The Trouble With Angels



“What the f*#? Seriously?”

“Oh damn, I am so sorry.”  The deep male voice came from the large, sturdy body that slammed into Paige Therriault.  Her long auburn hair tumble to her shoulders as her trendy women’s newsboy cap was knocked from her head.

Oh, hell no! This is Monday morning.  Not happening.

Spilling her fresh, white chocolate latte on her black coat, the man’s arms steadied her as she started to fall back. Catching her balance, the plastic cup slipped out of her wet hand, landing on the sidewalk, splashing the black expensive Italian leather shoes of her assailant.

Shaking the remainder of the coffee from her now empty hands, she huffed and looked up at the man’s face.  Stopped cold by the most beautiful eyes, shiny and dark as wet slate, she had ever seen. Her words frozen in her throat.

“Are you all right?”  His voice, polished and soothing was full of concern.

Numb, all she could do was nod.  The handsome man holding her was taking her breath away.  Some kind of chemistry she had never felt before was flowing between them.

Taking a step back out of his grip.  “I’m…fine.”  Brushing away the coffee beading up on her water-repellent trench coat, feeling her face get red, she was wanting to get away from this person, this..

God he’s good-looking

man blocking her path to work.  But he wasn’t budging.  He had taken a linen handkerchief from his pocket and was dabbing at the remaining coffee on the front of her coat.  Even though his touch was light and barely felt through the heavy material, just the gentleness was bringing her a sweet reaction to him.

Again she stepped back and hit a lamp pole with her head. 

Damn that hurt. 

Tears sprang to her eyes, again the man was touching her. Holding her up with his strong arms.

His eyes reflected his concern.  “Watch it.  Here let me get you to where you are going.”

Long awkward pause between them.

She lost herself in his eyes again, so dark, so deep, so…

His voice cut through her thoughts.  “Where are you going?”

Shaking her hurting head, breaking away from his hold, she looked around.  Then up at the building they were standing in front of. 

 “Here, I work here.” 

Get it together, girl. 

Hiking her messenger bag/brief case back on her shoulder, she straightened her back.  The man had picked up her cap from the sidewalk.

I just bought this damn hat.

Snatching it from his hand, she squared her shoulders as if she was totally back in control. “Thank you for your help, Mr. …?”

“Winston.  Mark Winston.  I work here too.  I’ll go in with you.  Make sure you make it okay.”

Paige stopped short.  “Winston? Of Winston, Bradley and Smart Ad Agency?”

His smile was dazzling. “Yes, that would be me. Well kind of.  I’m Tom’s youngest son. You know of us?”

“Yes, I work for you.” Her smile as well as her spirit was weak.  “I’m your Art Director.  Paige Therriault.”  She had heard the younger son of the boss was joining ‘the team’.  The prodigal son returning home type of thing.

Optimistically he took her arm.  “Well good, I’ll walk you up.  You can show me around.”

Sure thing.  What a great way to make an impression.


          “Way to go slick.  You almost gave her 1st degree burns.”  The first angel said to the second, sitting together on the newsstand watching Mark and Paige go inside.

“Sorry, but I needed them to meet before they met at work.”

“And why is that?”  The first angel was a beautiful, dark-skinned male that had not really wanted this assignment in the first place.  Let alone with the angel of Never-Ending Love.

“Meeting at work inhibits the spirit.  Bumping into each other is fate, kismet.”  Rolling his eyes the second male angel was fair-skinned, handsome and adorable.

“Well they met.  What do we do now?”

The second angel’s wings fluttered.  “We go watch what happens.”

Following cute and adorable, the dark angel asked.  “You weren’t by any chance on the Titanic, were you?”

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