by Amy Garvey
“What on earth are you doing, dear?” The old woman squinted through the bright red frames of her glasses. “Oh, are you re-covering this old thing? It’s about time, you know. That old velvet has seen better days. You should try the new microsuede everyone talks about!”
“Um, good,” Olivia said as Louise Gilchrist crossed the room to the revolving door, her customary flowered tote bag over one arm. If it was Saturday, Louise ventured out to buy her groceries, just as surely as the sun rose and set.
But Olivia never would have guessed that Louise was tired of the banquette—she had lived at Callender House for eighteen years, taking over her sister Adele’s apartment when she passed away unexpectedly. Louise was close to seventy, Olivia was pretty sure, and her usual fashion statement was something in polyester with matching plastic beads. She would have thought the red velvet was right up her generation’s alley.
But what did she know? She hadn’t been in Louise’s apartment in years. It could be all chrome and black lights, although she kind of doubted it. Still, microsuede? God, maybe Louise was even hooked up to the Internet.
“Well, at least she’s honest,” Josie said as she crouched beside Olivia with a steaming cup of coffee. She was wearing an old pair of denim overalls with a black turtleneck beneath them, and her traditional ponytail had been wrapped around its base into a bun. Ready for painting, she’d said with a marked lack of enthusiasm when she showed up this morning, although Olivia wasn’t really sure why she’d come. She didn’t work Saturdays.
“You know, if you’re such a nonfan of painting, what are you doing here?” she asked now, setting down her knife and picking up her own coffee, which had gone cold. “You could be out doing a million things today. Seeing a movie. Antiquing. Shopping. Sleeping.”
“Haven’t gotten much of that yourself, huh?” Josie winked at her, but she settled on the floor and crossed her legs like a child waiting for storytime. “I’m only here because I’m running the pool on how much paint you get in your hair by the end of the day.” She laughed when Olivia rolled her eyes. “Okay, I admit it. My social life is a disaster. Being here is more fun than sitting home and wondering if I should get a cat.”
“I have a cat!”
Josie patted her head fondly. “At least you don’t have seven. Or seventeen.”
“Hey.”
Josie threw her hands up, smirking. “I’m the last one to make fun, believe me. At least you have a sex life. And it seems to be a good one.”
Hot color flooded Olivia’s cheeks. “It’s not half bad at that.”
“You’re a queen of understatement,” Josie said wryly and got to her feet. “Now, what should I do? Stand aside and supervise? Make droll comments on the proceedings?”
“Funny.” Olivia pointed to Gus, who was off in the corner near the bar, sanding woodwork. “Help him out. We should be ready to paint in a little while.”
Josie sighed. “Okay, okay. Is it a fun color at least? Something outrageous and unexpected?”
Olivia waved the color chip at her.
“It’s…green.”
“It’s Velvet Leaf,” Olivia said primly, which was hard to do when she was sprawled on the bare floor with her hair bundled into a bandana and her old sweatpants on. “And it’s a very Bohemian color.”
Josie perked up at that. “Bohemian? We’re going Bohemian?”
“Well, funky. Funky Bohemian.” Olivia shrugged. “I’m not sure, exactly. Bohemian actually works with some of the things I can’t change right now, in terms of the era. And it’s much more colorful. And funky.”
“You said that.” Josie grinned. “I think it’ll be great. I like funky. You can’t have ‘funky’ without fun, right?”
Olivia giggled. “Right.”
Of course, it wasn’t going to be quite that easy, she thought, surveying the chaos around her. She’d never reupholstered anything before, for one thing, although Roseanne had promised to help. She had years of sewing Renaissance Faire costumes under her belt. The question was what the lobby was going to look like when it was all done. A silk purse hung from a sow’s ear? A string of pearls over jeans and a ratty old T-shirt?
She wanted to be honest with herself, that was the thing. It had gotten much easier since her weird wake-up call two weeks ago, but it hadn’t been very pleasant. Suddenly the things that had always been happily familiar and nostalgic just looked…old. Worn out. Broken, in some cases. She didn’t want to fool herself into believing that a little paint and some new drapes were going to change the world. Or at least the fate of the hotel.
She was trying to ignore the fact that the brass polish she’d ordered was only making the pitted trim on the reception desk look worse. And that in removing the banquette’s ancient red velvet, she’d accidentally torn a few of the cushions.
“You’re going to exhaust yourself, love.”
She looked up to find Rhys standing over her, his hands in his pockets and his brow furrowed into a concerned frown. She smiled up at him. “The only thing I’m exhausting so far is my credit card.”
He was incredulous. “You’re using your own dosh for this?”
“Well, spontaneous renovation isn’t exactly in the budget,” she admitted, and took his hand when he offered it to help her off the floor. “But I want to. It’s okay, really.”
He shook his head, his loose, tousled hair swinging against his face. “You’re a wonder, Liv.”
She let him pull her close and hid her face against his T-shirt, breathing him in. She wasn’t a wonder. Not the way he meant. Not unless he’d intended to say “wondrously idiotic.” She could blather to herself all day long about honesty, but she was certainly having a hard time being honest with herself when it came to Rhys. Every day he was still at the hotel, still in her bed, was another gift—and another wrench she would feel, painfully, in awful, secret places, when he moved on.
If she was going to embrace reality at this late date, she should at least ask Rhys if this relationship was going to last after he left for L.A. Or simply push him away and save herself a little bit of heartbreak later.
But she couldn’t. She was too good at fantasies and daydreams. And Rhys was, so far, a daydream come to life. Wasn’t he here this morning, helping to scrape and sand when the hotel wasn’t his problem? Hadn’t he brought her coffee and breakfast this morning before she was even out of bed? He was Prince Charming, for heaven’s sake.
“You’ve made a right mess of that banquette,” he said now, and she sighed.
An honest Prince Charming, but still.
“Roseanne is going to help me on Monday,” she explained. “I was just…getting it started.”
“Looks like you nearly ended it instead,” he pointed out, toeing up a piece of the old upholstery that still had ancient stuffing attached.
Maybe “charming” wasn’t the right word, either.
“Are you quite through?” she said, pushing away from him.
“Don’t you sound like a British schoolmarm when you’re narked.” He gave her a quick, smacking kiss and patted her rear end in punctuation. “Sorry, love. Do you have any gas masks, by the way? This place is probably crawling with asbestos, you know.”
When he walked away, she smacked his rear, hard, but she couldn’t help laughing. Sheer willpower had to count for something, didn’t it? No matter how much or how little she could change this old place, at least she would have tried. And that was a success in itself.
She took a deep breath and turned to attack the banquette once more, full of confidence and hope.
Until Angel walked into the lobby with two strange men and announced with a helpless shrug, “The sign outside’s fallen down again.”
Three hours later, Rhys stood up and stretched. He’d been sanding woodwork for far too long, in far too uncomfortable a position. If anyone had told him a few weeks ago he’d be holed up in a one-star hotel working his arse off for free, he’d have laughed and ordered another pint or two.
Ther
e were easily a dozen things he would rather be doing at the moment, chief among them stripping Olivia’s clothes off and taking her in a hot, pulsing shower, but that would have to wait until later. If she was so determined to get this lobby redone today, then he was going to help. Whether he liked it or not.
Didn’t mean it wasn’t time to break for a few cold drinks and a bit of lunch, though. And, God or Olivia willing, a nap.
She was busy trying to cram exploded upholstery stuffing back into the banquette, and drifts of yellowed cotton had stuck to her hair and her shirt. She looked up at him when he stood over her and offered a weak smile.
“I feel like I walked into an I Love Lucy episode,” she said.
“A what now?”
“Didn’t you ever watch TV as a kid?” She let him pull her to her feet and picked a bit of cotton from the front of her shirt.
“I watched EastEnders, love,” he said, “just like all proper Londoners. Time for a break, yeah? You look done in.”
“Well, everyone else is still working,” she said doubtfully. Gus and Josie were still working on the east wall of the lobby, and Angel had given the two new guys the job of cleaning the tile floor near the elevators, which they didn’t seem well pleased about. Two girls from Maribel’s housekeeping staff were still working on the reception desk, which unfortunately looked worse now than it had before.
But the minute Olivia glanced about the room, heads came up automatically. “I could use a break,” Josie said, and Lindy put down her polish and rag. “Me, too. I’m starved.”
“Lunch for everyone then,” Rhys announced, and steered Olivia into the empty bar and then into a chair. “I’ll pop into the shop and order some sandwiches, yeah? Tommy can pour some cold drinks all around.”
“I don’t think Tommy’s here today.” Olivia’s shoulders had begun to sag, and she leaned back in the chair gratefully.
“I’ll pour.” Josie had followed them into the bar with Gus on her heels and was already behind the counter. “I’m parched. And hungry. And tired. Am I getting overtime for this? Where are those nice home improvement people from all the TV shows when you need them?”
She squirted diet soda into a glass with ice and handed across the counter to Rhys. “Give that to Olivia. First drink’s on the house.”
“I heard that,” Olivia muttered, but she accepted the glass and took a long drink. “Oh, caffeine. How I love you.”
Rhys snickered and kissed the top of her head. “Well, the nosh is on me, love. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Want some help?” Gus said, his eyes pleading with Rhys from beneath his Yankees cap. He’d come into the bar with Josie, sanding dust and primer all over his sweatshirt.
Looked as if he wanted to talk. The bloke’s expression bordered on desperate, and when Rhys saw him glance over at Josie, busy gulping down a glass of water herself, he thought he knew why.
“Sure, mate,” he said easily. “You can point me in the direction of the best sandwich shop.”
They set off, skirting the housekeeping girls, who had claimed a corner of the lobby floor and were already busy on their cell phones. The new maintenance blokes had disappeared, which was a bad sign, but Angel would have to deal with that himself, Rhys thought. He was already in over his head when it came to Olivia, much less the blasted hotel.
As was Gus, apparently. Because the moment they were through the revolving door and out on the pavement in the crisp October sunshine, he said, “You have to help me.”
Bloody hell. Did he look like the sodding answer man? All he wanted was a roast beef on rye, and the chance to hijack Olivia into bed sooner rather than later. But the look on Gus’s face was too pathetic to ignore. “Help you with what, mate?”
“Josie.” He spread his hands helplessly as they turned onto Fiftieth Street and headed east. “I’m in love with her. I’m so in love with her I can’t think straight. I’m pretty sure I sanded the same piece of woodwork about fifteen times this morning. And then primed a strip I hadn’t sanded at all.”
Rhys restrained a snort of amusement. Poor fellow.
Not that he had any right to laugh, he realized with a jolt a moment later. He was in the same bloody boat. He and Gus were probably sharing a single oar.
Not that he was in love with Olivia. He didn’t fall in love, as a rule. He was a bit obsessed at the moment. That was all. It would pass. Had to, didn’t it? He was leaving for L.A. shortly after the Halloween ball, and after that he was going to have decisions to make. He should have been giving them some consideration before now, truth to tell. What he would do with the contest money if he won. What he would do with himself if he didn’t.
And he would think about it, he promised himself. Later today even. After he took Olivia to bed.
“Ever since Josie started work at the hotel,” Gus had continued, padding alongside Rhys with his hands in his jeans pockets and his ball cap casting a shadow over his face. “I mean, from the first day. I took one look at her and almost tripped over my own feet.”
“I did trip,” Rhys muttered. “At least you didn’t end up on your arse.”
Gus smiled a little bit at that, but as they stopped at the light at Park Avenue, he turned to Rhys. “I mean it. I don’t know what to do. When she came over to help me this morning, I almost threw up.”
“Crikey, man,” Rhys protested, hands in the air. “Too much information.”
“I said almost.” Gus sighed. “I just don’t know what to do. I can’t think about anything but her, but I don’t even know how to talk to her. I haven’t…been in many…relationships.”
“Yeah?” Rhys frowned and nodded his head as the light changed. “Come on. What do you mean by not many, exactly?”
“Um, three,” Gus admitted, his eyes on his worn-out Adidas. “And one of them was in high school.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes. This didn’t sound promising. “What about the other two?”
“One was in college. And one was…while I was in Riverside, writing The Other Side of the Moon.” He looked so sheepish, Rhys half expected him to baaaah.
“You had a relationship in a mental hospital?” he said incredulously.
“With a nurse,” Gus was quick to point out, even though his cheeks had flamed with color. “But she was a little upset to discover that I wasn’t, you know, a patient after all.”
Rhys nearly tripped over the curb as they crossed onto Lexington. “That’s what she wanted?”
“Well, no, not exactly.” Hunching his shoulders, Gus risked a sidelong glance. “She wasn’t happy about the lying.”
“But the fact that you weren’t insane wasn’t a bonus?”
“Look, that’s not the point,” Gus insisted, and waved an arm at the entrance to the Hello Market. “The point is that I don’t have a lot of experience at this, and I can’t get Josie off my mind. For one thing, she’s always there, you know? I see her every day! There’s no escaping her!”
“She’s not the plague, mate, she’s a pretty woman,” Rhys said, eyebrow raised at the slightly hysterical tone in Gus’s voice. “Why get her off your mind at all? Or, to be more specific, why not get her somewhere else? Ask her out. Ask her to lunch, or dinner, or a movie. Something.”
Gus turned wild eyes on him. “Then what?”
“If you don’t know that, better not ask her out at all, mate.” Rhys folded his arms over his chest as they moved up in the line at the deli counter. “I mean, I’m not going to come with you, yeah?”
“No, I meant…well, what if she says no?”
“World won’t stop turning, Gus,” Rhys said kindly. “But you’ll never know unless you ask, yeah? And if you want my opinion on the matter, she worked right alongside you all morning quite happily. I’m thinking she won’t say no.”
A tentative smile lit up Gus’s face, and Rhys turned to look at the menu board with a sinking heart. Bloody hell. If the woman refused Gus now, he’d be forced to have a bit of chat with her.
As if he need
ed to be Gus’s knight in shining armor now. Bloody hell. How did he get himself into these things? Before he’d come to New York he’d been quite satisfied to look out for number one, no strings attached to anyone else, no promises made.
Promises got a bloke in trouble. And believing in promises made was even worse. The great majority of people on the planet couldn’t be trusted—he’d figured that out long ago, thanks to his mum.
But he believed Olivia. Believed in her, as well. Had since the moment he’d met her. She was true, all the way down to her bones, he was sure of it.
The kid behind the counter barked, “Next?” and Rhys stepped aside to let Gus order.
Not that it meant anything, he told himself as Gus reeled off a list of sandwiches to carry back to the others. He’d always prided himself on his honesty, hadn’t he? Well, the honest truth was he wished he could hang about Callender House a while longer. With Olivia. That was all. There was nothing serious about it. Nothing permanent, for God’s sake. He was sure she knew it, too. Nothing to worry about on that front. Anyway, it wasn’t going to happen. He had his flight to L.A. already booked, and it wasn’t as if Olivia expected him to come straight back to her once the competition was over.
But as he and Gus moved aside to wait for their order, he ignored the spike of unease in his chest. He wasn’t lying to himself. He didn’t do that, never had.
He glanced out the broad window to look at the sky. Still a clear, crisp blue, which meant no chance of lightning today.
God, he was a lucky man.
Chapter 12
S ometimes, Olivia decided two days later as she stood in the restaurant kitchen with Josef, it might have been better to stay asleep.
She’d come to think of her life pre-Rhys that way. It was amazing, really, how much she had missed, just drifting through every day here at the hotel like some sort of ghost, not quite real, not quite touching anything—or letting anything touch her.
