and having to wear the ugly Princess Mitzi product then it was people like this guy pushing and shoving to get where they wanted to be. Conventions sucked. How did anyone do business at them? “Listen, Harry, don’t blame me for your rudeness.”
“Whatever,” Harry muttered as he took a few more steps and unlocked a nearby door.
It was the entrance to the “goodies room”. This was where suppliers sent cheap, labeled gadgets to hand out to the convention-goers hoping that a Princess Mitzi toe separator would induce the punters to squeeze their feet into the plastic hell of their shoes.
Ashbea tottered behind him, clutching at anything that looked remotely solid as she went. Falling on her ass was not much fun after the seventh time. And no one walked away from her when she wanted a fight. Ashbea wanted to take out her frustration on someone—anyone—him. The last couple of days had been hell. “Are you always this rude?” God, look at all the stuff. Plastic advertising gizmos were piled high. It was the Aladdin’s cave of crap and yet people would kill each other to scoop up a bag of free, useless stuff. It didn’t matter what was in it as long as it was free.
“I’ve had a bad day, lady. Don’t make it worse.” Harry grabbed several bags of promotional material.
“Oh piss off. Do you think you’re the only one?” Man with attitude meets hormonal woman with sore feet. It was a no-brainer to Ashbea as to who would win. The only way this day could get worse was if there was no chocolate on her hotel pillow when she went back to her room tonight.
Harry turned on her. “Yes, yes I do. I have had dozens of screaming and giggling woman falling on their asses drunk as skunks to deal with. Add that to prima donna shoe sellers who make petty demands as if they are queens and I’ve had a gutful.”
Yeah, okay, he was right. All of that had been pathetic. What was it with convention people? All inhibitions flew out the window as the free food and drinks started to react. “So?”
“I don’t need another one.”
He meant her. Lovely. What a wanker . “Listen up, Harry boy.” Ashbea did her best to stamp up to him but her best involved stumbling on what appeared to be a box of toenail clippers and grabbing at him as she fell. Whoa! Hard man, hard body and green—no, hazel—eyes. They were kind of sexy despite the contemptuous glare.
“I’m listening. What?” Harry grabbed her upper arms to steady her. With one hand holding her against him he used the other to turn her name card around so he could read it. “ Ashbea ? What sort of a name is that?”
“You’re just a big old Prince Charming now, aren’t you?” Ashbea tried to push away from him but she knew in all likelihood she would lose her balance and fall on her butt. Her skirt was too short for that. It barely covered her ass as it was. Ashbea was still angry she had allowed Mitzi to whine and badger her into wearing it.
It’s about the shoes, Ashbea . We have to show them off.
I look like a tart.
And that’s the image we want to project. The inner tart is the essence of all women.
That was their dumb-assed slogan, thought up by their gin-sodden CEO, Mitzi. She was as cheap and as trashy as the shoes. And this guy? His assumption that her shoes matched her personality was wrong. Ashbea was not at all like some of the women at this convention. I am boring and staid and just really tired. I have flat feet and I need flat shoes. I do not need smart-ass men. Ashbea looked at his lips. Great, kissable mouth though. She licked her lips. Shame he was such a prick.
“ Wanna kiss me, bumblebee?” Harry once more had his hands around her waist, pulling her close. “Isn’t that why you come to these conventions? To get lucky?”
Ashbea pushed back from him. “Bumblebee?” She was more surprised at the name he called her than his insinuations about her character.
“Yeah. You’re small and cute and I bet you pack one hell of a
“Whatever,” Harry muttered as he took a few more steps and unlocked a nearby door.
It was the entrance to the “goodies room”. This was where suppliers sent cheap, labeled gadgets to hand out to the convention-goers hoping that a Princess Mitzi toe separator would induce the punters to squeeze their feet into the plastic hell of their shoes.
Ashbea tottered behind him, clutching at anything that looked remotely solid as she went. Falling on her ass was not much fun after the seventh time. And no one walked away from her when she wanted a fight. Ashbea wanted to take out her frustration on someone—anyone—him. The last couple of days had been hell. “Are you always this rude?” God, look at all the stuff. Plastic advertising gizmos were piled high. It was the Aladdin’s cave of crap and yet people would kill each other to scoop up a bag of free, useless stuff. It didn’t matter what was in it as long as it was free.
“I’ve had a bad day, lady. Don’t make it worse.” Harry grabbed several bags of promotional material.
“Oh piss off. Do you think you’re the only one?” Man with attitude meets hormonal woman with sore feet. It was a no-brainer to Ashbea as to who would win. The only way this day could get worse was if there was no chocolate on her hotel pillow when she went back to her room tonight.
Harry turned on her. “Yes, yes I do. I have had dozens of screaming and giggling woman falling on their asses drunk as skunks to deal with. Add that to prima donna shoe sellers who make petty demands as if they are queens and I’ve had a gutful.”
Yeah, okay, he was right. All of that had been pathetic. What was it with convention people? All inhibitions flew out the window as the free food and drinks started to react. “So?”
“I don’t need another one.”
He meant her. Lovely. What a wanker . “Listen up, Harry boy.” Ashbea did her best to stamp up to him but her best involved stumbling on what appeared to be a box of toenail clippers and grabbing at him as she fell. Whoa! Hard man, hard body and green—no, hazel—eyes. They were kind of sexy despite the contemptuous glare.
“I’m listening. What?” Harry grabbed her upper arms to steady her. With one hand holding her against him he used the other to turn her name card around so he could read it. “ Ashbea ? What sort of a name is that?”
“You’re just a big old Prince Charming now, aren’t you?” Ashbea tried to push away from him but she knew in all likelihood she would lose her balance and fall on her butt. Her skirt was too short for that. It barely covered her ass as it was. Ashbea was still angry she had allowed Mitzi to whine and badger her into wearing it.
It’s about the shoes, Ashbea . We have to show them off.
I look like a tart.
And that’s the image we want to project. The inner tart is the essence of all women.
That was their dumb-assed slogan, thought up by their gin-sodden CEO, Mitzi. She was as cheap and as trashy as the shoes. And this guy? His assumption that her shoes matched her personality was wrong. Ashbea was not at all like some of the women at this convention. I am boring and staid and just really tired. I have flat feet and I need flat shoes. I do not need smart-ass men. Ashbea looked at his lips. Great, kissable mouth though. She licked her lips. Shame he was such a prick.
“ Wanna kiss me, bumblebee?” Harry once more had his hands around her waist, pulling her close. “Isn’t that why you come to these conventions? To get lucky?”
Ashbea pushed back from him. “Bumblebee?” She was more surprised at the name he called her than his insinuations about her character.
“Yeah. You’re small and cute and I bet you pack one hell of a
Similar Books
