Three Minutes to Happiness (3 page)

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 the 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.

She slipped her shoes on, and grabbed her long winter coat and camera bag. Simon had said that this time she’d actually get to take some photographs, rather than just setting up the shots of the wedding in the Wicklow hills.

The society wedding was a big one. Too big for one photographer to handle alone. The bride had insisted on photographs of all of the guests, so Simon needed her help.

She checked the windows, walked back into the sitting room to close her email and shut down her computer.

No more obsessing over remembered green eyes and their owner.
Bloody men.

*****

I hate weddings.

If it wasn’t bad enough that Finn had to bail from the office on a weekday, the phone coverage in the Wicklow hotel was patchy at best, and he was waiting to hear the outcome of an important negotiation. Finn strode to the window, held his phone up and counted bars.

The alcove was the only spot in the whole damn room where he could pick up a signal. There was a message from his partner, so he immediately called Connor back.

There was no need for preliminaries. “So, did we get it?” Logan & O’Donoghue had been approached to build an innovative eco-house in Kildare. It was the sort of job that made Finn salivate. The client was well-funded and open-minded enough to embrace their company’s cutting edge ecological solutions. He wanted this job with an urgency that made his heart pound.

“We got it.”

Finn grinned.

“There’s more. The client pitched the project to
Wonderful Houses.
They want to see a portfolio of our past work before deciding to feature the build in an episode which would be shown next year.” Excitement was evident in Connor’s tone. The television series
Wonderful Houses
followed the build of interesting houses from the first breaking of ground to completion. Being featured would raise their profile considerably, and bring in many more clients.

“That’s fantastic.”

“We need to round up a few photographers. Get them to do some sample spreads of our past work and choose one to go with for the portfolio,” Connor said. “Do you know any?”

Outside the window the trees stretched bare branches to the sky. The wedding party was standing in a huddle watching the photographer take pictures of the bride and groom. They held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes, as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist. The bride, Estelle was yet another cousin, her mother was sister to his. He didn’t ever think he’d seen so many Logans in one place before. His parents were deep in conversation with other clan members at a table by the door. “I’m looking at one right now.”

Estelle was a perfectionist who only hired the best. He stowed his phone and walked outside.

“Okay, can I now have the bride and groom, and the bride’s parents?”

Estelle frowned. “Oh, Mum’s just gone to—” She waved a bridesmaid over. “Could you fetch her? She’s gone to the bathroom.”

The natural gap in proceedings was a godsend. Finn introduced himself to the photographer, Simon Wood, and pitched him the project. Simon’s eyes lit with instant interest.

“We want three photographers to take some sample shots before deciding,” Finn said, plucking a number out of the air. This project was important, they needed to nail it, and even though the photographer must be good to have snagged this job, he was taking no chances.

“That’s fine.” Simon held out his business card. “I have quite a busy schedule at the moment. When would you like to start?”

Finn took the card. “As soon as possible. I’ll call you Monday and set it up.”

They shook hands, then Finn returned inside. He wasn’t driving tonight. The entire hotel was booked out by wedding guests, and as Sorcha was staying, he’d decided it would be politic to stay too. Someone needed to keep an eye on her and make sure that her date drove home at the end of the evening, rather than sneaking into Sorcha’s room. Tomorrow he could have an early breakfast and drive straight to the office.

Sorcha waved from across the room. He set off across the acres of navy carpet to her table. She’d brought the New Zealander from the speed-dating event as her date. To Finn’s relief, he’d liked Steven immediately.

“Where are the bride and groom?” Sorcha asked as he pulled up a chair and sat.

“Still outside having photographs taken in the garden.”

“They’ll probably be ages yet,” Sorcha said. “You having fun?”

Finn felt the grimace on his face.

“Okay, forget I asked.” Sorcha grinned and turned to Steven. “My cousin isn’t really one for these sorts of things,” she confided. “He’s a bit of a grouch.”

Steven’s eyebrows rose. “Well, weddings are sort of a girl’s thing, aren’t they?” He shot Finn a help-me-out-here glance.

“Blokes don’t like weddings much,” Finn agreed.

Sorcha tossed her hair back from her face and pouted. “I don’t see why. I mean, there are gorgeous looking women everywhere, great food, lots of drink…”

Women at weddings were the most dangerous type. The whole affair was built up to be a powerful attack on the senses. A fairy-tale experience stuffed full of dreams of happy ever after. Finn had heard the collective female sigh as the bride, a vision in white lace, walked down the aisle. The estrogen buzz in the tiny stone chapel almost bowled him over.

When the bride and groom kissed and the crowd broke out into applause…well, it made him feel distinctly uneasy, to say the least.