On it was the usual list of last-minute emergencies, to which, Alex mentally added a reminder to pop down to maintenance and sign the work order for Bert. And quell any rumours while she was there. Although she didn’t think Bert would say anything, even if he did suspect Marc’s true identity. A regular per diem was a luxury.
“Oh, and we’re waiting for Mr. Daniels’ luggage. It’s arriving separately.”
“Duly noted,” said Alex, absolutely certain that short-staffed or not, she’d seen enough of Marc Daniels for one day.
Prowling the suite trying to decide what to do about Miss Kirkwood while the afternoon wore on wasn’t getting him anywhere, Marc decided. He’d made a few calls, bailed on a dinner with his production manager and sent out a few emails, but his thoughts kept returning to what had happened earlier.
In no way did wanting a fresh start in England justify playing anyone for a fool, let alone a young woman trying to do her job. What had he been thinking? Marc frowned. He doubted Miss Kirkwood would be thrown off balance for more than a moment or two, but there was something about the flash of anger in her eyes that he couldn’t forget. He’d behaved like one of those Hollywood celebrities he so loathed.
Pushing that unwelcome thought aside, he considered the woman herself. Beautiful, self-contained, soft skin that took on a sweet rosy flush when she was embarrassed, the delicacy of her wrists that the cut of her jacket emphasized rather than hid. She was attractive, yes, but what had caught his attention was her unconscious kindness and burst of justified anger. Marc smiled. No question that he felt a very strong attraction to Miss Kirkwood.
What incredibly bad timing! The paparazzi had been having a field day over his supposed engagement to Vivyana, and while he doubted Miss Kirkwood had the time or the desire to read celebrity gossip, once the press learned he was in London, it would be hard to avoid. They could eat someone like Miss Kirkwood alive if he wasn’t careful, and he hadn’t become as selfish as that.
Nonetheless, an apology was in order.
Then he could put the whole incident out of his mind, find a flat and get on with his next project.
Flowers. He would send a bouquet of flowers. He picked up the phone and then immediately replaced it. Flowers would be too obvious, and too easily misconstrued. And not just by Miss Kirkwood. The rest of the staff might misinterpret his intentions, and he certainly didn’t want anyone at the front desk to make the connection.
The whole thing was ridiculous. He didn’t even know her first name.
Putting his erratic train of thought down to jet lag and a seriously tight schedule, he wandered into the bedroom. The bellboy had delivered his luggage an hour ago. Personally escorted by the assistant manager. Marc had been hoping for Miss Kirkwood, but didn’t really expect to see her after the way he’d behaved earlier. No doubt she would make herself scarce for the rest of his stay at The Sadler. Which was a pity; she’d stirred something in him that had lain dormant for a long time.
Might as well unpack, order dinner to be sent up, and call it a night.
Yet twenty minutes later, he was standing by the window peering over the cobblestoned courtyard behind the hotel where The Sadler’s refurbished mews stood quietly in the gathering dusk. He’d contemplated renting one of their larger suites on a long-term basis, but what he really wanted was a place to call his own.
Committing himself to behind the camera was a big step for him, one he’d always dreamt of taking. When an opportunity to work with an independent company based here in England had come along, he’d jumped at it, knowing it was the right time for a move. Even though an action hero has a best-before date, the public didn’t always like it when an actor made a change.
Directing would expose him to another type of attention, yet it wouldn’t solve the aching loneliness that often went with stardom. Only a lucky few seemed to escape it.
Deep in thought, Marc almost missed her. She was crossing the courtyard, her arms swinging loosely at her sides. She must be tired, he thought, after the day she’d had. He watched her angle slightly towards an arched opening, wishing he’d had an opportunity to make it up to her, and then she disappeared from view.
Marc pulled back the curtain and waited by the window. Only a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
Room service.
With reluctance, he let the curtain drop.
The second Alex entered her flat at the back of the mews, she kicked off her shoes and padded across the room to the tiny kitchen. She’d been happy to fill in at the last minute, but what a day! Backed-up toilets, faux plumbers, and a drop-dead gorgeous film star.
Tea.
She needed tea.
Followed by a hot bath, a good book, and bed.
It had taken all her self-control not to turn around and look back at the hotel as she’d crossed the courtyard. But that would have been an acknowledgement of how much her encounter with Marc Daniels had affected her. His incredible eyes and easy confidence had captured her attention from the moment he’d first slipped off his sunglasses. But it wasn’t all about looks; he had that indefinable characteristic that made him stand out in a crowd. Once met, never forgotten.
Alex wondered if his ego had been bruised because she had not recognized either his face or his name. Yet the humorous twitch of his lips had told her that he was more likely to be amused than offended. Another point in his favour.
Reaching for the kettle, Alex slowly filled it with water and set it to boil.
No matter what she thought of Marc Daniels personally, she had no trouble understanding his need for privacy. Not everyone knew she was the great-granddaughter of Alexander Sadler, the hotel’s founder, and she preferred it that way.
She wanted to earn her place the old-fashioned way – start at the bottom and work her way to the top without jeopardizing her position, or the hotel’s reputation. Which meant Marc Daniels was definitely off-limits. Out of sight and out of mind. In fact, totally banished from her thoughts. Starting first thing in the morning…
CHAPTER TWO
Alex wanted to pump the air with her fist. It had taken her half the morning, but she’d done it! Centre court seats at Wimbledon for a couple from New York. A friend of a friend of a friend who was willing to swap a day’s tennis for a walk on the red carpet in two weeks’ time.
“I love my job,” she breathed aloud as she bent over to write a note.
“Glad to hear it.”
Alex felt her heart clench. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. She’d spent the last two days avoiding him, and tuning out the idle chatter of the younger girls who were besotted with him. Now Marc Daniels, the film star whose name seemed to be on everyone’s lips, was standing in front of her desk. In her lobby. Alex straightened slowly, helpless at the sight of him. Blue-eyed, clean shaven, and every inch the star from his crisp oxford-cloth shirt, also blue, to his well-cut jeans.
He shouldn’t smile; it was so unfair.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Daniels?”
“You could start by calling me Marc.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” Alex looked over his shoulder. She was such a charlatan. He was no more “Mr. Daniels” in her imagination than he was in the flesh, but just because he was the embodiment of male perfection didn’t mean he could jump the queue. At least not hers. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” Alex signalled one of the clerks at reception.
“Certainly.” Marc took a step back, his expression bland. The last thing he wanted was to further offend the prickly Miss Kirkwood. Although he would dearly like to tease her about the u-turn she’d made last evening when he’d come out of the bar with his press agent, or the way she’d sidled into the elevator behind a party of six just as he was heading out for a meeting with his producer.
Perhaps he should have kept the beard. The young man Miss Kirkwood had called over was now standing next to him as wide-eyed as a raccoon. Apparently, “Jeremy” was her
assistant. Cursing the burden of celebrity, Marc politely ignored him. Until he realized it wasn’t him the kid was interested in; it was her. That brought Marc up short. He was competing with a twenty-one-year-old! Who would have lingered had Miss Kirkwood not firmly sent him on his way to deliver the message she had just written. Only then, he noted with appreciation, did she turn her gaze on him.
“How can I help you, Mr. Daniels?” she asked sweetly.
Marc gave himself a shake. “I wanted to apologize for the other day. It was…childish.” He winced at his choice of words, yet they were true. He had acted as the only child he had been, the son of a pair of academics who were so engrossed in their professional lives they had often left him to his own devices. Toy soldiers re-enacting endless battles had turned out to be the perfect training ground for an actor. But when it came to the conversations that really mattered, he invariably flubbed his lines. “You were only doing your job,” he began again, “in what I now realize was a difficult situation.”
“No excuse,” countered Miss Kirkwood. “Had I known who you were…but then, here I am about to give one.” Was that a touch of humour he heard?
“You have to admit it was pretty funny when we heard that toilet flush.”
He was rewarded with a smile that lit up the same golden-brown eyes that only a few days ago had flashed at him in anger. Now that was worth grovelling for. “Shall we call it a truce then?”
“Yes. I would agree to that.”
“Thank you,” said Marc. He meant it in all sincerity knowing that what he really wanted to do was meet her later for a drink or have dinner together, but that would make her uncomfortable. The other afternoon had been a lesson in humility. He ought to be protecting her from the likes of him, not leveraging his position at her expense. It was obvious how important this job was to her. If he were to hazard a guess, he’d say it was disproportionately important. To jeopardize her standing at The Sadler would not endear him to her in any way.
She was eying him expectantly. “And I can help you, how, Mr. Daniels?”
“You could start by dropping the ‘Mr. Daniels’.”
She responded with a perfectly arched brow.
Marc let it ride. Perhaps things would be different once he’d actually settled in London and begun his new life. He craved normalcy. And relationships he could trust. He longed for balance, for people who didn’t want a piece of him. If only he could develop the patience he needed when all he wanted to do was take a woman like Miss Kirkwood in his arms and steal her away.
In the meantime, he had work to do. His plans for the future would take all of his attention.
“Miss Kirkwood,” he said fighting the urge to bow, “Would you be so kind as to hire me a car and a driver?”
“For this afternoon?”
“No, not today. Tomorrow morning, say ten o’clock?”
He watched her jot down his information. Slim and precise in movement, even her handwriting was elegant.
And then suddenly, she was on high alert. A minor royal, whom even Marc recognized and would prefer to avoid, had entered the lobby and was heading towards the concierge desk. Time for him to take his leave.
As he strode purposefully towards the front entrance, his mind reeled with the possibilities of life in London and seeing Miss Kirkwood again.
It wasn’t until he’d left The Sadler behind and reached the flower-lined pathways of Green Park, that Marc realized he still didn’t know her first name.
For Alex, the next few hours were a blur. She had a hurried lunch meeting with senior staff, followed by an equally hectic afternoon arranging last-minute theatre tickets and dinner reservations for hotel guests. So when a hand-delivered note arrived from her grandmother inviting her to five o’clock tea in The Garden Room, Alex was more than ready for a break.
Leaving Jeremy to man the desk in her absence, Alex slipped behind the scenes to the employees’ lounge. She could have gone back to her flat, but living on site wasn’t a perk she liked to advertise. Besides, the lounge was convenient and she felt comfortable using it. Her friend Kate was there now, changing her shoes and removing her name badge for the commute back to the suburbs.
“How was your day off?” asked Alex, pulling a cosmetic bag from her locker.
“Great. I slept through most of it.” Kate finished tying her laces and stretched out her legs. “Although I did hear an intriguing rumour when I came in this morning.”
“Really?” drawled Alex. “Rumours at The Sadler? Never.” She held up her compact and examined her face.
Kate laughed. “Don’t be putting on airs, Alex. This is me, your conduit to backstairs gossip. And now that we’re all back at work, we want to know what we missed.” She stood up and approached her friend. “Nice, is he?”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Alex making a moue with her lips. But she did know. She’d been fighting her feelings for Marc Daniels since the moment she set eyes on him. And in a roundabout way, she was pleased that she’d had no idea who he was. Celebrity worship was not her style. Nor his, she suspected.
“Alex….”
“Okay. He’s gorgeous. He’s polite and he’s trouble.”
Kate reached inside her locker for her rucksack. “I know he’s gorgeous! I served him breakfast this morning. It’s the trouble I want to hear about.”
“There’s nothing!”
“Not what I heard.” Kate broke out in a Cheshire-like smile. Clearly she wasn’t going anywhere until she heard the full story.
Alex uncapped for her lipstick. “What exactly did you hear…not that I’m interested.” She touched up her lips and then slid her makeup back into her bag with studied nonchalance.
“Well…,” said Kate, sounding much too gleeful, “…according to my sources…first, Marc Daniels tricks you into going into his suite, and then Bert wanders out of the loo to find Mister Daniels undressing you, with his teeth, ripping the teeny tiny buttons off your shirt while you pretend to fight him off….”
“Which you, of course, totally believe!”
Kate snorted. “Are you kidding me! What woman in her right mind would fight him off?”
“Actually, I was swooning with ecstasy!”
“Really?”
“Nooo! If anyone got caught in the act, it was Bert. You should have seen him. Just as I was telling Mr. Daniels there was a problem with the toilet, it flushes, and out comes Bert hoisting up the back of his pants!”
“And you’re blushing because…?” Kate probed. And then she left, her parting shot hanging in the air as the door quietly closed behind her.
Alex rested her forehead against the cool metal of the locker. The gossips had it right; something had happened in that suite. The question was, what did it mean?
A few minutes later, Alex was on her way to The Garden Room. When she was a little girl, trying desperately to sit still during formal family teas, she used to pretend the room was still a conservatory filled with hothouse plants and exotic flowers, just like her grandmother had described it, with narrow little pathways and a fountain nestled amid the foliage. It would have been perfect for hide-and-seek.
Its high ceilings and tall, arched windows remained, bathing the room with summer light and a view of the gardens outside. As she wove her way through the opulent room, Alex breathed in the delicate scent of fine teas and buttered scones, underscored by the perfume of citrus and lilies. The Garden Room was a popular spot with hotel guests and shoppers finishing an afternoon out on the town.
Her grandmother was seated at her usual table. A glorious orange tree, blooming amid the gleaming white tablecloths and fine silver, provided the perfect backdrop for The Sadler’s matriarch. She dipped her chin in greeting as Alex approached, then turned her head to one side. It was then Alex realized she wasn’t the only guest. Which was fine. Miss Eugenie Sadler, as her grandmother was known to all and sundry, often held court in The Garden Room regaling friends and guests alike with stor
ies from her past. But this wasn’t one of Grannie’s cronies who stood up to greet her – it was Marc Daniels looking every inch the film star!
Damn the man!
Alex plastered a smile on her face and managed the last few steps to the table. She kissed her grandmother lightly on the cheek, but inside, she was seething.
“I believe you’ve already met Mr. Daniels, darling.”
“Yes, I have,” said Alex. But how he’d managed to finagle his way into her day yet again was beyond belief. She could stall no longer. He was holding a chair for her, and she knew the sooner she sat down the better. Her arm accidently brushed his, and she drew back in alarm, her whole body tingling as he took his seat beside her.
Alex felt like making a face at her grandmother, but there was no point. Grannie might be eighty-five years old, but she was as sharp as a tack. And, to be fair, she was still The Sadler’s greatest asset, always gracious, and always beautifully dressed. Today’s number was a two-piece Chanel in a flattering shade of plum. With her silver hair and a touch of rouge on her cheeks, Eugenie Sadler exuded elegance.
“May I?” The waiter at Alex’s side had brought her favourite, strawberries with clotted cream and a fresh pot of tea.
“Thank you so much. I am absolutely starving.” He gave her a quick smile and withdrew, leaving Alex to sink or swim, while he returned to the kitchen.
Alex picked up her napkin and spread it on her lap while her grandmother poured. “I have been boring Marc with the hotel’s history,” she said, “and your great-grandfather’s brilliance.” She turned to Marc. “After the war, when there wasn’t much money going around, Alexander Sadler saw an opportunity that others didn’t. These massive Georgian houses had become difficult to maintain.”
Alex knew the story well. Her namesake had gambled everything on the rundown property, and refashioned it into an elegant hotel. Miss Sadler, and her late husband, Arthur Denfield, had kept a suite in The Sadler using it as their London base whenever they were in England. Even now, the suite and the name remained hers.
Undone by the Star Page 2