‘I’ll take the club sandwich, please.’ His request jolted her out of her thoughts.
Darcy had a habit of observing people and trying to work them out, and it was often far too distracting. ‘What time would you like it?’ She made a note on the scribble pad beside her.
‘In about an hour if that suits.’
‘Of course it does, sir.’ She wrote the time down.
‘Myles.’
‘Excuse me?’ When he smiled she said, ‘Oh yes, Myles.’ Usually confident with guests, she was turning into a teen impressed with a man older than her and dressed in clothes worthy of a feature in GQ magazine. To make matters worse, he seemed amused by her uneasiness and she tried desperately to think where she might have seen him before. He definitely looked familiar.
‘Thank you, Darcy. I’ll see you soon.’ He turned to leave the lounge, briefcase in hand, coat over one arm, suit jacket in place with the same cuffs she’d seen earlier that morning still pristine white and measuring precisely how they should in relation to his jacket sleeves.
She waited for him to go and when she heard his footsteps on the stairs and their gradual fading away as he went all the way to the top floor, she braved getting up from the desk. She tiptoed in her heels across the wooden floors and peered around the doorway into the hall. Apart from the usual comings and goings on the street outside, the brownstone was silent with their single guest now ensconced in his apartment, so she took the stairs one at a time, her hand careful not to knock the Christmas garlands she’d twisted round the bannisters with their tiny twinkle lights shining their enthusiasm.
She cursed under her breath when she dropped her key on the floor right outside her apartment, but nothing could match the feeling that whipped through her body when she turned the key in the lock and realised she had an audience, because there was Myles at the foot of the stairs on her floor obviously debating whether to pass the scantily clad woman in the hallway or whether perhaps it was best to hover until she disappeared inside. He must’ve come back down the stairs so quietly she hadn’t heard him.
She flew into her apartment and shut the door without a word. She leaned against it and had no idea whether he’d gone past yet or not.
All she knew was that this wasn’t the impression she wanted to leave on a guest, least of all when she was doing her best to make this season successful for the Inn and for her. After her spectacularly bad departure from her job in London, she needed to make this something good, for her self-esteem and confidence as much as anything else.
She hastily found another skirt, pulled it on and hoped she wouldn’t have to face Myles when she came out of her apartment and shut the door behind her, but it was as though the man had a radar.
‘Hello, sir.’
‘M—’
She shook her head as though it would help her mind get straight. ‘I know, Myles. I do apologise.’
‘No need.’ He looked amused and she hoped he wasn’t thinking about what he’d seen earlier.
‘Can I get you anything?’
He was staring, that was for sure. ‘I’m sorry, I just feel as though we’ve met before.’
‘I don’t think so.’ She smiled. She didn’t admit the same thought had crossed her mind earlier.
He seemed to accept her claim. ‘Could I please ask for a bottle of beer to be brought up with my lunch?’
‘Of course, I’ll bring it to you with your sandwich. Any preference for which type?’
‘I’ll leave it up to you.’ His eyes didn’t leave hers.
More confident fully dressed, she turned to go down the stairs and left him hovering in the corridor, fully aware he was still watching her. It was only as she reached halfway down that it dawned on her. She had seen him before, and she remembered exactly where.
He must’ve realised the same thing at the same time because when she turned to look back, he’d taken a few steps along the corridor to close the gap between them.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it. Darcy Spencer. We meet again.’
Chapter Two
Myles
Myles opted for a run around the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir later that afternoon. He was still in the early days of living in Manhattan and he wanted to get a feel for the place, which meant venturing away from Greenwich Village, where he was living, and the Financial District, where he spent the rest of his time at the office.
Myles took the subway and followed it all the way to the Upper West Side 86th Street station. He wondered how long it would be before this all felt as familiar as taking the tube back in London.
He made his way to the start of the loop, using the walk from the subway as a warm up. He ran a lot in London – it kept him sane – and since arriving in New York he was determined to at least make time for that amidst his enormous workload, even if he didn’t make time for much else. He’d always been the same way. Work came first, no question about it. But today he’d found it impossible to concentrate when he’d sat down after his lunch, and now physical exertion was the only solution if he wanted to be at all productive. He still needed to put together a funds flow model for the deal he was about to close, but the only thing that was flowing at the moment were his thoughts.
Darcy Spencer. The name was set firmly in his mind as well as the image of her long legs in stockings, the hint of suspenders creeping up the tops of her thighs, and the heels that did nothing to deflect his attention. He hadn’t recognised her at first. He’d hovered at the bottom of the stairs, hoping to save her embarrassment by letting her go inside her apartment before he moved again. He’d come down to ask for a beer with lunch, a beer he’d subsequently left and put in the fridge for later on. Unfortunately, Darcy had seen him before she’d opened the door and he’d been embarrassed for her. He’d felt like some kind of stalker, lurking in the shadows. But that was nothing compared to how he’d felt when he realised he knew her from London.
It had been a work Christmas party at a swanky hotel in England’s capital and he’d attended along with his colleagues but had been the most sober of all of them. With an important client meeting the next morning, letting go hadn’t been an option for Myles that evening. He’d joined in, pretending he was as inebriated as the others, who were all getting into it with rooms upstairs waiting for each of them. It had been no expense spared by the firm he was working for, but when some of the partygoers cranked up the Christmas cheer, more than one of them getting it on with the women in the office or, in one case, with a waitress who was topping up their glasses all night long, he knew it wasn’t going to end well.
One of the other waitresses was friendly and a bit flirty with Myles’s colleague, newcomer to the firm, Brian, but when it came down to it she wasn’t interested in anything more. All she wanted was simply to do her job and make them feel welcome. But Brian had a hard time understanding the word ‘no’ and Myles had had to step in and help her out. Brian hadn’t been too pleased, his pride was dented, and when Myles wasn’t looking Brian had tried it on with the girl again. He’d earnt himself a big slap across his cheek but, surprising everyone, had groped her one more time. Myles, with the help of another colleague, had escorted Brian to his room, where they pushed him in and he collapsed on the bed. Myles had wanted to go and see if the girl was OK but by then he needed some headspace and so grabbed his laptop from his room. It wasn’t yet nine o’clock so he found the restaurant area and ordered a strong black coffee, the perfect hit for him to get some preliminary work done. People commented on his work ethic, saying it was more like a religion to him – and it was. His parents had paid for top schools for his education, and after his father and grandfather had made themselves a success in the business world, Myles had always wanted to do the same.
Myles had two cups of coffee and enjoyed the quiet, low-lit corner of the restaurant, where he worked through everything he would need for tomorrow. He’d prepared a PowerPoint pitch for a new client and, now, he felt he knew it backwards. It was exactly
how he liked to go to a meeting, prepared and ready for any questions, any change of direction that he could use in his favour.
Just after midnight, Myles packed away the laptop and up he went to his room. The hotel was plush and the bed as comfortable as any he’d ever slept in, and despite the caffeine hit, as soon as his body went from vertical to horizontal and his head sank into the luxurious feather-and-down pillow, he was out like a light.
At 3 a.m. the fun started. He woke up to the sound of the phone and when he answered was told it was the wake-up call he’d requested. He explained they must have the wrong room and put the phone down, but he couldn’t get back to sleep because he was itching all over. He tossed and turned, he scratched incessantly, and after a pitiful attempt at more sleep, he got up. The skin on his arms, across his chest and up his neck was bright red and the only relief he found was by taking a shower. He’d wondered whether he was allergic to the washing powder the hotel used on the sheets, but when he cleaned his teeth and looked in the mirror to see his white smile was more red than anything else, he realised someone was playing games. And putting some kind of dye on his toothbrush had pushed him too far.
Fuming, aware he must’ve been the brunt of a practical joke, Myles realised he had no spare toothbrush to use. He wondered which one of his colleagues would’ve had time and been sober enough to do all those things that had made his night so terrible. He packed up his suitcase and considered how he was going to investigate this. He felt he couldn’t let it go. He hated practical jokes, had never found them funny. As a boy he’d boarded at a school where practical jokes had happened all the time – it was almost a rite of passage – but he couldn’t stand them then, and he certainly didn’t appreciate them now.
He got in the elevator and said hello to the two chambermaids, who were gossiping about something or other, and he was so engrossed with thoughts of the presentation this morning and how he was going to cover up the unsightly redness on his neck that he almost missed the snippets of their conversation that told him those practical jokes had been nothing to do with anyone at work.
‘Serves him right, the bloody pervert,’ one said to the other, who burst out laughing.
Whispering, the other girl said, ‘My brother said that powder she used works wonders. He put it on a teacher’s seat once and the teacher was scratching his arse the rest of the day.’
Myles didn’t turn round and willed the elevator to move even slower so he could hear more. All he needed was for these girls to say the name of the person responsible, the person they thought was so funny.
‘Hope his head was pounding when he answered the wake-up call,’ one of them sniggered.
Myles was so angry he stared straight ahead all the way to the bottom floor as the pair smugly revelled in someone else’s ingenuity.
He wondered how funny it would be when he finished with them.
He marched up to the front desk. He saw the girl from last night, the one his colleague had hassled way too much, and he wanted to ask if she was OK but he had other things on his mind now as she hovered with another girl, who had on a shiny brass name badge. He looked closer. Darcy Spencer, Deputy Front of House Manager.
‘Are you in charge?’ he demanded. The girl from last night went on her way with a set of keys.
‘I am, sir. May I help you?’ Her smile almost dazzled him, her dark curls fell delicately to frame her face and a hint of an American accent made her interesting, but he wouldn’t be distracted from what he needed to do.
‘I have a complaint, a very big one.’ He scratched at his neck again. He just hoped his teeth were at least a little less coloured than before, but he needed to buy a toothbrush before he went anywhere near a workplace.
She didn’t look overly worried. ‘And what seems to be the problem, sir?’
He explained the shenanigans of last night: the wake-up call, the itching powder, the food colouring. She kept a straight face the entire time.
‘I want someone to be held accountable,’ he demanded.
‘I understand that, sir. May I ask, were you a part of the Christmas party last night?’
‘I was, but what does that have to do with anything?’
‘I’m just trying to ascertain what may have gone on, that’s all.’
‘I thought it was a colleague.’
‘It sounds the most likely.’
He made a face. ‘That was until I overheard two of your people congratulating whoever pulled the stunts at how well they had gone and how funny they were.’
Her face drained of colour and her ice-blue eyes looked worried now.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ He scratched at his neck again. He was in no mood for this and he didn’t have time to waste. He’d be presenting to potential clients in less than an hour and prayed the persistent itching would subside by then.
‘I did, sir.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
‘Is there a problem?’ An older gentleman in a dark suit with a similar brass badge brandishing his name and that of the hotel came over. Myles peered at the badge and realised this man was the hotel manager and therefore more superior than Darcy Spencer, so he turned his attentions to him and demanded to know what would be done.
Miss Spencer was told to round up all her staff immediately and work out what had gone on. The man had a vein throbbing at his temple and he was not impressed. He assured Myles that this would not be tolerated under any circumstances and the girl went off to do her job.
‘I want someone held accountable,’ Myles told the man. The more he scratched at his neck the more he knew the redness was spreading and the more it made him want someone’s head to roll for this.
Myles waited in reception until the manager called him into a room, where the same girl from last night was waiting, apparently in trouble. He wondered why she’d singled him out when all he’d done was try to help her. But events took a turn he hadn’t expected when the hotel manager instantly turned to the female employee and gave her her marching orders. Myles began to speak but the hotel manager, evidently intent on regaining the reputation of the hotel, was doing exactly as Myles had demanded and holding someone to account.
What Myles didn’t expect after the girl fled the room, clearly upset, was for Miss Spencer to turn on him. And clearly the hotel manager hadn’t expected it either.
‘She wouldn’t have done it if your friend had kept his hands to himself,’ she cried.
‘Darcy.’ The hotel manager had clearly never heard an outburst of this sort from the together, well-groomed deputy front-of-house manager. ‘I think Mr Cunningham was well within his rights to complain.’
‘Why did she target me?’ Myles addressed only Darcy. Those ice-blue eyes were difficult to look away from. ‘I only tried to help her. I wasn’t trying anything else.’
‘She didn’t target you.’ Darcy looked at the floor before returning her gaze to his. ‘She got the room wrong…the man she wanted to punish was in room 175 not room 157, which was your room.’
A muscle in his cheek twitched in amusement despite the prank that had been played on him, the innocent party. It was the sort of story he would probably laugh at if it had happened to someone else. ‘Well you’re all very lucky that I didn’t have a worse allergic reaction,’ he said, to remind her of the seriousness of the situation.
‘And what will your friend get for groping my colleague?’ Darcy wanted to know. ‘Bit unfair, don’t you think, for him to walk away from this without any punishment?’
‘Sir,’ the hotel manager began, trying to deflect from Darcy’s deathlike stare. ‘Please accept my sincere apologies.’ He began to reel off all kinds of offers – a night’s accommodation in an apartment of his choice, a complimentary evening meal for two in their gourmet restaurant, a hefty discount if he were to book another party here in the future – but Myles wasn’t interested in any of it. One girl had lost her job and he felt bad enough for that as it was, because his colleague had hit on
her and she’d tried to pay him back. She just got it wrong. And besides, he didn’t have time for all the admin these favours were going to create.
‘That won’t be necessary, thank you.’ Myles took the handle of his suitcase and turned to leave.
It was at that moment that Brian chose to grace reception to check out and as soon as Darcy saw him, she went in for the kill.
She was feisty and Myles had to admit, he admired her for it. She went marching up to Brian and had a serious word with him about his conduct. But when Myles clocked the manager’s reaction, he willed Darcy to stop. She was the face of the hotel and the way she was verbally laying into his colleague, who denied he’d done anything untoward, was attracting more than a few glances. He deserved it completely, but Myles could tell the manager wasn’t thinking along those lines right now.
It all happened in seconds after that. One moment Darcy was having words with Brian, the next moment he laughed at her as though the entire thing were a joke, and then when she raised her voice and told him not to be surprised if her friend pressed charges, the hotel manager stepped in and marched her away from prying eyes.
Snowflakes and Mistletoe at the Inglenook Inn Page 2