Page 48 of Catching Trouble

“Fuck!” I screamed, hopping along for at least five meters before colliding with Maxime, stalling my forward trajectory.

I came to a stop against his very warm,verysolid chest.

He looked down, searching my face.“Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, I scanned the airspace above and around us. Nothing. The bee must’ve decided to die another day. My shoulders softened.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here,” I said, pulling my basket away from his general groin area. “I just needed to hang my washing.”

One side of his mouth twitched a little. “Interesting technique. I usually just…peg things.” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, the hopping and the cursing—it definitely adds something. Maybe I’ve been drying laundry wrong my entire life.”

I drew my brows, but something poked at the back of my mind. Was that a joke? From my dour boss?

“Look, I appreciate the invention of washing lines as much as the next girl, but I was under duress.”

“How so?” He stepped back, rubbing his hands over the rag hanging from his belt.

The movement caught my attention, and I ran my eyes over his abs. “Geez,” I murmured.

“Pardon?”

His question made me straighten. “Bees. I hate bees and there one was hot on my tail.”

He tipped his head, like he didn’t quite believe me. Like I was just making excuses to bump into him in all his glistening, shirtless glory.

“Bees and I don’t have the best relationship. In fact, I like to give them a wide berth, and…” A flash of chrome caught the light. I blinked. My gaze dropped to the motorbike. “Holy hell.”

I set down the basket, examining the machine’s metallic curves. It had a brushed metal tank peppered with tiny dents, a black seat, and rutted tires. The high exhaust pipes and wide handlebars made it look fast, mean, and a little wild—just like Maxime. “Is this yours?”

At the awe in my voice, he turned. His usual scowl was in place, but as he straightened, the lines in his forehead smoothed and the corners of his mouth lifted—just a little.

“It’s so James Dean,” I murmured. Apparently, my fangirling had no limits.

He blinked. “Is it?”

I nodded. “I mean, I know old Jimmy D is dead, and you’re definitely alive, but you get the idea.”

He huffed a laugh. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

My heart stumbled mid-beat. Did he think I was laughing at him? “I just mean the bike looks cool.”

He stared longer than a rerouting sat nav, sweeping his eyes over my face. “You look a little less pink today.”

I swallowed. Less pink? Based on the heat roaring in my cheeks, I highly doubted it.

“I’m not sure I’d takethatas a compliment,” I said. “But Imust limit the glitter. It draws too much attention. Some days I’m literally fighting off fans. And the claims on the packaging about eternal youth? Total lies.”

Again, his attention swept over me—this time landing squarely on my lips. Finally, he spoke. “I think I have something that belongs to you.” He reached into his pocket and held out my green scrunchie.

I pulled in a shaky breath. I must’ve left it behind after talking to Iris in his bedroom. I’d searched everywhere but figured the kitten had taken it to play with. It wouldn’t be the first time, but if Maxime had found it, he’d know I’d been in his room. On his bed.

At the realisation, my soul shrivelled to the size of a peanut. My cheeks blazed even hotter.

I met his eye. “I-I’m so sorry. I would never normally go into your room.”

“But you did,” he said, voice low.

“Yes, but only because…” Think, Chloe. Think. What excuse justified invading my boss’s privacy? I pulled my hand behind my back and crossed my fingers. “Your room was the only place I could get a signal, and I needed to catch up with my mum. She worries.” It might not have been theentirereason I’d gone into his space, but it wasn’t too far from the truth.