by J. D. Chase
Isla gave her short shrift, informing her to use a staple extractor instead of her nails, and never to paint her nails at the reception desk again. She also reminded Belinda that she’d already managed to get herself a written warning that week so, unless she wanted to raise it with Xander and let him know that her beauty techniques were causing further bother in work time, she’d have to take the resident’s rant on the chin and hope that he didn’t complain in writing to Xander. That seemed to put things into perspective and Barbie went back to her desk to sulk. Isla felt like banging her head against her desk.
Why me? What did I do to deserve having to work with an airhead like Belinda? Whoever appointed her to that job must’ve been mesmerised by her fake tits . . . Nigel! It must’ve been Nigel. Yeah well, thanks Nigel . . . when you get a new job, feel free to poach Barbie at the earliest opportunity.
At lunchtime, Isla ate her chicken salad sandwich and took the opportunity to google luxury hotels in London that specifically offered romantic breaks as a speciality. That proved to be a depressing task since it showed how much work would be needed for the hotel to be competitive in that market. But then she realised that they were all very similar and the hotel would stand out if it had a unique selling point. She resolved to raise the idea with Xander . . . whenever he turned up.
All of the hotels she saw made a big deal of the romantic dining experience. Candlelit tables for two were pictured on all the websites she viewed. She wandered down to the bar that now included what used to be restaurant, since it was open plan. She had a brief chat with Dean and then sat at one of the tables and tried to picture how the bar could be simply and cheaply transformed into a sea of romantic tables for two. Aside from the issue of where the food would come from, she just couldn’t picture it. She also realised that the Friday evening drinks at the bar for non-residents, which was so financially successful, would be entirely at odds with their plan. But if they sacrificed that, it would push profits down. She needed to find a compromise or take a huge gamble.
She wandered back to her office and, just as she was sitting down, an idea began to take shape. She picked up the phone but didn’t get chance to dial. Xander burst through her door, kicked it shut behind him without breaking stride and grasped her face with his hands, before crashing his mouth down on hers. Her mind reeled with shock at his unconventional entrance and the desperate look he’d had about him when he’d appeared. She felt the desperation in his kiss and could see it in his eyes. They blazed fiercely, conveying his hunger and his need for her. His mouth devoured hers as if seeking something from her and she responded as best she could, putting her arms around his neck and pulling him into her.
Gradually, his kiss became less urgent and demanding. It wasn’t exactly tender but it was significantly slower and gentler than before and they both slackened their hold on each other. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. ‘You have no idea how much I needed that or how much I fought against it . . . and how much I’m having to force myself to keep my distance from you.’ Then he walked over to his office door and said, ‘By the way, that did not break the rule,’ before closing the door behind him.
Isla was left to her bruised lips, raging arousal, and crushing disappointment. She’d thought that since he’d broken his keep-a-professional-distance rule anyway, they might continue things in his office, behind locked doors. As she tried to focus on her work she couldn’t help but wonder what had made him behave like that . . . and why he’d tried to fight the urge to kiss her. She just knew he was battling something else beside his stupid rule. She knew the signs – she too kept things to herself when the going got tough and felt she had to face everything on her own. She knew there was no point trying to force him to divulge anything. He’d only do that when he was good and ready.
She wanted to go in and speak with him about her idea for couples dining together but she thought he was probably best left undisturbed. Instead, she decided to see about the feasibility of her idea by calling in to see the manager of the restaurant next door. She picked her time well, between the lunch and dinner periods, and the manager was most eager to help.
She walked into the hotel with a smile on her face and a spring in her step. When she reached her office, Bobbi was waiting and she noticed that Xander’s door was ajar.
‘Hi, Bobbi. What can I do for you?’
‘Bloody hell, Isla. Is that skirt short enough? Belinda was telling Dean that you were showing some leg today and how it must be for his benefit . . . but it only just covers your arse. I mean, it’s a bit short for work isn’t it?’
She glanced down and realised that the stretchy material had worked its way up a little so it was indeed shorter than she’d intended. She hastily pulled it down a couple of inches as she pictured wringing Belinda’s neck.
‘Bugger, I forgot how it rides up,’ she moaned. ‘Anyway, what can I do for you?’
She shrugged. ‘Xander called me to see him but when you weren’t at your desk, he asked me to wait until you were back.’
‘Well, as you can see, I’m back so let’s see if he’s ready for us.’
She tapped on his door and he called for them to come in. They found him sitting behind his desk and he instructed them to sit in the chairs opposite.
‘Right, Bobbi. I’ll come straight to the point. I’ve inspected the hotel twice and the standard of cleaning isn’t up to scratch. I’ve also been looking back through the housekeeping budget, and it’s obvious that you’re spending far too much, particularly on cleaning and toiletry products. In a hotel with mostly business reps and the like as residents and with an overall occupancy rate of less than 60 per cent, can you tell me why you’re getting through over seven litres of shampoo a month and ten litres of body wash every single month? Not to mention the ridiculous amount of toilet rolls, hot beverage supplies and biscuits . . . and don’t get me started on the laundry figures. Something doesn’t add up and, as head of housekeeping, it’s your job to find out what’s causing these anomalies . . . although I suspect that someone on your team is helping themselves. I want it sorted. Fast. And from now on, I’m halving your monthly budget allocation but I want those rooms spotless. Do you understand?’
Bobbi, who’d gone a very strange colour, nodded her head, seemingly unable to speak.
‘You are dismissed,’ Xander barked and she flew out of the door.
‘Bloody hell,’ Isla muttered. ‘That was a bit strong wasn’t it?’ She was reeling from his venomous tone almost as much as Bobbi had.
He glared at her. ‘Someone’s taking the piss . . . what do you want me to do? I’m not paying for them to help themselves.’
She glared back. ‘Xander, we have no evidence that they are.’
His eyebrow raised sharply. ‘Red, I own another hotel. A hotel that is spotless, wouldn’t you agree? A hotel that has significantly more guests in attendance at any one time and has a 30 per cent lower housekeeping budget.’
‘Ah,’ she replied, finding it difficult to argue with that.
He sat back and looked her up and down. ‘I love that your arms and neck are covered for work and only I know why . . . and that they’re my marks. I can remember – in vivid detail – putting every single mark on your skin.’
Isla smirked. She couldn’t say that she could remember him putting the marks there exactly, but remembered the mind-blowing orgasms that had preoccupied her while he was making them.
He leaned forward and pinned her with his hard-as-nails eyes. ‘So tell me, are you wearing that incredibly short skirt for my benefit, or for our puppy-love barman? He’d probably die before he’d put marks on your skin. You know fucking him would be as exciting as watching paint dry, don’t you, Red? He’d never satisfy that whorish pussy of yours. He’d probably never make you come. And certainly not like I can. But he’s a better long-term proposition for you than I am, so you’re probably right to keep him interested and waiting for when I’ve taken all yo
u can give me.’
Her smirk disappeared in a flash. What the fuck? How dare he? How dare he ridicule Dean? Or insinuate that I’m only good to fuck until he gets bored?
She knew she should probably tell him to ignore what Belinda had said to Bobbi, that it was all in her silly little head, but she was angry with his snide remarks so instead she said, ‘Could I just clarify the rules please? Does your rule of acting in a professional manner not include other staff? Because your comments about Dean were not only rude, but totally unprofessional, but then so has every comment you’ve made to him. And I take offence at your comments too – I’m free to wear what I like for whatever reason I like. If there’s an ulterior motive for my choice of attire, I can assure you that it has nothing to do with you. And I can fuck whoever I choose, however I choose.’
She stormed out of his office and closed the door firmly behind her but not before she heard a loud crash in his office.
The spiteful, arrogant bastard! I hope he’s fallen off his chair or something. It would serve him right if he hit his head on the way down. Hard! Was he insinuating that something’s going on between me and Dean? It sounded like it. And why say that Dean’s a better proposition? Because that man is fucked in the head! Perhaps a bang on the head would do him some good. He’s a good fuck . . . no, an exceptional fuck . . . but he’s exceptionally fucked up too.
She jumped when she heard his door handle turn. She looked and sure enough, the handle was down but the door didn’t open. She stared at it for several seconds, her heart racing as she prepared herself for round two, but then the handle slowly righted itself and the door stayed firmly closed.
She breathed a sigh of relief but, as the afternoon wore on, she thought it unlikely that he’d been coming in to continue spewing vitriol – he’d have stormed in like a hurricane if that were the case. She began to fantasise that he’d been coming to apologise for his spiteful comments but then thought better of it.
But, even if he didn’t mean it, why say it?
*
When it was almost time for her to leave, she remembered her idea for dining arrangements but decided she didn’t want to see him, given the mood he was in. She emailed him about it instead. She usually had swift replies from him but not on that occasion.
She picked up her things and made her way through the building. Nadine called to her as she passed; her expression and tone were smug personified. ‘Isla, are you going out with the others later? Isn’t it nice of Xander to treat everyone to a drink this evening? Well, except for me. I’m stuck here until ten o’clock but I can keep Dean company.’
Fuck Belinda and Nadine with their relentless gossip and fucking shit-stirring. What do I care if you keep Dean company? Without missing a beat, Isla called back, ‘No, sorry. I have an exciting night planned. But have a nice time, you could give Dean a hand behind the bar – you know how busy it gets later when all the ladies come to see him after work. You never know, he might get lucky with one of them. Some of them are gorgeous, aren’t they?’
She almost died when she got outside and saw Dean’s confused and hurt face, staring at her from one of the windows. Damn it! I only meant to thwart the rumour mill and wipe the smirk off Nadine’s face. Should I go back and explain? Oh fuck it, I’ve had enough of this hellhole for one day. I guess I’m letting him down less gently than I’d planned.
So she pretended she hadn’t seen him and continued to make her way to the tube station, feeling more of a bitch with every step. Just as she reached the entrance, she thought she heard someone calling her name. She spun around. Xander! What the hell?
He’d abandoned his car in a bus stop and was walking towards her. She didn’t know whether to be pleased to see him – not just because of his odd behaviour earlier in the day, but because of the strange expression on his face. He looked agonized . . . as though he was being forced to see her against his will.
‘Red, I’m sorry I missed you leaving. About earlier . . . Well, I . . . oh hell, I can’t do this here. Let me give you a ride home.’
‘No,’ she replied, not wanting to be in a position where she’d feel the need to refuse him entry into her home. But she didn’t want him there. Not if he was going to behave like he had at the office. There was something odd about him today, like he was taking something out on her. But she couldn’t think of anything that she’d done that was wrong. ‘Anyway, I thought you were taking some of the staff out for a drink.’
He closed his eyes and sighed dramatically. ‘Fuck. I’d forgotten about that. Look, come with me. We’ll have a drink with them and then I’ll give you a lift home. It won’t take long.’
‘No thanks. I’d rather just get home.’
His jaw tensed, betraying his irritation. ‘Fine. I’ll just take you home then.’
She shook her head. ‘You can’t do that . . . you’ve made arrangements. It would be rude not to turn up when they’re expecting you. You’re supposed to be buying everyone a drink aren’t you?’
He screwed his face up in frustration. ‘Why does everything have to be so fucking complicated? I need to talk to you. How can I do that if you won’t come with me to the pub and you won’t let me take you home?’
She couldn’t answer his questions, but something about the sight of him looking so wretched and despondent when she was used to his confident arrogance began to weaken her resolve.
‘Can’t you talk to me here?’ she whispered. ‘And then go to the pub?’
‘They’ll all be there waiting for me already. Come with me, Red. Please? You can wait in the car while I get a round of drinks in if you really don’t want to come in. I’ll come straight out.’
She groaned. ‘If I turn up with you, or wait in the car, they’ll still see us together. And us leaving together. You know what they’re like. The gossips will be in overdrive all night long. That’s exactly what you didn’t want to happen.’
‘It doesn’t look like I’ll be owning the hotel for much longer so it doesn’t really matter. I’m aware of someone who wants to buy it and convert the building into apartments. So if it’s just the gossip merchants being there that bothers you, then you may as well come along and have a drink. I can see from your face that your day has been no barrel of laughs either.’
Her jaw almost hit the floor. ‘You won’t be owning the hotel? What the hell?’
He shrugged. ‘I could tell you about it but for that you have to give me the opportunity, Red.’
There was no decision to make. She needed her job. Therefore, she needed to know what Xander meant.
‘Okay. Now hurry, let’s get to the pub, have one drink and fuck off. Then you can tell me what in hell is going on.’
As soon as they walked in together, Belinda’s heavily pencilled brows shot up and she nudged Bobbi. Isla let it wash over her. Xander was right, in the grand scheme of things, the rumour mill was the least of her worries at that moment. He bought everyone a drink, then he and Isla hastily knocked theirs back and he announced he had to dash home. He gave a theatrical performance, turning to Isla and asking whether she lived out Southgate way, since he’d stopped and offered her a lift the previous week. In order to keep her face straight, she could only nod. He then said that he was passing through the area on his way home and offered her a lift. She accepted quickly and they left, leaving Belinda to sulk in envy.
Isla was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realised that Xander hadn’t driven towards Southgate until he pulled up outside his other hotel.
She looked at him, silently questioning his motives. He held up his hands saying that he needed privacy and he thought that neutral territory was the most conducive environment for what he had to say. When her eyes narrowed, he assured her that sex was the last thing on his mind and she believed him.
He led her straight to the lift and took her up to his suite. Then he poured them both a gin and tonic and slumped on to the sofa next to her, closing his eyes and allowing his head to flop back.
Isla
appraised him as she sipped her drink. Man, he looks exhausted. And worried sick. Maybe the short-term cash flow problem wasn’t as short-term or as minor as he’d thought . . . or led me to believe. I hope he isn’t really considering selling the hotel to a developer – I’d have to sell the flat and then what? Move to Edinburgh to stay with my parents? No job. No home. No friends. No, I can’t let him do that . . . but I’m not sure how I can help if I don’t know what’s going on.
Should I ask him? It would be direct and probably rude to ask him outright – but that’s probably what he’d do. Oh . . .
He’d opened his eyes and was watching her in his peripheral vision. When he saw that she’d noticed him, he sat up and ran his hand through his hair.
‘I can see you’re worried, Red. I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. But what I said was true, unfortunately.’ His lips formed a straight line and he shrugged. ‘And I can’t see a viable way around it.’
She nodded. ‘Forgive me if, at any time, I ask inappropriate questions. Your financial affairs are your concern but if you sell the hotel, I’ll be out of a job and I have no savings to tide me or my mortgage payments over and it affects me badly. So I’ll ask you to tell me as much or as little as you wish.’
He took a large gulp of his drink and sighed heavily. ‘For reasons that I don’t want to go into, I attempted to purchase the hotel but remain anonymous. That proved to be impossible – as did raising all the cash at short notice. The hotel had been on the market for quite some time but the asking price was ridiculous—’
‘Had it? I didn’t know about that.’
‘Yeah. It would have been up for sale way before you even started working for Gerald. Anyway, I’d seen it and dismissed it at that price. Then my financial priorities changed and I needed to purchase a long-term investment, but I didn’t want it in my name so I couldn’t have a mortgage on it for that reason. But also, because I wanted there to be no connection to me, the cash had to be untraceable too. I raised half the cash and made an agreement with Gerald that he’d retire but keep the hotel on in his name for a few months, then when I transferred the remaining balance he’d transfer the hotel into my sole ownership. Are you with me so far?’
