Never Fall for Your Back-Up Guy by Kate O’Keeffe

Chapter 3

Iarrive at Asher’s building one minute early for our appointment. Since I had a few extra minutes to spare, I stopped off at Starbucks and picked up a couple of coffees for us. Got to keep the clients happy, you know, especially when they’re one of your besties.

Although I’ve been to Asher’s new place once before, it was only to watch a baseball game a few weeks ago, and other than noticing that the place felt empty, I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to it.

“Hello?” comes his voice over the intercom.

I grin at the camera and hold up one of the coffee cups. “One double shot cappuccino with full fat milk, extra froth, and chocolate.”

“If it was just you without the coffee I might not let you in,” is his reply as the intercom buzzes and the door clicks open.

“You’re a comedian.”

I take the three flights of stairs to his floor, and he greets me in the hallway with a grin, his phone held to his ear.

“That sounds good. I’ll check in with Chris and let you know… Uh-huh… Yeah, okay. Hey look, Geoff, I’ve gotta go. I’ve got my future wife standing in front of me with a takeout coffee in her hand.”

I arch an eyebrow.

“I’ll explain some other time. See you in the office later.” He ends his call and slots his phone into the back pocket of his pants. “Personally delivered coffee. A guy could get used to this treatment.”

“Don’t. It’s a one-off, even if you do tell your colleagues I’m your future wife.” I hand him his coffee. “Which I’m not, by the way.”

“Well, you are until you find Mr. Right.”

He’s got a point.

He stands back for me to enter his flat. “Come on in.”

I walk into his large, spacious living room. I run my designer’s eye over the space. I’d noticed its size when we watched the game together a couple of weeks ago, but I hadn’t fully appreciated the gorgeous parquet flooring, the exposed brick on one of the walls, or the custom mouldings in the high ceilings. With its bare walls, curtain-less windows, oversized television above the fireplace, and black leather sofas designed for comfort rather than style, it screams bachelor pad with a strong, masculine voice.

“You know, Asher, I love what you’ve done with the place. You have a real eye,” I say with a sardonic smile.

“Do you treat all your clients with this level of disdain, or do you reserve it for the devilishly handsome ones?”

I giggle. “Only the devilishly handsome ones. Seriously, though, this is such a great flat. It has so much potential.” I wander around the open-plan living room and kitchen. I point at his collection of three surf boards in the corner by the window. “Surf boards are so useful in London. You must use them…never.”

“They remind me of home.”

“And Kelly Slater.”

“At least someone was listening to me last night.”

“It’s cute the way you’re into a guy called Kelly.”

“For the last time, he’s big news.”

I grin at him. “You are so easy to wind up, hubby.” I point at an empty spot by one of the large windows. “No dining table yet, huh?”

“I thought I’d better have my designer’s advice on it before I go splashing the cash. Mmmm, good coffee.”

I walk over to the edge of the room and turn to survey it. With the windows behind me, the place is flooded with sun, and although it’s bereft of furniture, I can see how amazing it could be. “First up, before I go making suggestions and getting all excited about this project, are you seriously going to get me to decorate this place?”

“I’m not just being nice, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I thought I’d check.”

He opens his arms wide. “Can’t you see I need your help?”

“This place is so empty, it would be the perfect spot for some yodelling.”

He cups his hands around his mouth. “Echo, echo, echo!”

“More like yodel-ee-hee-hoo,” I sing.

He shakes his head, his lips quirking. “Zee? Don’t ever do that again.”

“What? Why? I played Liesl in my school production of The Sound of Music, I’ll have you know.”

“Liesl didn’t yodel.”

“Oh, now that’s where you’re wrong. She did yodel, in the song about the goatherd.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

I tap the side of my head. “There’s a lot of info in this brain of mine, you know.” I pull out my tablet, and we both sit down on his—admittedly extremely comfortable—ugly sofa. “What style are you thinking?”

“I dunno. Comfortable? Is that a style?”

“It can be.”

I flick on the tablet and immediately an image of the most exquisite opaque and clear striped glass perfume bottle with an ornate silver stopper pops up on the screen.

“What’s that?” Asher asks.

“My fantasy perfume bottle. One day.”

“You’ve got a whole Pinterest board dedicated to perfume bottles?”

“It’s my thing,” I reply, defensive.

“Huh.”

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I didn’t know perfume bottle porn was a thing.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Do you collect them or something? Because I can give you an empty bottle of my cologne, if you like. Or my deodorant, if that’s your thing, too.”

“That would be a hard no. Perfume bottles are beautiful works of art. Some of them can be pricey, though. This one in particular is an antique made of Murano glass.”

“It’s pretty.”

“You’re just saying that because my secret’s out. You know I’ve got a thing for little glass bottles now.”

“No. I mean it. I’ve learned something new about Zara Huntington-Ross today, and I kinda like it.”

I slide my eyes to his, not sure if he’s being sarcastic. The look on his face tells me he’s genuine. “Shall we move on to your place?”

“Sure.”

I tap the screen to pull up the mood board I’ve compiled for him.

“Tell me what you like best out of these images.” I pull up a board I’d put together for him before I went to the shop this morning. “I’ve tried to think ‘stylish bachelor pad’ for you. Nothing too fussy. Simple, clean lines.”

He surveys the screen. “I like this one,” he says, pointing at a room done in a darker palette with a tan leather L-shaped sofa, cream floor rug, and modern chandelier that stands out against the exposed brick. “I like the ceiling light thing-y.”

“It’s called a chandelier, Asher.”

“That makes it sound girly to me, and I’m deeply masculine, as you know.” He has a glint in his eye as the edges of his mouth twitch.

“That’s what comes to mind when I think of you: deeply, deeply masculine. What about this ceiling?” I point at another image. “Can you see how they’ve used rows of lighting to highlight the mouldings? Doesn’t it look amazing? We could totally do that here.”

We both look up at the ceiling.

“That would be cool. Before I forget, there’s one thing in here that’s non-negotiable.”

I eye the TV over the fireplace. “Let me guess. Your TV.”

“You got it.”

“That’s so you can sit at home watching replays of Days of Our Lives because you’re tragic and you have no friends?” I ask with a mock innocent look on my face.

“Yeah. That’s right. I’m a guy who watches reruns of daytime soaps,” he deadpans. “I’m serious. You are not doing anything to my TV. Tonya stays right where she is.”

“Tonya? Seriously? You named your TV ‘Tonya.’”

“Only because she totally looks like a ‘Tonya.’ Don’t you think?”

I flick my gaze back to his TV. “Ah, no? It looks like a television to me.”

He sucks in air in mock outrage. “How dare you insult my Tonya.”

I snort giggle. “Well, there is one good thing about you having an appliance you think is a woman: you’ve managed to keep a relationship going for longer than a month.”

“Burn! I’ll have you know, I’ve had relationships for longer than a month.”

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

“Does high school count?”

“You graduated from high school well over a decade ago?” I ask and he nods. “So no, high school doesn’t count.”

“Dang it! Hmm, let me think. There was Jessy Sainsbury. I dated her in college for at least a year. Or was it six months? I forget.”

“See? I’ve never known you to have a relationship with a woman for more than a month or two.”

“You got me.”

“So the TV stays, what about—”

“Tonya. Tonya stays.”

“Asher, I’m not calling your TV by a woman’s name, especially one named after that ice skater Tonya Harding.”

“She isn’t named after Tonya Harding,” he protests. “My Tonya would never be accused of knee-capping another ice skater.”

I giggle. “Because your Tonya is a television.”

“I guess I could find myself another interior decorator.”

“Oh, ha ha.” I point at the image he’d liked, trying to refocus the conversation on something besides his weird relationship with an appliance. “Are you happy for me to come up with a design like this for the living room?”

“Sure thing. What about the kitchen?”

“I love your kitchen. The veined marble is gorgeous, and it’s classic white.”

“Not boring?”

I shake my head. “Not boring.”

“Okay. Living room done. This is easy.” He pushes himself up. “I’m taking you to the bedroom now, wifey.”

“Okay. Lead the way.”

We wander across the parquet flooring and down a carpeted hallway, past what looks to be his office and a bathroom, and into the large master bedroom. The walls are still white, there are no curtains, and the bed is large and made up in simple white bedding. Just like the living room, it’s plain and sparsely decorated.

I’m not going to deny it. It’s weird looking around a guy friend’s bedroom. I mean, I know Asher pretty well. We’ve been friends since he first moved to London two years ago and we met at one of Tabitha’s legendary parties. We hit it off straight away, and we’ve been the best of friends since. But unlike with my girlfriends, who I’ve had sleepovers with and hung out doing make-up and hair for nights out, up until this point I’d been nowhere near Asher’s bedroom.

“The room’s a good size, but you need curtains. In high summer it’ll be light by four thirty in the morning.”

“That’s where you come in, Zee.”

“This room definitely needs some work.”

“I don’t like to look at my bedroom as a place for work, if you know what I mean.” He waggles his eyebrows at me suggestively and I shake my head.

“Your business, Ash. Not mine.” I eye a used coffee cup on the floor by the bed. “You don’t even have bedside tables.”

He follows my line of sight. “You mean nightstands? Yeah, I guess I need some of those.”

I wander past the bed and into the walk-in wardrobe. Unlike the bedroom, it’s full to the brim of boxes and clothes and shoes and tubs, stacked right to the ceiling. “So this is where you keep everything.”

He leans his shoulder against the doorframe. “I guess I’ve got a bunch of stuff I don’t know what to do with.”

“Ash, it’s so full of stuff in here, you can barely swing a cat.”

“And you know how much I love to swing cats around the place.”

I laugh. “It’s a weird expression.”

“Right? These shelves need replacing, too.” He clasps onto a shelf at chest level—his, not mine, since he’s got a good five inches on me—and wobbles it. “See? Crappy construction.”

“We can get that replaced for you. I know some wardrobe designers.”

“It’s a closet.”

“Only in America. Here it’s a wardrobe.” I brush past him and head to the ensuite. Just like the kitchen, it’s totally white, from the bath and basin to the floor and wall tiles. The only colour in the room is from Asher’s shaving foam and assorted bottles of shampoo and lotion.

“This is a nice ensuite,” I pronounce as Asher arrives at my side. The room isn’t huge, and his large, manly frame seems to fill all the available space.

“It’s all white, which is boring. Isn’t it?”

“It’s classic. And it means you’ve got to keep it clean.”

“My housekeeper does that for me.” When I shoot him a supercilious look he says, “What? I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to clean.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“What would you do with this room?”

“Nothing. It’s gorgeous. But you’ve got to be happy with it.”

“It’s fine. It’s just boring.”

“We’ll get you some accessories in your favourite colour. Unless you want to go to the expense of having it all ripped out and replaced? Which personally, I think would be a crime against bathrooms.”

“I wouldn’t want to commit a crime against a bathroom.”

“Tonya would miss you if you had to go to jail.”

“See? You get me. That’s why I want you to be my decorator.”

I laugh. “So you’ll leave the bathroom as is?”

“I’ll leave the bathroom as is.”

“Good.”

“I prepared a few ideas for your bedroom, too. Let’s sit back down and I’ll show you.”

We return to the living room where I take him through a couple of bedroom concepts I think he’ll like.

“I like that one,” he says, pointing at a grey panelled room with a low king size bed and modern wooden furniture.

“Me too. It’s cool and sophisticated yet comfy and welcoming.”

He looks at me blankly. “If you say so.”

I flick the tablet cover over the screen. “Okay. I’ve got a good idea of what you’re looking for. And you want all new furniture except for your ridiculously oversize bed, right?”

“I bought that ridiculously oversize bed, as you call it, when I moved here from the States. I am not parting with it. Besides, it took four guys and a crane to get it up here to the third floor. That baby’s staying.”

“You don’t do things by halves, do you? In terms of budget, what are you thinking? Redecorating can be costly. And before you answer, you don’t have to go spending a whole load of cash just because it’s Scarlett and me. If all you want me to do is get some scatter cushions, a new floor rug, and some ‘nightstands,’ that’s totally fine.”

“No, I want to go big. The whole shebang. As you say, this place could be amazing, and I like amazing. So, go for it. Weave your Zara magic.”

“Seriously? “ I ask, exhilarated at the prospect of transforming this place. “You want me to do the full Monty?”

“Isn’t the full Monty that movie with a bunch of men getting naked? Because a) I’m not interested at all in seeing that, and b) you’ll need to wait until we’re married.”

“It’s an expression meaning go all the way.”

He waggles his eyebrows at me suggestively. “Well, that means something else altogether where I’m from.”

“Enough with the innuendo. I’d better get going. I’ll pull some ideas together and get you the budget ballpark.” I pull out my phone and look at my depressingly empty calendar. “Shall we get together in about a week?”

“For sure.” He walks me to the door. “Back to work, huh?”

“Actually, I’m thinking of following through on one of my life goals today.”

“Bungee jumping in a bear costume off the London Eye?”

“Can you even do that?”

He lets out a laugh. “Are you telling me you’d consider it if it was a thing?”

“Of course not. I’m going to do something much cooler than that. I’m going to go see a woman about a dog. Penelope, actually, about a Jack Russell at Penelope’s Pooches.”

His brows ping up toward his hairline. “You’re doing what now?”

“I walk past that shop every day, and every day I think, I want one of those dogs. On my way to the shop today, this gorgeous little Jack Russell pup was in the window, and I tell you Asher, that dog is meant to be mine. I’m going there now.”

“You’re gonna go get a puppy you saw in a store window?”

I beam at him as excitement fills my belly. “I am.”

“Did you hear this tune when you were gazing at this dog that’s supposedly meant to be yours?” He begins to hum and after a few seconds I work out the song.

“How Much is That Doggie in the Window? Really?”

“Come on! It’s the perfect soundtrack to that moment. You’ve got to admit it.”

I chortle. “Sure.”

He pulls the door open to his flat and holds it for me. “Are you sure you should be getting a dog, wifey?”

“Absolutely,” I say with conviction. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“You know you’ll have to walk it and feed it. All that stuff.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking and feeding a dog,” I reply pointedly. “I grew up with dogs. My dad had a bunch, and I used to play with them loads.”

“What will you do with this dog of yours during the day while you’re at work?”

“Jack Russells are small enough to take to work. She’ll be our shop dog. We’ll be known as the interiors shop with the adorable dog. Scarlett’s already on board with it and people will love it. Believe me.”

“Uh-huh.”

I shoot him a sideways look. “Have you got something against dogs or something? Because you’re sounding a bit like a canine curmudgeon right now.”

“What’s a canine curmudgeon?”

“Someone who doesn’t like dogs. Clearly.”

“I like dogs. Heck, I love dogs. I’m just not sure you’ve thought this through.”

“Well, it’s just as well you’re not my husband then, isn’t it? Because my dog is in the window at Penelope’s Pooches just waiting for me to become her new mummy.”

He shakes his head, his lips curved in a smile. “You’ve got your mind made up.”

I give a single, firm nod of my head. “I have.”

“Well, in that case, I cannot wait to meet this new puppy of yours.”

“Do you want to come with me? I’m heading there right now to meet Scarlett.”

“As much as I’d love to, I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for everything, including the coffee.”

“You’re welcome. I’m excited to decorate this place for you.”

“And I’m excited for you to get your dog.”

I narrow my gaze. “No, you’re not. You think I’m being rash and impulsive.”

“Does it matter what I think?”

“No, actually. It doesn’t.” I flash him my grin and say “TTFN,” before I waltz down the hallway toward the stairs.

“Remind me what ‘TTFN’ means?”

“Ta ta for now,” I call out over my shoulder. “Really, Asher. You’ve lived in Old Blighty for over two years now. Get with the lingo, will you?”

“See you later,” he says with a laugh as he closes the door.

A moment later, I’m back on the street, full of ideas for how to decorate Asher’s flat.

But those ideas need to wait. Right now, I’ve got a date with destiny—dog destiny, to be precise.