Meet Clara Andrews: A totally vacuous girl with a hangover...

by Lacey London

  ‘Champagne, Miss Andrews?’ A beautiful, red haired woman holds out a tall, frosty flute which I accept with a grin.

  ‘Thank you very much!’ I smile over at Oliver and he beckons for me to follow him.

  We walk through the stunning lobby and stop at an enormous lift. Glancing at my reflection in the glass, I can’t quite believe that it is me staring back. Me, here, at The Valentina! The lift doors pop open and we glide in, high on bubbles and adrenaline. The extremely professional porter stands in the corner, trying to be inconspicuous as we begin to shoot upwards.

  The lift comes to a halt before the doors slowly sweep open and we walk on to the lobby. I call it a lobby, but there is only one door in front of us. Wait a minute? Why is there only one door? Where is my room? I am about to voice my concern when the porter opens the door and waves us both in. It is not often I am speechless, but I really am lost for words.

  This is not a hotel room. It is the entire top floor of the building. Looking around breathlessly, I take everything in. There must be at least five doors leading off from the huge open plan space. A purple, velvet chaise longue is positioned in front of stunning floor to ceiling windows, which provide an amazing view of the city. Walking around the corner, I discover an incredible kitchen, complete with an island and a million gadgets. Most of which I have no clue what they are. A giant cream sofa is centred in the living space, adorned with velvet scatter cushions. I am just about to press my face up against the glass when I hear the door close with a bang.

  ‘What do you think?’ Oliver strides over to the window and shakes off his suit jacket.

  ‘I love it! It’s beautiful!’ I exclaim animatedly, ‘Where is my room?’

  ‘Good question.’ He walks away, pushing open several doors before calling me over.

  Downing my champagne in one, I put my glass down and run over.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I can’t help but squeal as I run into the room and jump straight on to the four poster bed.

  ‘This is amazing!’

  ‘I am very glad it is to your satisfaction, Miss. Andrews.’

  I cover my face with a cushion to hide my glowing cheeks.

  ‘I’ll leave you to get settled. I have made dinner reservations for seven. See you in the bar say, six thirty? He slips a door card on the dresser and closes the door without waiting for a response.

  I push myself up and dig my phone out of my pocket. Lianna will never believe this, photos are a must. After snapping the bed, the view and everything in between, I pick up a leather brochure that is laid on the dresser. Shaking my head in disbelief, I decide that if there is a heaven, this is it. The Valentina offers more than you could ever dream of. It has two Michelin starred restaurants, an award winning spa, butler service, critically renowned cocktail bar, the list goes on.

  Slamming the brochure shut, I pad around the room and slide open a heavy, granite door. A walk in wardrobe! I can’t help but notice that it is twice the size of my actual bedroom. How the other half live. I grab my suitcase and start to unpack. My three pairs of shoes, two dresses and a couple of pairs of jeans look ridiculous in the enormous space. I imagine filling the wardrobe with designer clothing, prestige handbags and vintage accessories. Lost in a world of silk and leather, my attention is drawn to a gold door knob at the far end of the closet. Puzzled, I push open the door and actually let out little snort.

  The roll top bath, the sparkly, marble flooring, gigantic walk in shower. Just, wow! Feeling like Pretty Woman, I run my hand over the bath and pick up the tiny glass toiletries one by one. Fighting the urge to strip off and climb straight in, I close the door and go back into the bedroom. Leaning against the window, I watch the thousands of ant people buzzing around and suddenly feel rather tired. I don’t know whether it is the river of champagne I have drunk, or the fact that I have been awake since silly o’clock this morning, but I am truly exhausted.

  Kicking off my shoes and fighting my way out of my skinny jeans, I pull on my night dress and tie my hair up a ballerina bun. Being here feels so surreal, I am tempted to phone Lianna, but I don’t want to burst my bubble with any connection to reality. Right now, I am in a dream land and I want it to stay that way.

  Why did Oliver bring us here? There is definitely more to this than just a business trip. First the champagne train journey, then the impeccable suit and now this? I flop down onto the bed and stretch out my legs on what feels like a million thread count sheets. Actually, I don’t care. Right now, I really couldn’t care less.

  Chapter 24

  Opening one eye and realising where I am gives me a frisson of excitement. Rolling out of bed, I wrap myself in the fluffy, champagne coloured robe that was hanging on the back of the door and go into the living area in search of Oliver. I have been asleep for three hours and feel completely refreshed and rejuvenated. Wow, even on a second viewing the penthouse takes my breath away.

  ‘Oliver?’ I wander into the kitchen to find it empty.

  Perhaps he has been sleeping too. Come to think of it, I haven’t even looked in any other rooms, so I don’t know which room is his. Scouring the rest of the apartment for signs of his whereabouts, I decide to do some exploring. Pushing open doors, I discover three bedrooms, each one more beautiful than the last, none of which look like they have been breathed in let alone slept in. Well he definitely isn’t here.

  Looking at my watch, I remember him saying to meet him in the bar at 6.30 that gives me two hours. Tip toeing back to my room, I head straight for the bathroom and fill the tub with cloud like, soapy bubbles. Gathering a stack of newspapers from the coffee table, I pile them up next to the tub and lock the door. I strip down to my birthday suit and make sure my hair is out of the waters reach. Heading for the mini bar, I grab an elderflower and raspberry sparkling water and sink down into the bath and smile. I could most certainly get used to this.

  Throwing a black, pencil dress on the floor with a sigh, I sit down on the bed and fold my arms annoyed. It is 6.25 and I have nothing to wear. The lack of knowledge surrounding tonight’s dinner is throwing my karma way out of sync. How am I supposed to know what to wear when I don’t even know where I am going? Realising I am going to be later than what is acceptable, I pull my black maxi dress off the hanger and tug it over my head. Adding a chunky bangle and quick spray of Chanel Chance, I grab my room key and make my way down to the bar.

  I haven’t seen Oliver since we arrived at the hotel earlier today. I hope he is here as arranged. Getting in the lift, I study the many buttons. Cocktail bar, martini bar, which one is it? I take a chance on martini bar and jab the button. I swear to God, if everyone is wearing cocktail dresses, I am going back to the room. Rearranging my dress, I just about have time to adjust my hair as the doors open.

  The soft jazz music is the first thing that hits me, followed by the sweet aroma of vanilla and spice. I glance around at the many beautiful people scattered around the room in search of Oliver. Heading over to the bar, I take a seat on a stool and order an espresso martini. Watching the barman or rather, barwoman, take a sparkling martini glass and expertly create the perfect cocktail, I have another look around for Oliver.

  Smiling at an adorable, elderly couple clinking champagne flutes, I almost don’t see Oliver walking out of the lift. Dressed in skinny fit jeans and slick blazer, he oozes celebrity status. He spots me instantly and weaves between the tables, noticeably winking at the pretty waitress as he goes. Shaking my head at his blatant flirting, I smile and order another espresso martini. He has paid for the room, so I guess the least I can do is buy him a drink. Like lightening, another glass is placed down in front of me, along with a tiny paper slip. Picking up the receipt, my eyes widen in shock. This can’t be my bill. I’ve only ordered two bloody drinks. Quickly grabbing my credit card, I pass it to the barwoman with a queasy smile.

  ‘Good evening, sleepyhead.’ Oliver props himself up on the stool next to me and picks up the drinks menu.

  ‘I’ve already got you a drink,’
I push the martini glass over to him.

  ‘Espresso martini? Good choice, one of my all time favourites.’

  ‘Where did you disappear to? I woke up and you weren’t there.’

  ‘I went to see the city, do a little shopping. I was planning on taking you with me, but I didn’t wanna wake you.’

  ‘You should have done! Oh well, there’s always tomorrow morning. What time is the fashion exhibition?’

  ‘Starts at three, so you should have plenty of time for some shopping.’ He takes a gulp of martini and checks his watch.

  ‘We should probably make a move. I have made reservations for seven.’

  ‘Where are we eating?’ I am immediately concerned about my state of dress, not to mention the strength of my credit card.

  ‘You’ll see.’ He jumps from his bar stool and holds out his arm to help me down.

  Following him out of the bar, I look back at our half drunken, extortionate martinis mournfully. This had better be good.

  The duck, the quail, the apricot cheesecake trio, my mouth is salivating just thinking about it. After six courses and an accompanying wine flight, you would think I would be suitably full. The truth is I could easily eat it all over again. Sipping the last of my dessert wine, I lean back in my chair and revel in a fuzzy, drunken haze.

  ‘So, Mr. Morgan, do you treat all of your colleagues this well?’

  ‘Only the pretty ones.’ He stares at me intently with a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  I look down at my lap and pray that I haven’t coloured up like a giddy radish. Once confident that my usual porcelain shade has returned, I work up the courage to ask something that has been on my mind for a while now.

  ‘What is all this about, Oliver? First the train, then The Valentina and now this?’ I look him straight in the face, my heart pounding, not really knowing what I want him to say.

  ‘I like you. Is that so bad?’ He fires the words back without missing a beat.

  I feel my jaw sag, shocked at his forward reply. I’m still trying to find the words to respond when he speaks again, only this time it’s to the waiter.

  ‘Can we get a bottle of champagne please?’

  ‘Bollinger?’

  ‘Bollinger would be great, thank you.’

  With a fresh burst of adrenaline, I sit up straight and crack my knuckles in anticipation. He likes me! He actually said it! Feeling like a teenage girl, I twirl my hair and watch the waiter pop our champagne.

  ‘Special occasion?’ The waiter asks as he pours the sparkling bubbles into two giant champagne flutes.

  ‘Yes.’ I reply, locking eyes with Oliver.

  How could it not be?

  Chapter 25

  I awake the following morning and sneak out of the hotel before Oliver has even stirred. Stepping out into the world feels like a crime. Most people wouldn’t leave a luxury penthouse for a second, let alone before breakfast. Walking along the busy street, I follow the crowds until I reach a huge shopping centre. Pushing through the glass doors, I realise that everywhere is still closed. With fifteen minutes until the obligatory 9.00am opening time, I turn back in search of some breakfast.

  Stopping at a Starbucks, I order a chocolate chip muffin and a latte, before taking a seat in a secluded corner to wait for my order. Watching a three year old throw a tantrum over a brownie, I take my phone out of my handbag to abuse the free WIFI. After a few unsuccessful attempts at signing in, I decide to resort to old fashioned texting. I haven’t actually spoken to Lianna since my impromptu visit the other night and judging by her lack of contact, I am guessing she is still wrapped up in Dan, probably literally. Shuddering at the thought, I type out a quick message and hit send, just as my breakfast is dropped down onto the table.

  Devouring my bun, I flick through my old text messages from George and can’t help but smile. With all the excitement of the past couple of days, I had totally forgotten about our plans for dinner when I get back. Not knowing what the hell the status of my relationship with Oliver is, I can’t see any wrong doing in seeing how things go with George. Grabbing my latte, I chuck my rubbish in the bin and make my way back outside. Destination, shopping.

  I love it! Twirling around in the changing room, I watch the bright lights bouncing off the ruby red satin. This has to be the most flattering dress I have ever seen. The square neckline flatters my ample cleavage and the skirts falls in large, soft pleats, giving a slight 50’s vibe. I turn around to see my favourite bit, a large delicate bow, tied around the waist, sitting neatly at the base of my spine. I have to have it. Without even checking the price tag, I drag my clothes back on and march straight over to the check out before I have chance to change my mind.

  Placing the dress down carefully onto the counter, I cross my fingers that it doesn’t cost the earth. My eyes are fixed on the till as the plump sales assistant scans in the price tag. Half price! I can’t believe it!

  ‘Erm, is that the right price?’ I point at the screen and pray that it is.

  ‘Yep, all occasion wear is half price. This weekend only. We actually have the shoes to match if you are interested?’

  ‘Yes!’ I shout, a little too loud.

  ‘Size?’ She asks, walking out onto the shop floor.

  ‘Five, please!’

  Two hours later, it is just after midday and I am riding in the lift back up to the room. Clutching my precious dress and beloved shoes, I scan my room key and use my hips to push my way in. Dumping my bags on the sofa, I wander into the kitchen to grab a drink when I hear footsteps from one of the bedrooms.

  ‘Hey,’ Hearing Oliver’s delicious drawl makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  I spin around to tell him about my morning and drop my phone on the floor with a clatter. Oh. My. God. I was not prepared for this. Stood in the doorway, is a very wet, practically naked Oliver, wrapped in nothing more than a tiny towel. Seemingly oblivious to my reaction, he walks into the kitchen, leaving a path of wet footprints behind him. Watching the beads of water roll down his back, I grab my phone and emit a high pitched squawking sound before running to my room and slamming the door shut. What is he trying to do? Give me heart attack? I perch on the edge of the bed and wait for my heart to stop beating out of my chest. He thinks he is so clever. Well, two can play at that game.

  Stripping down to just my underwear, I slip on my lace night dress and grab my stilettos. Ruffling up my hair and smudging my eyeliner, I stride back into the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him stretched out on the sofa. After grabbing a bottle of Evian, I walk over to where he is sitting and take both of my shopping bags in silence. Sashaying back to my room in what I hope is an alluring manor, I turn back to gauge his reaction.

  ‘Uh, Clara?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You have underwear stuck to your shoes.’

  I look down in horror to see yesterday’s dirty knickers looped around my heel. Banging my door shut, I kick my shoes off in annoyance.

  Damn, almost had it.

  Chapter 26

  It takes me at least an hour to see the funny side of dirty knickers gate. Oliver has successfully talked me out of my sulk and coxed me out into the living area. Studying the mountain of room service that has just arrived, I pick up a tiny pizza slice and curl up next to Oliver on the sofa. We decided to abuse the all inclusive room service menu to pass some time before we have to leave for the fashion exhibition.

  ‘What about a movie?’ Oliver asks, reaching for some triple cooked, golden fries.

  ‘Have we got time for that? I look down at my bare wrist. Where the hell is my watch?

  He nods and grabs the TV remote. Watching him flick through the channels, I jump up and grab a heavy, purple sofa throw from the chaise longue.

  ‘How about a horror?’

  I look up to see him selecting The Conjuring on pay per view.

  ‘Hell no. I don’t do horror films.’ Shaking my head, I pull the cover up to my chin and tuck in my f
eet.

  Totally ignoring what I just said, he clicks confirm and switches off the lights with the remote control.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me? I said I don’t like horror films!’ I make a snatch for the remote but he slips it under the sofa and pulls some of the throw over himself.

  Biting my lip, I sink down further and shake my head. He is so cocky. He wouldn’t get away with it if he wasn’t drop dead gorgeous. As the film starts, I go to stretch my legs out and get comfortable, when I notice Oliver’s hand two inches from mine. Should I move my hand away? I know I should, but my arm doesn’t move. I feel a shiver of excitement as he edges his fingers closer, millimetre by millimetre, until they are wrapped around mine. My entire body tingles as he gentle squeezes my hand before pulling me over to him. Laying my head on his chest, I allow myself to relax. This is definitely not in my job description.

  Yawning, I open one eye and roll onto my side. Taking in my surroundings, it takes me a good minute to work out where I am. And about another thirty seconds to realise that Oliver’s arm is wrapped tightly around my waist. Sitting bolt upright, I wiggle out of his grip and jump to my feet.

  ‘Oliver! Wake up!’

  ‘What time is it?’ He stretches and lets out a loud yawn.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t find my watch.’ I grab my phone and unlock the screen.

  ‘Oh my God! It’s 6.30! We’ve missed it!’

  ‘Missed what?’

  ‘The fashion exhibition! The thing that we travelled two hundred miles to go to!’