Did Someone Order Room Service?: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance Novella (Do Not Disturb, Book 2)

by Phillips, Charlotte

  This was no take it or leave it fuck, and he’d been kidding himself that he could somehow pass it off as such. When he bedded a girl it was fast, fun, a means to a very pleasurable end. He considered their enjoyment of course, made sure he gave as good as he got, but it had never given him such pleasure to please someone before. Her every sigh of delight spiked him with a surge of happiness. He’d never felt this desire to get to know someone before, beyond the physical, her hopes and dreams, her past. All the things that made her tick. It was new territory and it filled him with tentative hope and happiness.

  She fitted into the crook of his arm as if he were made just for her. As their breathing evened, the caress of his hand against her back became slower, languorous, loving even, and she tried to memorise exactly how the moment felt so she could revisit it in her mind later when she was alone.

  ‘Why is it such a big deal for you?’ she said idly, holding his hand in hers, examining his palm. ‘The worship I mean. The media hype. Isn’t the sporting success on its own enough? Lots of celebrities moan about press intrusion but you seem to lap up the attention.’

  She thought she felt him tense a little against her.

  ‘Everyone has an angle, don’t they?’ he said. ‘It’s just happened that way for me. It helps with sponsorship having a high media profile.’

  His voice sounded guarded and she pulled away enough so she could see his face and raised a sceptical eyebrow at him. They both knew he was fobbing her off with that answer. He sighed.

  ‘The honest answer, I guess, is that I’ve liked it. I didn’t impress like that when I was growing up. With my brother and sister wiping the floor with me grade-wise I felt more and more like an outsider.’ He paused briefly, as if considering whether to keep talking. ‘And the adoption, Layla. My family have been great, I’ve always felt loved by them and I’ve never wanted for anything, but still at the back of my mind there’s always been this knowledge that someone rejected me once. For someone, I wasn’t good enough. And the tennis success, the interest that came with it, that felt like the answer to everything. Finally I was good at something and the fan stuff, well that continued to prove it. And for a young red-blooded guy with a full on academic upbringing that he could never quite pull off, the female interest was like a gift. You can’t blame me for taking advantage of it.’ He squeezed her shoulders. ‘I haven’t told anyone this stuff before. I’m not even sure I’ve thought it through myself.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

  Her heart was thundering in her chest. His singling her out, the personal talk, all of it made her spirits soar and her guard lower.

  ‘Because this week with you, it’s the first time I’ve haven’t had someone’s admiration off pat. Your approval has nothing to do with my tennis or my image and it feels good.’ There was surprise in his voice. ‘It feels different.’ He paused long enough for her to think he was done, and then from nowhere, ‘And I don’t want that feeling to end.’

  ****

  This was no disposable fling, it had somehow crept into being a whole lot more. The hotel stay was the reason, he saw that now. He’d never have had the chance to spend so much time with her in the whirlwind that was his real life. Yet the wave of happiness that rose up now had an undertow of fear. He could feel it there, lurking, ready to tug him under. Right on the heels of the euphoria came something else – self-doubt and fear, because when time had been added into the equation and novelty value had gone, what was left had never been enough to impress anyone else. And Layla hated all things celebrity – just look at her reaction today over a couple of fans. How long would this last before she realised it was all hype? That underneath he wasn’t all that?

  He wasn’t sure he could face finding that out.

  ****

  Their last day together. And after yesterday was she so wrong for hoping there could be more to them now than just this week or two? Exactly what, she had no idea. But they could figure it out. Hope fluttered in her stomach no matter how hard she tried to squash it and she was all fingers and thumbs as she dressed in her uniform and took the Tube across London, arriving early for her shift, eager to see him.

  The manager swooped in like an overweight vulture as she crossed the lobby.

  ‘Ah, Layla. Change of plan today. If you could start by checking the Kerry Suite over, making sure Housekeeping have done a good job. We’ve got a last minute booking coming in, couple of nights only, arriving later today.’

  ‘But the Kerry Suite’s occupied,’ she said. ‘The current guest doesn’t check out until tomorrow morning.’ She avoided saying Matt’s name. She couldn’t trust herself not to smile at the sound of it.

  ‘He’s checked out,’ the manager said, a congratulatory grin on his face as the bottom fell out of her stomach. Her face must have given her away because he reached across the counter and gave her upper arm a comforting squeeze. ‘No need to look so worried, it isn’t a problem. Something about preparing for his next tournament, he had to leave a little earlier than expected.’ He leaned in conspiratorially and winked at her. ‘Not before he left you a glowing reference though. Should stand you in brilliant stead for the managerial vacancy. Nice job.’

  Nice job? Despite all her good intentions she’d dared to think he might feel the same, and the measure of the week they’d spent was ‘nice job’?

  She backed away from him as he turned to speak to a passing guest and left the lobby before the sudden ache in her heart could become anything more obvious.

  In a dream she made her way up to the top floor, half wondering if there might be some mistake and that he would be there with his lopsided smile waiting for her, knowing in the wrenching depths of her stomach that he wouldn’t be.

  On autopilot she walked through the empty suite, straightening cushions, checking the final touches, the same way she had just over a week ago when Matt had checked in. The room was back to its perfect self. Not one trace remained, not a single hint that the past week had ever happened. Which was clearly how Matt wanted it. It might never have happened at all but for the desperate sensation of sinking in the pit of her stomach that bravado alone just wasn’t enough to suppress.

  It hurt. Hurt deep down in her gut. And the rejection really wasn’t the worst part of it. It was the stupidity. Her own stupid pride, letting herself believe that he was interested in her on some level beyond his usual take-it-or-leave-it. What shred of evidence did she have that she was appealing enough to change him? For Pete’s sake he’d been with women a hundred times more attractive than she was. She’d seen it over and over in the papers. Models, starlets. If he hadn’t changed his attitude for any of them he wasn’t about to break stereotype for dull as dishwater Layla Jones, who hadn’t even been lovable enough to keep her own mother ditching her in favour of some pipe dream. What hope could she possibly have had with someone like Matt if she couldn’t even hold the interest of a blood relative?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sleep had given way to a more pressing need to give herself the talking-to of her life. And with limbs aching and eyes scratchy from tiredness, she turned up for her shift the following morning. Back to daytime hours now. No need to be here afternoon and evening to provide entertainment anymore. The thought made her catch her breath and she swallowed hard, concentrating on staying focused.

  Fortunately she had the prospect of a new job to latch onto.

  The manager gestured to her practically the moment she walked into the lobby. Obviously wanting to discuss the new post, he’d virtually said it was as good as hers the previous day. She followed him into his office, trying to muster some positivity when all she wanted to do was hide back in her studio flat and sleep the pain and humiliation away.

  OK so she’d made a total fool of herself over Matt Stanton but it wasn’t as if her life was over. In the process she had actually kept him happy for the week, and OK it might feel cheap but he’d given the management a glowing report. She might not have bagged the rich tennis play
er, but let’s face facts, that was never really on the cards anyway, and at least she’d bagged the promotion. She could look forward instead of back, perhaps start cautiously looking for a new flat, somewhere of her own where she could finally put down roots.

  Maybe, if she tried hard enough, that thought might actually start to make her feel better sometime soon. This decade would be good.

  She waited, modest smile on her face, almost hearing the congratulatory words before he spoke them, ready to accept her consolation prize.

  He gestured at the seat opposite his desk.

  ‘Sit down.’

  He didn’t look particularly congratulatory. Then again he’d always been a bit dour. Decades of working in the hospitality industry could do that to a person, she could easily believe it. Still, she liked to think that when she gave the employees on her team good news, which she would soon be in a position to do with her new title of Guest Services Manager, she’d give it to them with a bit more of a happy attitude than this.

  He clasped his hands together in front of him on the desk.

  ‘It’s come to my attention that you’ve been acting outside your remit this past week,’ he said.

  The words were so unexpected that she gaped at him.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Your actions with a certain high-profile guest may have been a bit less than professional. And anyone who works here, particularly in Guest Services, where you’re required to work closely with guests, must be absolutely beyond reproach.’

  He pressed his lips together and looked at her with an expectant don’t-make-me-spell-it-out look on his face.

  She made him spell it out.

  ‘In what way? I’ve done everything I was asked to do. You told me yourself the guest was perfectly happy when he checked out.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say his name in case her hideous disappointment took over and buried her.

  He leaned forward awkwardly, his own face reddening now.

  ‘You were seen,’ he said. ‘In some kind of clinch in a public park. The most high-profile guest we’ve had in months and you were draped over him on a park bench. Have you any idea how this makes the hotel look?’’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ she said, stabbing an obstinate finger at him. Denial. That was her only chance. What proof could he possibly have?

  ‘There’s a mobile phone picture of you with him in this morning’s paper,’ he said, grabbing a copy of one of the red-tops from the side of his desk and thrusting it at her. ‘One of the Reception staff just gave it to me.’

  On the front page was a grainy, but perfectly clear to anyone who knew her, photo. Herself on Matt’s lap in the park, when he’d kissed her until she thought she might dissolve into a puddle. Faint gratitude surfaced amid the shock that they hadn’t actually gone any further than kissing, though they’d certainly been on the brink of it. His words fell on her like stones.

  ‘The gossip among the staff is at fever pitch. Are you really going to tell me nothing went on between you?’ he snapped. ‘Clearly you’re having some kind of relationship with him.’

  She knew when she was bang to rights.

  ‘I’m not going to tell you nothing went on,’ she said. ‘I’m just saying it couldn’t have been less like a relationship. And you definitely should be using past tense when you talk about it.’

  ****

  For Matt walking away had seemed the smart move and it hadn’t even been that hard. He was so used to moving on that initially it had been nothing short of automatic.

  Then reality had kicked in and with it a sense of loss that made his stomach churn and his mind and body ache.

  Even then he’d thought this dwelling on her would be short-lived. But now it had been nearly a month and she was still invading his every waking moment with her sweet smile and her funny, sparky attitude.

  His tennis was at its best. The Davis Cup was coming up soon and he’d thrown all his energies into preparing for it, believing that was all he needed to move on. A distraction. Especially needed now because distractions of the other kind seemed to have quit working for him. Oh he’d been out a couple of times when he got back to the States, believing he could slip effortlessly into his old exciting lifestyle. His week with Layla Jones would be quickly forgotten.

  Instead the opposite seemed to be happening. Partying held no appeal. Girls threw themselves at him the same way they always had but now his mind seemed to constantly compare them to Layla, and the constant adulation and fawning made him impatient and irritable. His interest in getting laid had dwindled to nothing. At this rate he’d have to start living in a cave, emerging only for matches.

  He’d thought all he’d need to do was give it time and everything would be back to normal.

  Just how much bloody time was it going to take?

  ****

  ‘Just to say I got your message about the job and the change of address. And you needn’t worry about me, darling.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  Layla put the phone down briefly on the sticky carpet while she sellotaped shut the last box.

  No boyfriend. No mother. No job.

  And now nowhere to live. Without regular income and no savings to fall back on, there was no way she could keep up with the rent on her studio, however grotty it might be. The only thing left to do was pack. When she picked the phone back up her mother was still talking.

  ‘…going to be staying on in the States for now. The band have added a few extra dates to the end of the tour and I’m sharing a truck with one of the roadies.’

  Layla’s stomach gave a churn at the thought. So the celebrity rock and roll dream was still alive and well for her mother then. Still, one faint glimmer of positivity in the gloom – by the time her mother resurfaced Matt Stanton would be a distant memory and she’d never need to know about her daughter’s disastrous fling with fame.

  ‘Great,’ she said.

  ‘Well you could sound a bit more enthusiastic,’ her mother said. ‘I don’t know why you’re so depressed over this job. No social life, awful pay. You shouldn’t be seeing this as a knockback, you should be seeing this as an opportunity.’

  Layla failed to stop a cynical laugh.

  ‘If you hadn’t disappeared with my savings I wouldn’t be needing an opportunity. I’d have enough money to tide me over.’

  Her mother made a dismissive chuffing sound because of course, she was never wrong.

  ‘You’d be back in the mind-numbing workplace before you knew it. Trust me, Layla, this could be a good thing. It forces you to step outside the box for once. You’ve got no ties, you’re free to go your own way. Why not wing it for a while and see where life takes you?’

  For some reason the thought didn’t fill her with horror anymore in the way it always had. Focused on making her own security in life, saving up for her own place, she’d kept her eye on the prize so closely that she hadn’t noticed the journey to get there was anything but fun. The hotel job had been hard graft, hideous hours for little thanks and low pay.

  Her mother clearly took her silence as encouragement and swept on.

  ‘Sometimes the best things in life are things you do on impulse. If you question the hell out of every decision you make, it stands to reason that you’ll talk yourself out of trying new things.’

  A long held dream slipped unexpectedly into Layla’s mind, forged during a school trip to France what felt like a lifetime ago. She’d loved it, had told herself she’d come back one day when she was older, maybe take in some more of Europe along the way. A dream that had been lost in the ensuing years when her life had become more and more unstable and she’d directed everything she had at steadying it. There’d been no place in her mad quest for stability for things like travel or adventure. Maybe, though it stuck in her craw to say it, her mother might actually have a point for once.

  ‘You could fly out and join me. Check out the band. What do you think?’

  Maybe not that kind of adventure.

  ***
*

  Lucy had offered her a sofa until she got back on her feet but the way things looked that wasn’t likely to be anytime soon. From management material to sofa surfer all because of one crazy week. That was what you got from being seduced by a celebrity, and she only had herself to blame because of all people, she should have known better.

  There’d been a hideous few days after she’d got the sack where paparazzi had hovered around the front door hoping for a picture or a quote for them to spin out yet another story about Matt Stanton. She’d had handwritten notes from journalists shoved under the door offering to let her tell her side of the story. She’d kept expecting her mother to turn up at any moment, rucksack in hand, ready to take control and bask in the attention. That she hadn’t was the one aspect of the whole sorry mess that had gone Layla’s way. And in time, without a new angle, the journalists had given up and left her alone. On to the next disposable story.

  Her phone rang as she stacked her stuff in the corner of Lucy’s sitting room. Six boxes and a couple of bin liners, that was what her life amounted to. She checked the screen.

  ‘Lucy,’ she said, picking up. Obviously checking she was settling in.

  ‘Where are you? At the flat? Turn on the TV. News Channel.’

  The television was only feet away from her new home. She sat on Lucy’s sofa and flicked it on.

  ‘Why?’

  Speech trailed away. She saw why. And a new lurch of despair churned its way into her stomach, just when she thought she got it under some kind of control.

  ‘Oh cheers for this,’ she snapped, finding her voice. ‘The guy has single handedly cost me my job and my home. Why the hell would I want to watch him earn millions on the sodding tennis court?’

  His face filled the screen and the broken remains of her heart apparently still had a bit of flip left in them. He looked as gorgeous as ever, hair tousled and damp with sweat from whatever match he’d clearly just won, judging by the euphoric squeals of the crowd behind him. So he’d got his form back then. Well lucky, lucky him. Her life was in tatters and his was right back on track.