Page 19 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“I’m the shoe shopper.” She backed away, hoping her lack of makeup, unstyled hair, and spectacular ordinariness would lend weight to her assertion. Fortunately the manager’s attention was already back on Angus as she grabbed a nearby salesgirl.
“Look who’s in aisle one,” she gushed. “Patty and Carolyn are going to die.”
Predictably, Patty and Carolyn did not die. Instead, they posed for a group photo with Angus and every other employee present. They giggled and fawned. They asked him about the show and Tanareve and his favorite food or role or color and if he ever thought about modeling. They might’ve carried on all day but Marlowe eventually caught his eye and pointed at her wrist to indicate that time was of the essence.
“You seriously don’t have a chauffeur?” she asked as they belted themselves back in her car. “Or an Uber account? A teleporting phone booth? A dragon? Anything?”
He rolled his head toward her. “You really want to get rid of me, don’t you?”
“I don’t have time to wait while you play another round of Catch the Swooning Saleswoman.” She flung a hand toward the store, assuming her window was open. It wasn’t. With a sharpthwack, her knuckles hit the pane. She grimaced as she shook out her hand, wondering what it was about Angus that brought out her inner klutz. Fame? A subtle but persistent air of antagonism? Unnervingly steady eye contact? Really amazing bone structure? She looked up to catch him swallowing a laugh, though not discreetly enough to prevent her from flushing with embarrassment. “Forget that happened.”
“Not a chance.” He continued to chuckle.
She groaned as she attempted to roll down her window. When it refused to budge, he reached across her and gave the crank a good whack, setting its rotation in motion and letting the first hint of fresh air into the car. He settled back into his seat right away, but quarters were tight. His elbow brushed her arm and his shoulder bumped hers, sparking an unexpected ripple of sensation all across her skin. She flushed again, rotating to focus on the crank so he couldn’t see her red cheeks. Her response was frustrating. She was reactingwaytoo strongly to the barest hint of human contact. Clearly, she should think about dating again, a subject she’d revisit when she wasn’t stuck in a rancid, overheated hatchback with an oddly stubborn TV star and an impossible to-do list.
“You sure I can’t drop you off somewhere?” Marlowe asked as she started the car. “I need to pick up the pace. Babs will give me hell if I don’t get her what she needs.”
Angus slipped his aviators on, making his already impenetrable expression even harder to read. Still, she got the sense he was studying her again, the same way he studied shoes, and threads ripped off seatbelts, and anything else that drew his attention.
“What if I help with the shopping?” he asked.
“How? By flirting with more saleswomen?”
“Did you see me flirt?”
She opened her mouth to say a firmyesbut her conviction died in her throat.
“Fine,” she said instead. “Then by letting them flirt with you.”
“You think we should’ve made a run for it?”
“No, but…” She stopped there. What did she expect him to do? Was taking a few photos and talking to his fans really such a stretch? Or was he simply being kind?
“Would it help if I bought you lunch?” He caught her swift intake of breath and held up both palms. “Not because you can’t buy your own. Just to prove I’m capable of doing something for myself, you know, since I gave my personal wallet carrier the day off. Sick relatives in Paducah. Auntie Midge is about to kick it. I was feeling generous.” The edge of Angus’s lips tipped up, revealing a hint of amusement that was unfairly sexy.
As Marlowe fought back a smile of her own, she reconsidered her manic need to hit every last shoe store between Sunset Boulevard and the north edge of Burbank. Despite her attempts to downplay the situation and smother every remnant of her prior interest, Angus Gordon—theAngus Gordon—was offering to be her assistant for the afternoon. Screw efficiency. This would be her go-to party story for the next twenty years. Why in the hell was she trying to get rid of him?
“Okay,” she said. “But I’m picking the restaurant.”
Chapter Nine
The afternoon sun blazed down as Marlowe and Angus sat at a lone picnic table near a quiet street-side taco stand. A rickety umbrella provided a circle of shade but three sizable holes prevented it from doing much good. Still, it was something, and the air was cooler outside than it was in her stifling car. She and Angus had shopped for five hours together and he hadn’t been entirely useless. He’d scanned boxes for alternate sizes and pushed a cart around. He’d also been so easily distracted and run into so many fans, she was moving at about half her intended pace. She would’ve carried on without stopping but she’d agreed to let him buy her lunch and he was determined to hold her to it.
“I could’ve taken you somewhere nicer,” Angus said as he settled the tray between them. “We didn’t have to hit the cheapest taco stand in the entire L.A. Basin.”
“I’m sure these are great.” Marlowe picked an unidentifiable black speck off a skimpy layer of shredded cheese. She didn’t really think lunch would be great but she refused to let him spend more than a few bucks on her. A nice meal together would make her feel indebted. It was a submission, a ceding of power. A meal like this was more of a dare. “Tacos are a very forgiving food. They’re alsoperfectly designed. You can put anything you want in them and they come with their own edible, wobbly plate.”
He examined his lunch a little more closely.
“I will never think of tortillas in the same way again.”
While he tucked his sunglasses into the neckline of his T-shirt, she peeled limp strands of spinach from one of her tacos and laid them on the side of her paper plate.
“You don’t like spinach?” he asked.
“I’m not big on vegetables.” She folded her tortilla back over the beans, rice, and other less offensive ingredients. “I blame my mom. She’s a pretty serious health nut. After her divorce, she started us both on a raw diet. I was six. Until I left home at eighteen, flavor was something I only experienced on the down-low.”
Angus took her idling spinach and slipped it into his taco.
