Page 12 of Resisting Mr Black
The warm air hits me as soon as I step out onto the grimy pavement and confirms my thoughts that it’s going to be another beautiful day. I climb into my red Mini and pull away, my thoughts already turning to the day ahead.
There’s a baby shower in the Orangery this afternoon at two o’clock. Hopefully today won’t be as hectic as yesterday.
The centre console of the dashboard lights up and “Mum calling” flashes on the display. I roll my eyes. She knows I’ll be driving to work but I’ll answer it anyway because if I don’t, she’ll worry.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Hi, Sophie. You okay?”
There’s no way I’m telling her about the asbestos or the fact my job’s potentially at risk. After everything I went through with Theo, she frets about me.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I reply, trying to sound convincing. “Are you and Martin okay?”
I make a point of asking about my stepdad. When Mum started dating him, five years after Dad died, my hormonal fifteen-year-old self didn’t take too kindly to having another man in the house. Even though we’re fine now, I’m still a little embarrassed about my appalling behaviour towards him back them.
“Yes, he’s good. He’s just had a new shed delivered. Are you on your way to work?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be quick then. I’m just calling to remind you that it’s Martin’s sixtieth birthday at the end of the month, and we’re having a meal at Carluccio’s. You are coming, aren’t you?”
I suppress another eye roll. I could have guessed Martin would choose to celebrate at their local Italian restaurant, where they’ve been hundreds of times. He’s nothing if not a creature of habit. “Of course. I’ll meet you there.”
“Great, wonderful. He will be pleased.” I know Mum is smiling and I can’t help but feel pleased she’s pleased. “Okay, I’ll let you go then. Bye, sweetie.”
“Bye, Mum.”
By the time the call ends, the city skyline has given way to trees and greenery as I head towards the hotel. The blazing sun lifts my mood and makes me forget about my job and the asbestos. But not Art.
My stomach churns with nerves at the thought of him. He’s taken up residence at the front of my mind and is proving difficult to budge. I don’t think I’ve got the energy to endure another day like yesterday, full of enough heated looks and sexual tension to make my knickers burst into flames. My defences are waning already, and I haven’t even reached the hotel yet. I’m going to stay as far as possible away from him, I decide. Sit in my office and keep my head down. There’s every possibility that he won’t even be at the hotel today. Surely, he’s a busy man. Isn’t he?
By the time I turn into the gravel driveway of the hotel, I’ve convinced myself he won’t be there. I’m instantly proven wrong when I spy his Aston Martin parked up right outside the front of the hotel where I told him to move it from yesterday.
He’s probably done that on purpose,I tell myself, as I pull up beside a white transit van. I climb out of the car, swing my handbag over my shoulder, and stroll through the front doors, passing a guy wearing white-paint-splattered overalls and plastic bags on his feet.
Some part of the hotel is being decorated. Art hasn’t wasted any time.
I smile politely at Kelly, the receptionist, who’s covering Lucy’s morning off, and carry on down the corridor, past George’s office on the right, and towards mine at the end.
I push open the door and freeze in horror at the sight of the back of a head of thick dark hair, and a set of exquisitely toned shoulders peeking above the padded leather chair. A familiar deep voice is talking on a mobile phone. My heartbeat instinctively speeds up at the sight of him. He slowly swivels round and flashes a perfect white smile as he sets eyes on me. Today he’s in beige and white: sandy-coloured chinos, brown suede boat shoes, and a very, very tight white t-shirt with a V-neck. Left foot resting on his right knee. I haven’t moved a muscle for at least ten seconds; I’m sure it’s obvious I’m checking him out. And as his dark gaze roams over my body, I notice he’s doing exactly the same.
You’re fucked off with him.
I storm over to the spare desk and dump my handbag down in a huff. I pull up a chair and switch on the laptop. He’s facing me now, looking over the desk at me wearing the same annoying smile he had on his face yesterday.
I angrily tap the spacebar and glare at the screen waiting for the machine to boot up. Every nerve ending in my body is jangling at being this close to him again and I’m worried my defences aren’t going to be able to hold for another day.
“Listen, I’ve got to go. Call you later.” He ends the call abruptly and places the phone on the desk. “Good morning, brown eyes.”
I glare across the desk at him despite the fluttery feeling his voice evokes in my knickers. “What are you doing in my office?”
He tilts his head to the side in that way of his, he’s still smiling. “I think you’ll find every room in this place belongs to me and I can’t sit in my office as it’s being decorated.”
“You didn’t hang about getting that sorted, did you?”
“What’s the point in fucking about? If you want to do something, do it.” His voice is calm and controlled but I can’t help feeling that he’s not talking about his office being decorated anymore.
“Why are you bothering having your office decorated if you’re selling the place?”