Page 26 of Only One Tour Bus

We buy some sandwiches from the café to go, getting back to the bus to greet the group as they straggle back. They’re on time, and I think I can thank the weather, which progressed to a steady downpour, more than the innate conscientiousness and time management of the tourists.

At least they’re all safely on the bus, happily munching on sandwiches and salads. And somehow people got beers, or brought them from Edinburgh and only now busted them out, which means I’m going to keep an eye on how often we need to take pee breaks. At least the bus has a bathroom now that people can use in a pinch.

Best. Upgrade. Ever. For everyone involved.

Thanks to said beer, an hour after we leave, the back of the bus sounds like a party. Callum glares at it and then at me, like this is my fault. Don’t look at me, I can’t afford to buy these tourists beer. Despite how happy it would make them.

With one half entertained, and the other taking a nap, I get out my notes for the London walking tour to review. Since I’m a professional at blocking out tour noise.

Until I get interrupted by an unexpected source.

CHAPTER 12

CALLUM

I don’t know what makes me cross the bus aisle.

I don’t even like Asha. I shouldn’t like Asha. Her entire personality is custom-made to irritate me. Every pet peeve I have combined in one tiny, irritatingly bubbly, sexy package.

And now that the passengers are otherwise occupied—even though the reason they’re occupied will probably become a problem at some point—I could be momentarily free. I could open a history book and enjoy the alone time.

Instead, here I am, my feet moving before my brain consciously gives the command. And then my midsection gets in on the action, folding into the seat next to her.

She removes her earbuds and looks at me in question. “Oh god, what did they do?” She perks her head up like a meerkat over the bus seat to see for herself what they’ve done.

“So you admit they’re a bunch of hooligans, and you’re really waiting for your precious group to mess up?”

She sits back down. “I have complete faith in the best group ever. I just couldn’t think of another reason that would have you willingly talking to me. One of my angels going rogue made more sense that the alternative, which is you wanting to speak to me.”

“Is it so wrong for me to want to be professional? And keeping our professional boundaries as coworkers?”

“Hmm. A big part of American corporate culture is chatting by the coffee machine and getting together in the break room to share some cake on a birthday. So it is professional to chat with coworkers. Even in Ireland, I’m sure. But you don’t usually do it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about office life, thank Christ.”

“Yeah. This suits me a lot better than the years I was a worker’s compensation insurance adjuster.”

“Insurance adjuster?”

“Yup. I liked being nosy into people’s lives and trying to help them. But then it was just depressing to tell people their claim was denied. After getting yelled at the fifth time for arguing to accept a claim the company felt should be denied, I quit. But that time gave me some insight into professional office culture.”

“Probably a good call. I can’t imagine you giving out bad news.”

She grimaces. “It was horrible. I felt horrible.” She shakes herself like an enthusiastic puppy shaking water from its coat. And with the move, she shakes off the depressing memories and she smiles at me. “But what are you here for?”

That was an abrupt emotional change. Is that all it takes to change her mood?

Fickle Wee Sunshine woman.

“Do you want to compare notes for the London walking tours? It’s a big city,” I say.

“Yes, it is! So big we need two tours.”

“Right. So we could start in front of Buckingham Palace—” I say.

“We should start in front of St. James’s Palace,” she says.

We can’t even establish where to start the tour. This is going to be lovely.