Had he really expected anything else? She wasn’t exactly exuding enthusiasm but he shoved on ahead regardless. The idea was out there now, there was no rewinding time.
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘How about we do something really crazy and just go out after work. Have a late dinner maybe. What do you say?’
The smile didn’t reappear. Not a good sign. His heart was doing cartwheels in his chest. What was wrong with him? Why the hell did this feel like such a big deal?
‘This has been a laugh, right?’ he said, trying again. ‘There’s no need for this to be an end to it, just because the weekend happens to be over. It doesn’t need to be full-on. We’ve both got work commitments, I know that, but when we’re both free…when we’ve got time. What do you think?’
‘Don’t make it into something it’s not,’ she said.
‘I’m not,’ he said. Then immediately backtracked, an unexpected burst of indignance rising through him at the instant dismissal. ‘How do you know it’s not anything? It could be something if you gave it half a chance.’
Disappointment curled through her but she forced a smile.
‘Fitting us in around work doesn’t equate to it being something, Owen,’ she said. ‘So it’s OK for us to date as long as it comes second to work. No interfering with that – right? You don’t want to get too close in case I get in the way or hold you back.’
Now she sat up and swung her legs out of the bed, her shoulder hiding her face as she reached for her clothes. He sat up too, pushing both hands into his hair as he stared up at the ceiling in frustration.
‘I thought you’d jump at this with your emotion-free love life philosophy,’ he said.
‘I went with this weekend because of my emotion-free love life philosophy. I went with tonight for that reason.’ She shook her head. ‘It won’t work, Owen. Not any longer than this.’
He shook his head in confusion.
‘I thought this was what you wanted. You told me you were work-obsessed, ambitious, that you don’t need to rely on anyone else because you’ve got your own security covered. You don’t do happy-ever-afters and that’s fin. I get that. What I’m suggesting is happy-for-now.'
The fact that she’d expected it didn’t make it any easier. You’d think after all this time the same old let-down would lose its bite.
‘Maybe happy-for-now is all I’m good for, Owen.’ She shrugged. ‘But it doesn’t mean it’s all I want. If you’d said Amy, I really like you and I’d like to make a go of this, get to know you better – maybe I might have made a leap of faith for that. It would have been scary but it might have been worth it. What I want you to say is sod the emotional claptrap. Sod work. Sod everything. Let’s see each other again because I like you, not let’s perpetuate this thing because it fits well with work. I’ve been here before and I’m not being your bloody filler, great for you right now because you’re work obsessed but easy to leave behind when things change. You’re completely defined by your business, Owen. You are Loco. And deep down, I don’t think you have room for anything else in your life.’
She was shaking her head, not looking at him. Clothes pulled together now, she began to dress, jabbing buttons into buttonholes as if she couldn’t escape fast enough.
‘You’re leaving? You don’t need to go now. It’s the middle of the night.’
‘I need to get some sleep, I’ve got a meeting tomorrow with the recruitment team, a debrief of the wedding and I need to make a good impression.’ She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘It’s not midnight yet, you can still get back to the party.’
As if she thought this had been some waste of an evening and he would have preferred to be downstairs in the bar? His head spun with the sudden change in her and with exasperation at how impossible she was to read. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more – the fact she was just walking away or the way it made him feel.
She was dressed now, stepping into her shoes, crossing the room towards the door. He sat forward in the bed, the covers rucked around his waist.
‘I’m not interested in going back to the party,’ he said. ‘What’s the rush? You don’t even want to think about it? Bloody hell am I that hideous an option?’
Hand on the door handle, she tipped her head back and sighed briefly up at the ceiling before she looked back.
‘You’re not a hideous option.’ She shook her head slowly at him, an apologetic smile on her pretty face. ‘I’m just not up for this. Not on those terms. I know they might be the best terms I’ll ever get, but I’ve been the warm-up act too many times to want to do it all again now. Even for someone as gorgeous as you. How long would it last before something better came along? Weeks? Months? I don’t know the answer to any of those questions but I do know there will be a time frame because there always is with me.’ She tugged the door open. ‘I hope Europe works out well for you. Goodbye Owen.’
She pressed her lips together as she walked down the hallway. There were no staff around to see her, no guests in sight as she took the back stairs and headed for the staff quarters. She’d made the right decision. She knew that with all her rational mind. Sharp and clean, this was the best way to go. Kill off all feelings before they could grow, while she still had control of them. She changed into her old checked pyjamas and climbed into the hideous bed.
Sleep had been unbelievably elusive based on how tired she was. Owen stayed on her mind no matter how hard she tried to count sheep or think of other things. She could close her eyes and still feel his touch.
By morning doubts had crept in.
Maybe she had dismissed him too hastily last night. She hadn’t exactly given him the chance for discussion, after all. She’d simply heard what he said about work and had immediately pegged herself as his second priority, but hadn’t she been just as rabid about her own career plans as he was? Hadn’t their whole connection been based on their mutual aim to work themselves into the ground? She thought back to his flirt on that first evening, bloody hell it felt like years ago – could it really have only been two days?
‘Have a drink with me. We can toast independent workaholism.’
Was he so wrong to assume that maybe she might not want a relationship that interfered with her career?
There was still breakfast before the wedding guests checked out. Another chance to talk things through instead of just letting things lie.
She showered, dressed in her uniform and did the best she could to hide the dark shadows under her eyes with makeup. Her head ached as she headed down to the restaurant where the air was filled with the aroma of hot coffee and fresh pastries. Her stomach was a mass of fluttering. Only one or two guests so far, neither of them Owen. She hovered near the entrance to the dining room for the best part of an hour, her heart sinking a little more with each minute that passed, before she thought to check at reception.
Owen Lloyd had checked out at six-thirty while she was still in her room. Way before breakfast even began.
‘Had to get back to work, he said,’ the receptionist told her. ‘Some kind of bar job, busy at weekends.’
She walked away from the reception desk feeling utterly empty and absolutely tired out.
What had she expected – that he might ask her out again over his full English, when she’d already knocked him back once? He had to get back to work – what other information did she need about his priorities? She’d called it right after all, she would never have come first with someone like that.
She wished someone would tell that to her stomach, now a sick churning mass of disappointment.
Luke and Sabrina came to say goodbye.
‘I’ll make sure the final balance on the weekend is paid off within the next week,’ Luke said, when Sabrina had kissed her on the cheek and moved away. ‘I just need a day or two to get things back on track.’
‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’m just glad it’s worked out for you.’
The why-not-me pang that had kicked her in the teeth when he’d unexpectedly turned up on
Friday seemed to have dissipated. All she felt now was genuine happiness on behalf of them both and a sense of tired resignation for herself. At least she was still in the running for her dream job. Any slip ups this weekend had mercifully not affected that. She latched onto that thought hard, and managed a smile.
He winked at her complete with clicking tongue.
‘Just need to find yourself someone now, eh? You’re exactly the same as ever – working when you should be having fun.’ He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. ‘Take a few risks, babe,’ he said in her ear. ‘Get out more.’
It was coming to something now she was actually receiving relationship advice from Luke-ex-commitment-phobic-Pemberton.
She watched him leave the hotel with his arm slung around Sabrina’s tiny waist, the pair of them all smiles, and then she glanced down at her clipboard, on which were the details of next weekend’s wedding festivities. A day off, and then she would be straight back into it.
Maybe Luke had a point.
CHAPTER 10
Four sets of property details in Amsterdam, any one of which would be the perfect location for his first European Loco bar, and Owen’s enthusiasm was at an all-time low.
Amy Wilson stayed on his mind no matter how many hours he put in trying to distract himself, as if she’d somehow opened a door into a life of downtime and now his overworked body didn’t want to close it again.
It wasn’t just the fact she’d knocked him back. It was the way she’d made him feel about that. They were so alike. Wasn’t part of the reason he was drawn to her at the outset because she prioritised work, just like he did? And her reason for turning him down, she’d said she didn’t want to come second to his job, but what she was really saying was that he had no life. And with every day that passed, he’d found himself thinking more and more about his parents and his brother. Or about his friends, like Luke, who he no longer went out with because he had no time.
What was it she’d said – ‘You’re completely defined by your business, Owen. You are Loco. And deep down, I don’t think you have room for anything else in your life.’
She was right. He’d built a super-successful business from scratch without any help or support from his family. And just exactly how big a victory was that when he’d alienated everyone he could have shared it with? There was an entire side of his life missing and he only realised it now because he’d seen it in her, and recognised it as a waste.
He shoved the property details to one side of the desk and clicked open the cautiously chatty email from his brother, received nearly a month ago now.
Maybe it was time he finally replied.
‘Could you possibly do something about that face before it curdles the White Russian?’ Conrad said, waving a hand at the sample cocktail he was demonstrating.
‘What the hell is that again?’
Amy really didn’t care and only asked because he was so obviously dying to tell her. This new obsession with cocktail invention and encouragement of the young, hip and trendy to hang out at the Lavington’s wine bar made her think of Mr Cocktail Bar himself, Owen Lloyd, who was undoubtedly proceeding with his one-man invasion of Europe. She’d heard nothing from him in six weeks, since she’d left his bedroom the night of Luke’s wedding.
Not, of course, that she’d expected to.
‘Vodka, coffee liqueur and a splash of cream over crushed ice,’ Conrad said. ‘We’ve got a feature coming up in one of the what’s-on-in-London sections of the Sunday papers. I want our clientele to move away from pin-stripe fatcat businessmen making stopovers and more towards Made-In-Chelsea. Much younger and more fun demographic, darling.’ He pointed at her with a swizzle stick. ‘I’m planning on giving your cocktail bar boyfriend a run for his money.’
‘He is NOT my boyfriend,’ she said irritably.
Conrad raised an eyebrow.
‘Whatever you say, darling.’
‘He was too much like you,’ she said. ‘Too bloody interested in drinks to be really interested in me. Good work on the bar news though,’ she conceded as a grumpy afterthought.
‘You really need to get over this,’ he said. ‘You turned him down, remember, not the other way around. You should be on top of the world. You landed the permanent Managerial post.’
Confirmation of her posting had admittedly brought a new high of self-satisfaction, which considering she’d been chasing it for virtually her entire working life had worn off extremely quickly. Where hard work and career goals had given her a sense of direction these past years, they now made her life feel one-sided, devoid of fun and excitement. All work and no play, as Owen had said. There he was, crashing her mind yet again.
‘I am on top of the world,’ she insisted. ‘I made the right decision. I don’t want my happiness in life to hinge on one expensive day or on someone else’s commitment. I make my own happiness and security. That way I don’t have to worry about someone else’s opinion of me changing.’
Somehow it didn’t sound as sensible as it used to, even when she said it out loud. Apparently Conrad felt the same because he rolled his eyes in a you’re-talking-crap gesture.
‘That’s all very well, sweetie, as long as it’s making you happy, but you’ve got a face like a slapped arse. What the hell is the point in having these mad life principles if all they do is make you miserable? You might as well take a risk if you’re not happy anyway. Why don’t you call him?’
‘I don’t have his number,’ she blustered, because the thought of doing that filled her stomach with terrified excitement.
‘Darling, he’s not exactly Lord Lucan. He runs the most successful cocktail bar in Chelsea. Get yourself on the internet.’
Three days had passed since Conrad’s pep talk, during which she’d actually morphed into a bit of a stalker.
Now she had her own tiny permanent office, complete with desktop computer, tracking Owen down was a five minute job. It was translating that into actually making a phone call that was holding her back.
Time after time she picked up the phone, only to drop it back in its cradle seconds later.
If he wanted to see me again he knows where I am.
She’d shot herself in the foot on that front when she’d told him she wasn’t interested. Why would he get in touch after that? In three days she knew the phone numbers of all six of his bars. Maybe in another three days she might find the confidence to actually ring one of them. But what then? Was she really ready to get back out there and risk her heart at some point down the line?
A knock on the glass door of her office made her jump, followed by the receptionist poking her head around the door.
‘Amy, someone to see you out in the lobby.’
She pressed escape madly to hide the fact that the browser was simultaneously open to three Owen Lloyd platforms - Loco Bar Facebook Page, a couple of reviews of his venue in Chelsea, and Loco Ltd.’s company website, complete with contact details through which she could, presumably with a couple of transfers, be connected to Owen Lloyd.
‘Who is it?’ she gabbled.
‘Some kind of drinks salesman, I think. I tried to point him towards Conrad but he insisted on seeing you. Asked for you by name.’
Her heart plummeted through her stomach.
She nodded automatically, managerial smile pasted on her face. She pushed the chair back from her desk as if in a dream and headed out to the lobby.
Couldn’t be him.
Was him.
It was late afternoon and the lobby bustled with people arriving to check in. A group of girls on a spa day were talking and laughing loudly on the sofas near the door. The concierge team trundled luggage across the marble floor. None of it registered in her consciousness.
Owen Lloyd wanted to see her again. He wore a dark blue shirt and jeans and his blue eyes had the same crease at the corners as he smiled at her. Her stomach performed circus-level cartwheels.
‘Owen,’ she said, cautiously professional, in case this visit wasn’
t about her at all and he wanted to book a sodding event or something.
‘I wanted to see how you are,’ he said lamely. ‘I see you got the job. Congratulations.’ He waved a hand around at the hotel.
It all felt so hideously stilted and awkward. What had he expected? That she might just fall into his arms?
‘How’s your invasion of Europe going? Have you found premises yet?’
Her voice was polite, no hint of the intimacy they’d shared. He took a deep breath. He hadn’t come here to make some half-hearted stab at small talk. He’d come here to make her understand. At least then if she didn’t want to give things a go, he could walk away knowing he’d given it his best shot.
‘Can we go for a walk or something?’ he said.
There was a pause, during which he was certain she would say she was far too busy. Then she glanced at her watch.
‘I’m due a break,’ she said.
They bought takeaway coffees from a stall in Hyde Park.
‘I can’t go too far,’ she said. ‘I need to get back fairly soon.’
The afternoon sun warmed his back. The park was green and open. It had been so long since he’d been anywhere like this. Even strolling felt alien to him, he was so used to rushing from one task to the next. Slowing down was a shock to the system.
‘This won’t take long,’ he said.
‘I thought you might be abroad,’ she said. ‘Viewing properties or something.’
Six weeks ago that had certainly been the plan.
‘I’m taking some time, actually,’ he said. ‘It will be a massive personal commitment to take the Loco concept abroad, I’d pretty much have to put my life on hold.’
As if he had one.
‘I want to make sure the bars in this country are properly established before I storm ahead. It will happen, I’m just…pacing myself a little.’
She smiled.
‘That doesn’t sound remotely like you.’
He didn’t smile back. He wanted more than anything for her to see he was serious, that he wasn’t here on some kind of a whim.
‘I know. I think I may have reached a point where the bars have just saturated my whole life. When I came to Luke and Sabrina’s wedding I was constantly on edge about taking time out. I’d begun to feel guilty about the slightest distraction from what I was doing.’
Meet Me at the Honeymoon Suite Page 9