★彡ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ | ᴘᴀᴜʟ ᴍᴄᴄᴀʀᴛɴᴇʏ彡★ ✅

★彡[ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 24]彡★

Paul could usually convince anybody that he was right. He would open his pretty mouth and bat his pretty eyes, and his victim would fall into the honey trap he had laid out for them...

But it wasn't like that with Abby, and Paul thought that this was one of the reasons why he liked her - why he had continued to pursue her, even when she had appeared uninterested.

She was feisty, and he loved that.

He loved to have a sparring partner.

He loved his partner to be his equal, both intellectually and emotionally.

But right then, he wished that Abby would fall in line like all the other women who had come before her had done.

"But Abby," he said in a pleading tone, talking lowly so they wouldn't be overheard. They were in the corner of the recording room of studio 2, and the other boys were practising their parts. Paul had been so desperate to ask Abby about her and Mollie coming to America with him that he had perhaps chosen the wrong time.

She was not in the best mood.

Firstly, it was raining outside... and it wasn't the light, April showers kind... no, it was cats and dogs, and she had had to run to the grocer down the road for fresh milk when she discovered that the several pints that the milkman had delivered very early that morning were all a little bit smelly.

She had thrown them straight in the bin...

And then been unable to find an umbrella.

So Abby was soaked through to the skin, despite Paul saying that he would drive her home to get changed, or he would find somebody to do it for him. He had even offered her his shirt to put on, but she hadn't wanted the other Beatles - and George Martin and Brian Epstein - to think that there was too much going on between them.

They wanted to keep their relationship discreet, and didn't need anybody poking around where Paul and Abby didn't want them to.

Paul rubbed her arms, just beneath her shoulders, in an attempt to warm her up, but Abby was quite literally shivering. Her teeth were chattering and her hair was wringing.

"I really do think you should go home, luv. You'll catch your death otherwise, and then who will I take out to dinners at posh restaurants?"

"Posh isn't really my thing, Paul." Abby answered, taking a step closer to him. She could practically feel the heat radiating off of him. How was he so warm? He was wearing just a t-shirt and pair of jeans, and he even had bare feet! He looked totally at home and at ease in the studio.

She liked him that way.

"Ah yes," he smirked, "I forgot that you grew up on an estate."

"Paul, you grew up on an estate." Abby answered.

The two of them laughed quietly, their eyes locked.

They loved each other so much. Despite the fact that they had traded 'I love yous', neither of them had admitted just how much they loved the other.

"Well if you catch your death, Abs, then who will I take to America in a few weeks for the tour?"

Abby blinked. Once, twice, three times... had he said what she thought he had?

"Tour?" She echoed. "America?"

He nodded.

"W-what?"

"We're going on tour in a few weeks, and I need you there as our secretary."

The smile which had unknowingly slipped onto her face fell at his final words, as our secretary.