by K. L. Jessop
“You left me?” Amelia yells over the music as she and Felicity join me.
“Sorry, babe. You know how I get when music is around, I just can’t keep still.”
“I’m surprised you’ve not got a man on your arm already,” Felicity shouts. “The first thing you do is come out looking for ‘lurve’.” She giggles.
Felicity’s interpretation of ‘lurve’ is completely different to mind. I come out looking for a one night stand, she comes out looking for marriage.
“I’m disappointed. There’re not many hot guys in here tonight,” I respond, before Amelia takes my hand to twirl under her arm.
“Must have seen you coming,” Felicity replies.
“I’m not that bad!”
“You’re not that innocent either.” Amelia grins.
As the night passes on, the heat on my skin intensifies, but it’s not from dancing. The dark and mysterious gaze from Andrew sends shivers through me as he watches from across the dance floor. He’s now propped himself against the bar, nursing another whiskey and his only focus is me: each turn, each bend, every sweep of my hair as I lace my fingers through it. His emerald eyes lock onto my body, burning that pocket of need we both know is destined to become a scorching flame.
Carefully, I lower myself from the table I’m dancing on and make my way back through the crowd, needing to reward my dry throat with another tequila. I sense Andrew’s body stiffen as I approach, but my alcohol induced state won’t stop my mouth from speaking what’s in my thoughts. “Like what you see?”
“Excuse me?”
I face him and mirror his stance. His exterior is like a brick: hard, unbreakable and emotionless. “I may be blonde, Andrew, but I’m not deluded. You were totally checking me out.”
“Right. Keep telling yourself that,” he scoffs.
“There’s nothing wrong in wanting to experiment with friends,” I tease, trying to cut the tension.
“Is that what you think? That I want to experiment… with you?”
I hold his gaze with a knowing smile, his face is sterner than it was a moment ago, and I can’t help but imagine what his dark scruff would feel like on my thighs. “I don’t think, Andrew, I know. No man can get as hard as you did with just one kiss and not be intrigued to know what else I can do for him.”
He sniggers. “Firstly, it was one of your pathetic drinking games at our friend’s birthday party. It meant nothing. And second, you may have had your tongue in my mouth but that doesn’t prove that my reaction was because of you. My mind was on someone else.”
“Right. Keep telling yourself that.” I repeat his words. He isn’t fooling anyone; he can’t deny what happened.
He steps closer. The flicker in my belly is one of need and I’m doing everything within my power not to pull him to my lips. His voice remains low but somehow becomes more powerful.
“Believe it or not, sweetheart, unlike yourself, I have standards. I wouldn’t come near you if I were sexually deprived and you were the last woman on earth. I like star quality and charisma, and you are neither.”
He throws back his drink, slams the glass down on the bar and leaves, rendering me speechless as acid pools in my stomach. Just like that my mood is crushed with his words and my desire quickly turns cold.
It’s official: Andrew Harris is a fucking asshole!
Chapter Two
Andrew
Her laugh is beginning to piss me off as it booms its way around my office, my attention not missing the way her legs constantly cross over one another with her flirtatious attitude. She raises her skirt further up her thighs. Dead straight chocolate hair cascades over her small shoulders and ends abruptly just above her breasts. Her prominent brown eyes and figure are what every man would wish for. I can’t take my eyes off this stranger, not because she is sexy, but because there is something about the woman that irritates the shit out of me. The longer she sits in that chair, throwing me seductive looks, the more impatient I become. The more I want to say ‘thanks for your time, but you screwed up the moment you walked through the fucking door’, the more I want this day to end so I can go about my business and sit in the confined space of my office, while everyone has their share of playtime on the opposite side of the hotel building.
I love my job, don’t get me wrong, but I’d rather be left alone so I can focus on getting this place expanded more internationally than to be sitting here in my office with this stranger, who’s failing to fulfil my area in business. This time of the year is one gruelling period filled with excessive paper work, meetings with inadequate low lives who are trying to get their foot through the door of one of the most successful sever-star hotels along the west coast of Cornwall. New recruit interviews with idiotic applicants are slowly becoming exhausting. I’m not much of a talker. Other than with a few close friends, I don’t choose to acquaint myself unless I have to.
With the new holiday season officially starting in a matter of weeks, my co-worker, Amelia, and I are responsible for recruiting the right candidates to work in The Grand Hotel. Candidates who can deal with the high-speed life where men with business suits and briefcases give false names so they can fuck their mistresses the evening of their working day. Candidates who can take my ruthless demands without sneaking off to the bathroom to cry so hard their mascara runs. I’m particular about who I choose: I like confidence, professionalism, and authoritativeness, and nothing the woman in front of us is doing is going in her favour
“Now, Jennifer,” Amelia says beside me. “The hours will be between thirty-five and forty per week with the occasional night shift. Can you tell—”
“Nightshift?” Jennifer interjects, while Amelia looks at her confused. As Assistant Manager, Amelia is just as ambitious in her work as I am. For a long time, this hotel was all she had and she strives to have true perfection.
I rest my elbow on the rounded leather seat and roll my black ballpoint between my fingers, tilting my head to the side as, frustrated, I study the woman that sits before us. She straightens in her seat far too often, interrupts every question and tries her hardest to win me round with her doe-like eyes. It’s failing. The woman is nothing more than false and irritating.
Amelia lets out a steady breath before continuing. “Yes, that’s right. The staff member who takes the position is required to work the occasional night shift and operate the switchboard. Now, what I was going to say, before you interrupted me for the third time, was I’ve noticed you have a son. Will arrangements be made for childcare during the hours you’re required to work?”
“Childcare?”
“Yes. The Grand doesn’t discriminate in any way against members of staff who have families. However, this is a busy and demanding environment, Jennifer. It’s a priority that childcare must be put into place so you can focus on the job you’re paid to do. You will not have time to run around organising childcare issues once you walk through the door. So, will you have arrangements for your son if you are the rightful candidate?”
Which she won’t be. Just like the other eleven I’ve turned down this week.
She looks at Amelia as if she’s asked an impossible question, which only aggravates me more because of how simple it is to answer. Surely, she can’t be that sexy yet so stupid.
“I’m sorry, Jennifer, do you need Miss Weston to repeat the question?” I bark.
“I—I wasn’t aware that night shifts were involved. I don’t suppose he can sleep in one of the hotel suites? He’s no trouble at all.”
She’s fucking kidding me, right?
“Don’t be so ridiculous!” Amelia snaps. I have to bite back a grin because it’s not often she loses her shit. “We’re a high class working hotel, Jennifer, not a crèche. The night shifts were explained clearly in the job description. Did you not read them before applying?”
“Hmm, yeah, but… I’m sorry what’s a switchboard?”
Oh, sweet Jesus!
“You know what ladies? I’ve heard enough, let’s call it a da
y,” I say abruptly, pushing up from my chair to stand.
I notice Jennifer’s eyes pop out in horror as I head for my office door, hoping she’ll get the message without having to wait to receive it in the mail. “Excuse me, Mr Harris, but I’ve got another ten minutes of interview time left.”
“Not anymore you haven’t.”
“You can’t just throw me out!”
“You’re right.” I nod, and I see her stance ease a little. “I’ll have security escort you down to the lobby.”
“What?“
“We’re done,” I state, holding her eyes with a glare. She grabs her bag forcefully, looking completely pissed, and struts towards the door where I’m standing. “Thanks for your time, Jenny.”
“It’s Jennifer!” she snaps.
“Whatever.”
Once she’s gone, I turn to Amelia who’s looking down at her paperwork with a smirk. “Did she not meet your expectation, Mr Harris?”
“I thought she was wonderful,” I mock, heading towards the other side of the room to the mouth-watering elements that end a working day: whiskey.
“She thought you were too. Don’t think I didn’t notice the eye-fucks she was throwing you.”
“I can assure you it was completely one sided.”
“She is pretty, though.”
“Pretty stupid more like.” I take the bottle of whiskey I keep in my office cabinet along with two glasses and pour us both a drink, returning to my desk and handing one to Amelia. There aren’t many women around here that can handle the strong vintage fluid and still walk in a straight-line.
“I had high hopes when I saw her profile.”
“Then she opened her mouth,” I sigh.
Amelia giggles. As far as women go, I hardly have any in my life. I prefer it that way, but Amelia is one of the closest. Her anxieties yet fiery redheaded temper is a perfect combination and she’s a diamond to work with.
“So, what do we have left to sort in regards to the new recruits?” I ask, undoing the top button of my shirt before crossing my ankle over my knee.
“Not much really. The lodging rooms on the staff floor are now all allocated to the new seasonal team. We just have to fill the last few positions for those that are permanent workers.”
“And when are the interviews for those?”
“Monday. Only we need to be done by noon, as I’m out in the afternoon with Marcus. We’re going wedding shopping.” She grins, scrunching her nose up in excitement.
Ah yes, the wedding! The day when two of my best friends declare their real life Romeo and Juliet love and show the world that good things can actually fall from shit trees. Marcus still walks around on cloud-nine and Amelia is breathless with the fact someone does actually love her for the right reasons. I’m happy for them, truly. Only in my world is happiness just an imprudent declaration that shits on you when you least expect it.
“Andrew, has Marcus spoken to you at all? About the wedding, I mean?” She looks a little nervous and I suddenly know where this conversation is going.
I smile and rub my jaw. “If you’ve referring to being his best man, then yes, he has. And yes, I’d be honoured.”
She beams. “Has anyone ever told you you’re the greatest?”
“Not recently.” The only thing I’m good at being great at is an arsehole. Plenty of people tell me that.
She watches me take a sip and I notice a little hesitation in her form. “That’s not actually what I was referring to, though.” She pauses. “I don’t mean to state the obvious, but you do realise that Megan will be my maid of honour?”
I swallow down my drink, hoping it removes the ball that’s instantly formed in my throat. Just the mention of her name causes an unknown feeling to build inside me. “I didn’t expect it to be anyone else.”
“Things just seem a little strained between you two since—”
“Your paranoia is on high alert again, Miss Weston.” I cut her off, holding her deep blue eyes with my gaze, a little rattled that she’s questioning my behaviour towards her friend.
“Don’t patronise me, Andrew.”
“Then stop stressing over something that’s not there.” As endearing as Amelia is, the one thing she wants more than anything is for those close to her to get along. She doesn’t do well with atmospheres or fallouts, but unfortunately life isn’t a bed of roses.
I’m about to reassure her again when my office door swings open and Marcus strides in, dressed in a grey suit and a grin that only gets wider when he sees his fiancée.
“Hello, beautiful.” He kisses Amelia’s hair.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I joke.
“I was talking to my future wife, but while I’m here, how you doing, gorgeous?”
“All the better for seeing you, handsome. I’ve missed you.”
Amelia giggles. “You boys crack me up at times.”
“How was the interview?”
“Ugh, a disaster.” She sighs, closing her files and looking up at him as though he’s brightened the end to a shitty day.
“Oh, how so? Her file suggested she’d be great.”
“Stick a crèche in the ball room and she will be,” I add. “The woman wanted her kid to sleep in the hotel while she worked. That’s before she learned how to use a goddamn switchboard.”
“So, she soon got the Andrew Harris approach?” He laughs. “How many refusals does that bring it to this week?” he asks, reading a message that had just come through on his phone.
“Twelve,” I reply, taking a mouthful of whiskey. “Three of which didn’t make it past the threshold.”
“Going well then?” He turns to Amelia. “Babe, Megan’s just text to tell you to answer your phone.”
“Ok. It’s in my office.” She stands and gathers her files before looking up at me. “Will you be joining us at the beach later?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m busy,” I lie.
“Babe, he can’t possibly have two nights out in a week,” Marcus jokes.
“Andrew, I’ve told you before it’s not healthy for a grown man to have no playtime.” Amelia is always trying to get me out the office, apparently, I spend too much time in here.
“Come on man, it’s nothing that can’t wait. We can hit the waves,” Marcus adds.
I look up from studying my glass to find them both awaiting an answer. The last thing I want is more socialisation. “An hour tops.”
“Holy shit! Marcus, did you hear that? Andrew’s coming out to play, again!” She squeezes his arm in excitement. “I may have to lay down.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Get your woman out my office before I change my mind.”
“Love you, Mr Dark and Mysterious,” she shouts, blowing me a kiss as they head out of the door.
On paper, my work hours’ finish within the next hour—same as Amelia—in reality, mine finish just after midnight. People assume I’m some anti-social idiot whose current relationship status is his office, but what they don’t see is the man that sits on the inside, trying to focus on work to take his mind off the never ending crap that plagues him daily rather than going home. Not that it is a home, not anymore. It’s merely a foundation built on bad fucking memories and dark shadows.
I lean back in my chair with an exhale, taking in the one thing I’ve been looking forward to all day: the silence. This is what I need: a bottle of whiskey and no disturbance.
Pouring myself another one, I walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the coastline. Golden sands and clear blue water greet me. The beach is my escape. It helps me breathe that little bit longer while the salt water continues to heal the soul. To an outsider, it doesn’t look as though much goes on here, but you just have to look for it. Even in the bleak winter, it still provides character.
I close my eyes and breathe out as Megan once again invades my mind. The pretty blonde with the body of a ballet dancer and snow-white hair that looks so soft. She doesn’t give up that
girl. I spoke to her like shit on Friday and still she greeted me this morning as though we’re best friends. I made a promise to myself many years ago that relationships were no longer an option for me. They can cause too much damage, and create so much pain. However, Megan is slowly contaminating my thoughts like a beautiful disease and it has to stop.
I need it to stop.
Chapter Three
Megan
Fuck my head hurts.
I wipe my slobbery mouth with the back of my hand and groan at the rays of sunlight that have become visible through my window. It’s been another weekend of too many tequila slammers and slumping myself over the bar in an unsexy state, while Jack refilled my glass as I danced along the bar like one of the girls from Coyote Ugly.
Once I focus my eyes, I catch sight of the little note on my bedside table, an indication that I was brought home safely.
If you can read this with one eye open, your name is Megan and you’re not dead.
Jack x
I smile, grab my phone and text him.
Me: I’m disappointed. You never got me naked!
Jack: You were out of your head. I thought it would be inappropriate to undress you.
Me: It’s never stopped us before. X
I tease, because it really hasn’t stopped us before.
Jack: I thought I’d use my manners this time.
Me: Manners and sex don’t mix with you.
Jack: You’re making me sound like some sex pest.
Me: Admit it… you love it. My head hurts. I’m sure I’ve left my brain on the bar.
Jack: No, sweet cheeks, that’ll be your dignity. Ha!
Shit was I really that bad?
I call him. “Please tell me it wasn’t that bad.”
“But then I’d be lying. There’re pictures of you on Facebook that your mother wouldn’t be proud of.”