I was the one under the sheet.’ He hoped his laughter might break the ice.
It didn’t.
She stopped shaking her bag. ‘My name is Charlotte.’ The bite in her words matched the venom in her glare. ‘I don’t like my name being shortened.’
Okay, strike two. He tried again. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.’ Her lack of warmth failed to detract from the appeal of her beautiful chocolate-coloured eyes. ‘I’m Barney.’
She glanced away, as though looking at him caused her discomfort. ‘I remember who you are.’
Christ, this was going well. ‘Lauren tells me you’ve come to stay for the summer?’
Shielding her eyes from the sun, she blinked up at him. ‘I’m planning to return to London as soon as possible.’
Another snub. He was running out of pleasantries, but decided to give it one last shot. Not that he was swayed by her good looks, or anything. ‘Lauren says you’ve lost your job. Bummer.’
She stiffened even more, if that was possible, her glare switching to where her sister was currently serving ice creams to a family of hikers across the other side of the café. ‘Did she now?’
‘She didn’t go into details,’ he added, worrying he’d just unwittingly dropped his friend in the shit.
‘Yes, well, it’s a temporary situation. I’m sure it’ll be sorted soon.’
For a moment, he thought he caught her checking him out. He felt stupidly flattered when her eyes dipped to his chest, a faint hint of colour forming on her cheeks. Things might be looking up – and then he realised he’d forgotten to put his T-shirt on. Shit. He was standing in front of her bare-chested. No wonder she was staring. She probably thought he was a right poser.
‘And what do you do for a living, Mr …?’
He dragged his T-shirt over his head. ‘Hubble.’
Her expression switched to confusion. ‘Your surname is Hubble?’
He nodded, flattening down his T-shirt. ‘Yep.’
‘Your name is Barney Hubble?’ A frown formed on her perfectly smooth forehead. ‘Are you deliberately toying with me?’
He sighed. ‘No, that is actually my name.’ He shrugged, used to disbelieving looks and piss-taking about his name. ‘What can I say? My parents never watched The Flintstones.’
She smiled, which might have eroded all her other flaws if he wasn’t the subject of her mirth. So, she found his name funny, huh? She hadn’t found it so amusing when he’d called her Charlie, had she? Talk about double standards.
Making no effort to hide her amusement, she brushed a speck of sand from her pristine jeans. ‘You were about to tell me what you do for a living?’
His enthusiasm for winning her over was starting to wane; he really didn’t like being laughed at. Not by a woman. Not by a hot woman. ‘A bit of this and a bit of that.’
He needn’t have worried. His answer killed her smile quicker than if he’d said, ‘I eat people for a living,’ which told him everything he needed to know about her. Who the hell was she to criticise what he did for a living? She might be beautiful, but looks didn’t count for much if she was a judgemental snob.
If Lauren hadn’t appeared next to him at that moment, he might have walked off.
‘I see you’ve met my sister.’ Lauren gave him a hug, and then turned to Charlotte. ‘Barney’s a really good friend of mine. He’s an amazing singer. You’ll have to come and watch his gig tonight at Smugglers Inn.’
Charlotte didn’t look impressed. ‘I have plans. Maybe another time.’
Lauren gave her sister a pointed look. ‘Surely nothing that can’t wait. It’ll be good for you to meet a few of the locals.’
Charlotte looked as if that was the last thing she wanted to do. ‘I need to do some research. If my claim for unfair dismissal is unsuccessful, then I’ll need alternative employment. And I can’t expect to find a proper job if I sit around socialising all the time.’
Her emphasis on the word ‘proper’ sent flares of annoyance shooting up his spine. Sod her. He didn’t need another person in his life telling him to grow up and get a proper job. He had enough of that from his parents.
It was time to leave before he said something he’d regret. ‘Well, this has been fun.’ He made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice. ‘I hope you enjoy your holiday. Good luck with the job hunting.’
Poor Lauren squirmed next to him, making him feel a tad guilty. It wasn’t her fault that her sister was colder than ice. He blew her a kiss. ‘See you later, Lauren.’
Leaving the beach, he fought against the shame battling inside him. It wasn’t important. Charlotte Saunders was of no consequence to him. He shouldn’t feel so rattled by her blatant dismissal of him. Everyone else in Penmullion thought he was a cool guy. Someone who’d got life sorted. They envied him. It shouldn’t bother him that one highly strung, opinionated, gorgeous woman looked down her nose at him … but it did … and it really pissed him off.
Thursday, 2 June
Charlotte had only been in Cornwall for six days, but she was already tearing her hair out – literally, the moisture in the air making it curl, no matter how often she straightened it. Her headaches weren’t easing, and she was fidgety and restless. She guessed her body had become acclimatised to working long stressful days and was unaccustomed to lazing about doing nothing.
The employment tribunal had advised that there was a backlog of claims, so it might be a few weeks before a date was set. She had planned to look for another job while she was here, but then realised that the likelihood of being offered another position, when she’d been fired from the previous one, was remote. She was better off waiting until the outcome of her claim was decided before contemplating her next move. Until then, she needed to find something to occupy her time.
Her attempts to keep busy by helping Lauren around the flat hadn’t worked out either. When her offer to contribute to the rent had been refused, she’d figured that she needed to earn her keep by doing chores instead. It didn’t take a genius to work out that Lauren was struggling financially, but her sister was determined to manage on her own and didn’t want to be seen as a ‘charity case’. Charlotte hadn’t meant to cause offence, so by way of an apology, she’d blitzed the flat from top to bottom, scrubbing the bathroom until her arms ached and removing all the mould from the discoloured grout. She’d mended the blind, sorted the children’s books into alphabetical order, and boxed up their toys to avoid any unnecessary accidents. But far from appreciating her efforts, Lauren had seemed more annoyed than grateful. It was all very confusing. Especially as it was obvious that Lauren could do with the help.
For the past seven years, Charlotte had foolishly believed that her sister lived an idyllic lifestyle, but she’d discovered the reality was quite different. Lauren worked part-time
