Undone by the Star

by Stephanie Browning

  “I was hoping you’d still be asleep.”

  “Why? What’s going on? Has someone upset you?” Alex pressed.

  “It’s the newspaper,” Kate blurted. “I…um…I left it on your desk. I thought you should know.”

  Alex felt the colour drain from her face. “How bad?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Kate said.

  Heart thumping, Alex headed for the lobby. It was probably some new gossip about Marc and his faux fiancé, she reassured herself, or an unflattering picture of her in her grandmother’s dress. But when Cyril caught sight of her, and then quickly ducked his head to busy himself with his computer screen, she knew it was worse than bad. A distraught-looking Jeremy was tracking her progress like a sheep dog.

  Alex stormed through the door to the executive wing, anxiety replaced by anger. It was one thing to go after her, but when it affected her friends and her staff, she felt fiercely protective. And a sickening jolt of fear only added to her fury.

  When she strode into the outer office, Clare half-rose from her chair, opened her mouth to speak, took one look at Alex’s face, and hurriedly sat back down.

  Alex crossed the carpet in three long strides and snatched the newspaper from the top of her desk.

  The entire front page.

  Picture after picture.

  Of her.

  And Marc.

  And their evening together.

  Nuzzling at the after party, entering the door of his flat, and then reappearing six hours later, dishevelled and looking to all the world like lovers. And then just to make sure everyone got the punchline, there was Marc taking her in his arms on the front steps of The Sadler.

  Undone by the Star?…the headline screamed.

  Marc Daniels Cozies up to Sadler Hotel CEO Alexis Kirkwood!

  A source close to the new couple told our newspaper, “Alexis is so desperately infatuated with Marc, she spends more time on the celebrity circuit than she does at The Sadler. Definitely not what we expect from the new CEO of the most discreet hotel in town!”

  With an exclamation of rage, Alex flung the newspaper to the floor and began to pace. She’d known her growing relationship with Marc would become gossip fodder at some point, but never in her wildest dreams, had she thought it would be this vicious.

  Days before the board meeting, with her competitors circling, and now, less than two weeks since she’d taken over, the reputation of The Sadler was in shreds.

  She could scream, she was so angry.

  And even worse…Grannie would never forgive her.

  Grannie! Alex felt sick to her stomach. She grabbed her phone, ignoring all the messages, and quickly called down to the Garden Room. Luckily Kate picked up.

  “The most important thing is to make sure that no one approaches Grannie’s table,” Alex told her. “Not even Cyril. I don’t want her upset…no, I need to tell her myself.” Alex put the phone down and scrubbed her forehead. She couldn’t let this “incident” get the better of her. She had to do something.

  “Clare!” she called. “Can you come in here, please.”

  She needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and Marc Daniels. And the sooner, the better. His celebrity was toxic. No matter how she felt about him, she was, first and foremost, a Sadler.

  There was a quiet rap at the door.

  Alex frowned impatiently. “For heaven’s sakes, Clare.”

  But when she looked up, it wasn’t Clare in the doorway.

  It was Marc.

  Time stopped for her. The light from the windows fell across his face, highlighting the strong cheekbones, deep eyes, and burnishing the sheen in his hair. He hadn’t shaved and Alex knew to the core of her being the sensual pleasure of running her hand across his jaw, feeling the bones beneath the skin, and the soft pull when he smiled at her touch. Her skin burned in memory of his caresses and the pressure of his lips demanding hers, their last intimate kiss on the steps of The Sadler, and then, this.

  Alex dashed a hand across her eyes and stood up.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “Coming to see if you’re okay,” retorted Marc. “Why else would I be here?”

  Alex rounded her desk, determined to stay strong. But her chest was tight and her breath shallow as she closed the gap between them.

  His blue eyes bore down on her as they sized each other up like boxers in a ring.

  Then, with a release of pent-up breath, Marc took a step forward, his arms outstretched. Alex crumpled like a wet tissue. The tears she’d been ignoring bubbled and overflowed.

  “I am so sorry.” Marc comforted her as he had that night when Grannie was in the hospital. “You should never have been targeted. They usually keep it to ugly rumours about me.”

  “It’s Grannie, I’m worried about,” Alex sniffed. “And the hotel.”

  With her head pressed against his chest, she could hear the steady thud of his heart. Strong, dependable…real. A few minutes ago, all she could think about was banishing Marc from her life, and now here she was in his arms. Again. And despite it all, the guilt, the anger, the responsibility she knew was hers alone, having Marc by her side was reassuring.

  “We’ll get through it.” Marc kissed the top of her head.

  “I know,” she sighed. “It’s just so overwhelming. From head concierge to notorious CEO in a matter of days.”

  “You can relax,” Marc stroked her back. “I’ve already arranged a conference call with my press agent. When it comes to spinning gossip into gold, there’s no one better. She’ll tell us exactly what we should do.”

  Alex froze.

  She jerked backwards, tears stopped by burning indignation. “Without even talking to me?” she raged. “This is about me and my hotel. And I will handle my own damage control!”

  “You need my help,” Marc insisted.

  “Why? Who do you think I am? One of your usual bimbos!”

  “I didn’t suggest you were,” Marc shot back. “But this is my field, Alex, not yours. We have to get ahead of the news cycle and control it. That means putting out a joint statement.” He studied her intently. “We are a couple, or have you forgotten about last night already?”

  “I will never forget about last night.” Alex stepped away from his reach. “Or this.” She pointed to the newspaper with disdain. “So if you’ll excuse me…I have better things to do with my time.” She turned her back on him.

  For several excruciating seconds, the depth of Marc’s anger threatened to overwhelm them both. Then he spun on his heel and walked out. As she knew he would.

  Picking her way through the moonlit garden, Alex let out a sigh as she sat down in the shadows of the patio. Sleep was beyond her now. She had made all the necessary phone calls, and then returned to her flat, limp and more miserable than she had ever been before in her life. Once in her sanctuary, she had cried herself dry, then justified to herself over and over, why she had done what she did.

  And despite the absolute rightness of every one of her self-directed lectures, all she could think about was Marc and what she had thrown away. But what else could she have done? She had spent her whole life preparing to be the CEO of The Sadler. It had been her destiny – until a disreputable plumber had strolled into the lobby and taught her there were other things worth wishing for.

  Alex knew she had to face the fact that she’d been spellbound ever since she’s first laid eyes on Marc. The action hero on the screen had never been a draw for her, not even for a nanosecond, but the slightly scruffy man with his twinkling eyes and passion for history had stopped her heart. No, not her heart – her head. The night in Marc’s arms had awoken her in ways she could not have imagined. She loved him with every fibre of her being.

  But she had taken a stupid, careless risk.

  And paid the price. Twice over. First with the hotel’s reputation, and then her relationship with Marc.

  She’d been repla
ying their last meeting over and over again in her mind, picking it apart, trying to justify her behaviour, blaming Marc for his. Alex groaned softly and wrapped her arms around herself, a pitiful excuse for a hug. She might never feel his arms around her again, hear the soft laughter meant only for her ears, savour the unique scent of his maleness. And why? Because she, not he, had been careless. In the softly-lit garden night, Alex finally accepted that the blame was more hers than his.

  And not for the first time.

  Because she was afraid. Afraid that if she followed her heart, she’d lose the dream that had driven her since childhood. The dream that had defined who she was. And now Alex’s heart swelled as her dream was swelling – to become larger, better. To encompass love.

  But thanks to Clare, and a very understanding Grannie, once she’d finished expressing her opinion of said newspaper, the situation with the hotel had been declared redeemable. Alex had decided she would not issue a statement. The Sadler Hotel would never have lowered itself to respond to gossip rags in her grandmother’s day, and she wouldn’t either.

  Instead she’d called the editors at Conde Nast who were even more interested in doing a profile on the new CEO than they’d been two weeks earlier. No surprise there. Alex was very marketable according to the editor she’d spoken with. They’d agreed on the following Wednesday, at The Sadler, with a full crew and a tie-in to London Fashion Week.

  Grannie was all for it.

  The staff had responded well. It was all business as usual, with one glaring exception. Alexis Kirkwood would never be the same. She would never regret her relationship with Marc, but it would be a long time before she would be able to walk through the lobby, or sit in the Library Bar, without thinking about the moments they’d shared.

  Love wasn’t supposed to be painful. It was supposed be magical, full of romance and passion-filled nights with the thought that someday….

  Someday didn’t bear thinking about.

  With a last lingering look at the night sky, Alex rose to her feet and wandered back through the mews. She couldn’t even enter the archway to her flat without feeling overwhelmed by memories of Marc. This was where they’d shared their first kiss. And this was the where she’d pushed him away in favour of her career. Marc had been shocked, and hurt by her rejection, but he understood how difficult it could be to juggle personal passion and a drive to succeed in one’s own right.

  Maybe if their chosen professions had been different, they could have found a way to make it work, but Marc would always be a celebrity, and that made her vulnerable. She knew she would always be in the public eye as the head of The Sadler Hotel, but to think someone had lain in wait to snap their photo and then insinuate that she wasn’t doing her job, galled her no end. She didn’t simper, and she certainly wasn’t “star struck!”

  Tamping down a flash of anger, Alex locked up her heart once again.

  There was no point waiting until dawn to face the day. Yesterday’s crisis had left a pile of paperwork on her desk.

  Head bowed, Marc leaned on the kitchen counter watching the coffee brew. It was pitch black outside, which pretty much summed up his mood. All he could think about was his fight with Alex and how absolutely gutted he was at the thought of never seeing her again.

  He’d trampled on her independence, ignored her strength of purpose and instead of asking her what she wanted, in his rush to make things right, he’d done the exact opposite.

  All because he loved her, and wanted to protect her.

  He’d treated her like a child.

  And Miss Alexis Kirkwood had literally turned her back on him.

  He’d been so stunned, he’d simply stood there and stared. Until his pride had intervened and saved him. He’d left without a word, stopping only long enough to retrieve his personal belongings from Jeremy who had looked at him accusingly.

  Thank goodness he hadn’t bumped into Kate. She would have punched him in the nose and then torn a strip off him.

  The coffee pot buzzed three times.

  Enough of the self-pity. Marc grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it. He was determined to get past the pain, but even fetching the cream from the fridge was fraught with meaning. Visions of Alex in that gorgeous dress of hers bending over to poke about the shelves for the ingredients to make them an omelette, left him choking with grief.

  What a difference twenty-four hours could make.

  He slopped a generous helping of cream into his coffee and picked up where he’d left off.

  Patrolling the flat like a lovesick puppy.

  Picturing Alex, ravishing in her bodice and stockings, opening her arms to him as he drank in her beauty. Trusting him in every way as he took her to his bed…and made her his. And the way she rode his pleasure and made it hers.

  Maybe it was better this way, Marc thought as he sipped his coffee. She’d had her life all mapped out before he’d even arrived in London, and now he’d spoiled it – by falling in love with the most dynamic woman he’d even met, and then exposing her to the seamy side of his celebrity. And the worst of it was, he had a sneaking suspicion that his former agent had tipped off the press.

  Not that it mattered now. The damage had been done.

  Alex had made her choice. A choice he had to respect.

  And now he must make one of his own.

  The first thing he had to do, Marc realized, was get away. The walls of the flat felt as though they were closing in on him, suffocating him with memories of Alex. She had only been there twice, but he sensed her everywhere he turned. He would quit the flat, leave London, and head somewhere Alex had never been so that he could mend in peace. And that meant Fallowfield. The location had been secured. All he needed to do was catch an early train to York, rent a car, and buy some supplies. He would bury himself in his work and get on with his life.

  Decision made, Marc finished his coffee and returned to the bedroom. He stuffed what little he needed back into his bag and got dressed in his usual duds, hoodie and all. Chastising himself for being a sentimental fool, he took a last look around the room, at the mattress on the floor, and the champagne glasses he’d never bothered to return to the kitchen, and went in search of his laptop. He had it slung over his shoulder and was heading for the door when he paused and turned back.

  There was just one more thing. He crossed the reception room, and stopped in front of the mantelpiece. It was impossible to keep his sadness at bay as he picked up the tiny Dragoon and slipped it into his pocket.

  Life was full of ironies, and regrets, thought Marc as he softly closed the door behind him.

  He’d never told Alex he loved her.

  Alex woke with a start. She was slumped face forward across her desk with her head on her arms. Her hair had fallen over her right eye like a curtain, and she’d been drooling out of the corner of her mouth.

  And having an absolutely horrid dream.

  Marc had come for her, but then he’d left and she was chasing after him, running down the street with a horde of other women hot on her heels. And just as she reached out to grab him, he slipped away. She remembered wanting to weep.

  With a struggle, Alex opened her eyes. They felt gritty and heavy with lack of sleep. It was nearly daylight; she had to move before somebody found her. She rolled her head to one side, blew her hair out of her face and blinked.

  A tiny lead soldier stared back at her.

  Alex blinked again. Then sat bolt upright.

  Marc!

  She scanned the shadowed room hungrily. But there was no one there. She leaned forward, peering at the Dragoon. Begging him to talk, to tell her what she already knew. Marc had been here, in this very room while she twitched in her sleep.

  Alex frowned. She’d put her desk light on when she’d arrived a little after four-thirty, unable to sleep or settle, dressed for the day and desperate for a diversion. She remembered looking at the budget for renovating the terrace, and then nothing – exhaustion h
ad finally taken over.

  She straightened the papers she’d been lying on, trying to grasp what it all meant. The thought of Marc turning off the light while she slept touched her deeply. It was such a simple thing, but to her it was the thoughtfulness of love.

  She stretched out her fingers and drew the Dragoon towards her.

  Silent tears slid down her cheeks as she felt the tiny figure warm in her hand. The Dragoon was their mascot, their touchstone, the reason they’d gone to Portobello Road and the link between his family and hers. A snippet of conversation came back to Alex that all but shattered her heart.

  Marc had been talking about the main character in his film, an injured soldier devastated by the loss of his wife, who becomes fixated by his childhood collection of lead soldiers.

  It’s his way of healing, Marc had explained. And then he’d gone on to talk about his lonely years in Hollywood, and how he was trying to rebuild his life.

  Alex gazed at the tiny figure in her hand.

  “I’ve been a fool, haven’t I?” she whispered softly.

  Then she reached for the phone.

  Billows of dust rose in the air as, one by one, Marc whipped the covers off the chairs in a wood-panelled room at the back of the house. It must have been a study at one time, he decided. There was a library table overlooking the manor’s extensive lawns, with built-in book shelves at one end of the room and a massive stone fireplace at the other. Which, according to the estate agent, worked like a charm.

  At least, he’d be busy, thought Marc, as he bundled up the dust covers and added them to the growing pile in the back hallway. So far he’d tackled one of the smaller bedrooms, brought wood in for the fire, and scoped out the kitchen.

  Fatigue dogged his steps, but he didn’t care. He knew sleep would come eventually. Just as it had to Alex. Marc felt his heart clench. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood in her office, soaking up every breath she took, fighting the urge to wake her up and beg her to reconsider.

  But no matter how much he loved her, or how sorry he was for what happened, the decision, if there was one to be made, would have to be hers.