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THEY WEREN’T KIDDING about the rain and fog in London. Brit splashed through a puddle in her new Wellies with a pair of sky-high stilettos and a cocktail dress rolled up in her handbag to change into when she got to her destination.
Ducking into her new favorite takeout place, she had a temporary shelter from the rain. The door jingled, and her footsteps squished over the welcome mat.
“What’ll it be, love?” asked the man with the gray stubble behind the counter. He rubbed his knobby hands on a nearby towel.
Brit tightened the sash of her trench coat and pushed the hood back from her head. “I’ll have fish and chips and an order of scotch eggs. Thanks.”
“You’re new in town, eh?”
“Yeah. Oh here, let me give you this.” Brit dug into her bag, shifting around her clothing and shoes in search of a stack of postcards. “My boyfriend and I just moved here. We’re overseeing the opening of a nightclub in my dad’s franchise.” She handed him a dozen or so of the cards. “Our soft opening is tonight, and our grand opening is next month. You should definitely hand these out to your customers, if you want. We’re trying to get the word out.”
He took the postcards and inspected them. “Opening a nightclub, eh? That’s a lofty undertaking.”
Brit smiled and shrugged. “We can handle it. We’re a good team.”
“Well, OK then.” He dropped her paper to-go bag on the counter. “Enjoy, love.”
She plucked the bag from the counter and flashed one more smile at the man before splashing back into the rain. She breathed in the aromas of her temporary hometown—damp, salty, and floral mixed with the inevitable city smell of car exhaust.
As she tugged her trench coat around herself, Brit unlocked the building that she could call hers, at least for the next six months—Club Stanza London. She locked the door again behind her, wrapped her arms around the tall, blond man pouring over a laptop propped on one of their high tables, and drank in his scent.
“Honey, I’m home,” she whispered in his ear.
“Mmm.” He hooked one arm around her backside and turned around to face her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell like fried fish.”
Triumphantly, she presented the brown bag to him. “Considering how much you love these fish and chips, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He practically salivated as he snatched the bag. “You’re the best, Baby.” He chomped into a fry...or chip. “Are you ready for the soft opening tonight?”
It had been almost a month since Brit and Cord had arrived in London. Since then, and after their initial deal on the Soho spot fell through, they found an even more perfect club venue and apartment in Camden. Mike had been itching to join them to help smooth the transition, but they had evaded his attempts at booking a ticket so far.
“Not quite ready. I have one last bit of business to wrap up before the press gets here in a few hours.”
He played with a lock of her hair, wet on the ends, having been outside the protection of her hood. “What’s that? More ice? Someone we left off the guest list? You forgot sauce for the fish?”
“Nope.” She stepped backward so that she was out of his arm’s reach and unbuttoned her trench coat slowly and deliberately.
“Wait, do you have anything on under that?”
“Nope.”
Cord waited until the last button had been freed, but just barely. Forgetting about his lunch, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “Cheerio.”
Brit doubled over in laughter and tried to push him away, but he held fast. “You’re crazy.”
“No, that, I am not.”
She kissed him on his soft, perfectly kissable lips. “Nah, you’re not Crazy, and thank God for that. You’re my darling Cord. Now let’s have some fun and open this club.”
“You got it, boss.”
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