wasn’t the time
to talk about his non-attendance. She’d forewarned her aunt because of the
catering but should have known she’d tell Belinda and that Belinda would
extrapolate Wren’s excuse of a disagreement into her being dumped and then tell
everyone else.
Bloody family grapevine.
Wren’s mother had let the matter
drop yesterday, but today Wren had to say something. Though not the truth. Not
yet.

If she didn’t count The Big Mistake in Venice—and she really
shouldn’t because how could two hours and thirteen minutes count?—she’d only
had three boyfriends. Not many for a twenty-five-year-old. Despite being
extremely picky, it seemed she also picked badly, choosing guys who took bites
out of her confidence until only crumbs remained.

A sharp knot of pain flared in her chest. Wren’s lack of
confidence hadn’t let her go on a date at all until she was nineteen. Her mum
had quietly encouraged her and pestered her brothers to take her with them when
they went out, but she preferred to stay at home and live vicariously through
books and TV. She’d watched girls at school moon over guys and they all ended
up crying in the bathrooms.

Nothing lasted, promises were broken, hearts shattered, and
Wren had been hurt enough in her short life without opening herself up to more
distress. So when those around her had talked of nothing but the opposite sex,
Wren chose to keep her thoughts to herself and wait for the right guy.

A mistake. She should have practiced when she had the chance
as a teenager because she obviously had no idea who was right for her.

Jack had dumped her after three months with the words, “You
deserve someone better.” Meaning he’d found someone better. But she’d still
sobbed and asked him to give her another chance. He said yes, and a day later,
she’d seen him with a pretty redhead.

Leo had seduced her with his attentiveness and then fallen
for Belinda’s charm offensive. Either that or her big breasts. Wren would
rather have a brain than big breasts. Most of the time. Really, Belinda had
done her a favor.

And Brendan—well, she suspected Mr. Smooth and Charming was
abroad, spending her money on another woman. Too late now to dump the bastard.

Wren slipped into the kitchen of her parents’ home and
kissed her mum on the cheek. “Am I in time to help?”

Her mother mock-glared. “No. As usual, your timing’s
impeccable.”

Wren grinned and went over to her dad. He put his newspaper
down on the kitchen table and lifted his cheek for a kiss.

“Okay, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Fine.”

He stared at her, and she kept smiling but knew she hadn’t
fooled him. He had the uncanny ability to see straight through her, which was a
mixed blessing.

“Everyone to the table.” Her mum inadvertently rescued her.
“Drag the boys away from the TV.”

They were hardly boys. James and Matt, Wren’s older twin
brothers, were in their early thirties though sometimes that was hard to
believe.

She popped her head around the door of the living room.
“Lunch is ready, guys.”

“Hi, Squirt,” they said at the same time.

They’d called her that for as long as she could remember.
She was tall but her brothers were both over six feet. They had dark hair and
their dad’s big nose.

“Last one to the table has to wash up.” Wren ran.

James caught her by the waist as she stepped into the dining
room. Matt lifted her off her feet, they tickled until she yelped and then
shifted her behind them. When they sat down before her, looking smug, she
smiled. She smiled harder at their puzzled expressions.

“What have you done?” James asked.

“The other two have to mow the lawn and take the grass
cuttings to the tip,” their mum shouted from the kitchen.

The twins groaned in unison.

“You still have to wash up,” Matt said to Wren.

“Your replacement dishwasher arrived on Thursday, didn’t it,
Mum?” Wren called.

Matt growled. She dodged the balled-up napkin he threw but
it hit their father just entering the room. He rolled his eyes, sat at the head
of the table and began to carve the meat. As soon as their mother joined them,
James piled his plate.

“Lovely,” he said.

Wren’s mouth watered as she helped herself to roast potatoes
and parsnips.

“Outside of the beef, Wren?” her dad asked.

“Yes, please.” She liked her meat at a point between
well-done and burnt. Nearer burnt.

“Survived yesterday, then?” Matt asked. “I’m glad you didn’t
feel the need to run down the aisle singing, ‘It should have been me’.”

“Matt,” his mother snapped.

Wren snorted. “All I need to do is think about Leo’s
revolting habit of collecting his bellybutton fluff and I know I had a lucky
escape.”

Her father stopping carving for a moment and shuddered.

“What happened to Brendan?” her mum asked.

Oh no, let me eat first.
Wren popped a roast potato
in her mouth and chewed slowly. “Mm mmm.”

Her mother frowned. “Why wasn’t he at the wedding?”

Because he’s a lying bastard of an excuse for a man.
“Mmm mmm mm mmm.” Wren speared another potato with her fork.

“Don’t you dare take another mouthful until you’ve told me,”
her mum said.

Wren lowered her fork. “We’re not together anymore.”

“Ah,” said her mum. “We understood that much when he didn’t
come with you yesterday. Deidre was at pains to tell me and everyone else you’d
had an argument. By the time it did the complete circuit, he wanted children
and you didn’t so you parted company.”

Wren groaned.

“Did you see sense and dump him?” Matt asked.

She should have seen sense and castrated him. “No, he dumped
me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” her mum said.

“What did he say?” James asked. When the rest of the family
glared at him, he bristled. “What? It’s just research.”

“Well, I don’t suggest you copy Brendan,” Wren muttered,
figuring she might as well tell part of the truth. “He said he was going out to
buy a bottle of champagne and he never came back. He didn’t answer his phone
and I was starting to worry until I went round to his bedsit and his neighbor
told me he’d moved out.”

She felt the whole table bristle. Even the meat looked
angry.

“Forget him,” her mum said. “He wasn’t good enough for you.
You deserve someone better.”

No, he wasn’t, and yes, she did.

“And better than Leo,” said her father.

Wren stared into her lap and swallowed the lump in her throat.
She waited for more questions but no one spoke. When she glanced up, she saw
her mum eyeballing the twins and breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Janine Sutton’s son is coming back to live in Leeds,” said
her mum.

Wren’s turn to be pinned by her mother’s laser-sharp gaze.

“Good for him.” She tried not to groan.

Her mum wanted all three of her children married and
producing grandchildren as soon as possible. Sunday lunch was always a probe
into when she could start planning a wedding. Belinda’s had been the fourth the
family attended in as many months. Wren’s mum was the only one of her siblings
not to have a married son or daughter.

“The only snag is Gareth Sutton’s a barrister.” Her mum
winced.

Wren stifled a smile. In any other family that would be a
huge plus. With two brothers and a father in the police, the Ellis family had a
thing about lawyers. “I guess he’s not a prosecutor,” Wren said.

Her mum sighed. “No.”

“Wren’s not seeing him,” snapped her father.

Anyone who defended the criminals her family fought to put
in prison was never going to be suitable as a son-in-law.

Her mother stared at Matt and James. “I don’t know why you
two can’t find Wren a nice man.”

After all she’d been through, of course Wren wanted a nice
man, though she wasn’t going to fall for any more charmers. Being nice wasn’t
as important as being a sex fiend with the body of a god, a guy who could make
her come with a look or a couple of fingers, though she wasn’t going to share
that with anyone. Nor that she’d actually like two of them. She drooled.

A coughing fit followed and Wren grabbed a glass of water.

“We’ve offered to find Wren a guy,” James said.

“But Wren hates policemen,” Matt added.

“Except us,” James said.

“Including you,” she muttered, which, the moment their
mother’s back was turned, earned her another scoop of mashed potato from James
and a spoonful of carrots from Matt. The bastards. Clearing your plate in the
Ellis home was compulsory. Getting her own back—easy.

“So how’s Jennifer?” she asked. “When are you going to bring
her home to meet us?”

Matt glared but it was too late.