4. Four

Four

W hen I walk into the kitchen the next morning, I can't decide which delightful sight to behold first. The two plates of eggs Benedict waiting on the dining table or Art, naked from the waist up, brandishing a kettle as he pours boiling water into two mugs on the counter.

"Ah, perfect timing." He flashes me a smile and carries the mugs over to the table. "I've made breakfast. Tuck in, or it'll get cold."

My eyes glide over the dips and curves of his bare torso and down to the grey sweatpants hanging from his hips. Art, I decide, is easily the most delightful sight, but the rumble of my stomach tells me the eggs Benedict comes a close second.

"This looks very nice." I pull up a chair and survey the delicious-looking plate of food, savouring the mouthwatering smells of bacon, eggs, and hollandaise sauce. "And it's definitely a step up from toast and fruit salad."

He flicks me a grin. "Impressed? "

"Very," I agree, picking up a fork.

He sits down next to me. "Like you said, we can't live on fruit salad and toast, so I'd thought I'd try a bit harder." He lifts his mug to his lips and watches as I take a bite of toasted muffin and bacon. "Good?"

"Mmm." I nod. "If this is your first attempt, I'm seriously impressed. In fact, it's so good, you can make it again for me if you like."

He smirks. "It is, and noted."

I slice into the perfectly cooked poached egg and watch the golden yolk ooze onto the crispy bacon. Divine.

Art tucks into his muffin and shoots me a look. "I'm sorry if Mum talked your ear off last night about the engagement party."

Barbara forced hot chocolate on us and kept us talking for an hour, insisting we decide on a date for the party so she can organise caterers. We opted for a date in a couple of weeks' time, when I've got a free Sunday. In fact, apart from giving her some numbers and promising to pass on contact details for the people I'd like to be invited, I don't have to do anything, as she's happy to organise pretty much everything. I can't deny that I'm a little bit relieved. I spend nearly every waking moment organising and planning for other people, and the fact that someone's doing it for me is a pleasant change.

"It's fine. It will be nice for your mum to meet Mum and Martin. I really appreciate her organising everything for the party though. Luckily for me, I know Mum hates organising stuff like this—she's told me a million times she could never do my job. Are you sure Barbara's okay with it?"

"She said so herself, it keeps her busy, and she loves it. If I'm being honest, I'm not that fussed about having a party, but you're right; it will be nice for our parents to meet. Of course, it also means that I get to show off my beautiful bride-to-be, and that's all that matters."

I put down my fork and take a sip of coffee. "Hmm, the breakfast and now the buttering me up. Anyone might think you're after something," I tease.

He laughs softly. "I'm always after something where you're concerned. "

I smile. I wouldn't want it any other way.

When I'm at work the next morning, my time's consumed with finalising preparations for next week's wedding and taking bookings for the final cocktail evening this weekend. Word must have got around because there's a flurry of last-minute bookings coming in. The knock on my office door at midday provides a welcome reprieve from staring at my laptop screen and answering telephone calls.

Lucy walks in, wearing a serene smile and a pink flush to her cheeks. She's got the look of love in her eye. I'm immediately worried. It's only been just over a week since she got married and then separated, all in the space of twenty-four hours. There can only be one thing that's causing her dreamy countenance. I haven't caught up with her properly since Ibiza, but I don't need to ask what she's been up to.

"Morning," she says, sitting on the edge of my desk.

"Morning. How's Big Steve?"

Her eyes light up at the mention of his name. "Very well, thank you."

I settle back and fold my arms, swivelling round in my chair to face her. "And have you and Big Steve become better acquainted, or don't I need to ask?"

"No, actually." Lucy gives me a defensive look. "Not how you're thinking anyway."

I'm not buying it, and the look on my face must say so because she frowns.

"Honestly. We've kissed, nothing more. Neither of us wants to rush things."

She must really like him.

"I thought you and he might have stayed on in Ibiza a bit longer … you know, just the two of you."

"Yeah, well, to be honest, it felt a little odd after a few days. It was lovely, him coming out there, but I was meant to be there with Mark. It was weird to be there with another guy." She looks down at the floor sadly. "Anyway, staying there would only have meant I was putting off the inevitable of sorting out all the shit that was waiting for me back here."

I sigh wearily at her predicament. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Lucy gives me a weak smile. "I don't suppose you've got a magic wand you can wave to get my parents to come round to the idea of my divorce, have you?"

Shit. "You've told them then?"

"I went round yesterday. It was awful. I don't think they could quite believe it at first. I can't really blame them. In the end, Dad came round, but Mum's still struggling. She wasn't really speaking to me when I left. They'd spent thousands on the wedding, and in her eyes, Mark's perfect. He's got a good job, we've got a nice house, but none of that matters if you're with the wrong person and unhappy."

I can't argue with that.

She twists a strand of hair around her finger and gives a defeated sigh. "Anyway, enough about my troubles. What's going on with you? Booked that wedding of yours yet?"

"Hardly. The last few days haven't been great for me either."

"Oh good. I'm glad I'm not having all the shit." Lucy laughs. "Do tell."

I fill her in on the events of the past few days but skip the part about Theo calling up my parents because I still feel guilty about not telling Art about that yet.

"Shit, I'm really sorry to hear about Martin. That's awful. Your poor mum. And Theo treated you like shit. I wouldn't have stopped Art," she says stoutly. "I'd have let him go after Theo. I bet Art knows a few people who could sort him out—or even better … pay for a hit on him."

I sigh. Sometimes, I do wish she'd rein in her overactive imagination. "That's absolutely not what Art should do. He's been to prison once, Luce. I don't want the remotest hint of a risk that he'd ever end up back there."

She shoots me a guilty look. "I suppose that might be a bit heavy-handed. Not that Theo doesn't deserve it. "

I pick up the Biro from my desk and twiddle it between my fingers, awkward in the knowledge that Lucy doesn't know everything that happened between me and Theo. I can't begin to imagine her reaction if she did. In fact, I think she'd probably hire a hit on Theo herself.

"Can we stop talking about him, please?"

Lucy nods. She's known me too long to know when not to push things, especially where he's concerned. "What about your engagement party then? I'll be well miffed if I'm not invited," she teases.

"Of course you are. And Big Steve."

The trill of the reception bell echoes down the corridor and signals someone's waiting at the desk.

"Fantastic." Lucy pushes herself off the desk and gives me a cheeky smile. "I'm thinking of asking if he wants to come with me … so, you know, we go together."

I'm pleased that he makes her happy, what with all the shit she's dealing with at the moment.

Her cheeks flush as she grinds to a halt by the door, gazing off into the distance. "I wonder if he'll wear a suit. I can't wait."

I clear my throat. "Luce? Reception."

She snaps out of her daydream with a jolt. "Oh yeah. See you later."

I can't help but smile to myself as she hurries out the door. She's definitely got it bad.

The bar is empty, apart from a couple of customers sitting at tables, making the most of the guest Wi-Fi. The dull ache at my temples tells me I should have stopped for lunch sooner. I need a break.

"Hi, Olly. Can I have a latte, please? "

He looks up from cleaning a pint glass and smiles. "Of course. Busy morning?" He puts the glass down on the countertop and walks over to the coffee machine.

"Very."

He positions a cup beneath the spout of the machine and presses various buttons, making it whir to life. "I'm glad I've seen you actually."

I rub my fingers in circular motions at my temples to try and relieve the ache. I read about this somewhere as a strategy for getting rid of headaches—something to do with pressure points. I'm not convinced it works. I hope Olly doesn't want anything too taxing because I need caffeine.

"What's up?"

He places the frothy latte down on the bar in front of me. "I just wanted to say, congratulations on your engagement."

I smile, pleased that the awkwardness between us has gone. "Thank you."

He blushes and scrapes a hand through his hair. "Actually, I've, erm … I've met someone. It's still early days, but we've been on a few dates, and I really like her."

My smile widens. "That's great. I'm really pleased for you."

"Is everything okay?"

I feel a large hand press against the base of my spine and hear the soft, deep voice at the same time. Art's beside me, looking at me and Olly expectantly.

"Olly was just congratulating me on our engagement."

On cue, he sticks out his hand for Art to shake. "Yes, congratulations."

Art shakes it. "Thank you."

"You're a lucky guy." Olly nods his head in my direction. "But I guess you already know that."

Art smiles and puts an arm around my shoulders. "Yes, I am, very lucky. I tell myself every day." He looks at me, a smile lingering on his lips before he drops his eyes to my cup of coffee. The smile fades. "Have you had any lunch?"

I guiltily look down at the cup.

He arches an eyebrow. "That's not lunch."

"It's fine. I'm not even hungry. "

"You should eat something, Soph," says Olly.

Art gives me an I-told-you-so-look.

"I've told you, I'm fine," I insist.

"Can I have two ploughman's brought up to my office, please, Olly?" Art says, ignoring me.

Olly gives a decisive nod. "Yep, coming up."

Before I can argue, Art takes my hand in his, keeping it there until we reach his office.

Is there really any point in arguing?

"You need to eat. Coffee isn't food," he says pointedly, closing the door.

He's trying to look after me, and I love it when he does this—usually. But today, the tonne of work I've still got left to get through takes the edge off it.

"I haven't really got time for this. I've work to catch up on because I've been off for nearly a week. Not to mention, the online bookings have been pouring in for the final cocktail evening this weekend, and on top of that, I'm still waiting for the table plans for the Parker-Smith wedding next weekend."

A mischievous smile plays on his lips as he listens to my tirade. "If you've got too much work on, then you really should speak to your boss about it."

I fold my arms, not in the least bit amused.

Art frowns, turns his back on me, and walks across the room. I know he isn't having any of it. "You've time for lunch," he says, sinking down onto the chesterfield. He pats the seat beside him. "Sit. You're not leaving until you've had a break and eaten something."

Bossy sod.

I know too well that I won't be going anywhere until I do as he said. And I'm too tired to argue. I'll allow him to have his own way … this time.

I join him on the sofa, and he immediately scoops me onto his lap, as though I shouldn't be sitting anywhere else. Even though I'm annoyed with him, my body instinctively relaxes against his.

Traitorous thing .

I relax into his arms and rest my head against the soft grey cotton material of his shirt. He slides an arm around my waist, reaches forward, and picks the iPad up from the glass coffee table. "Your idea for the cocktail evenings has been a big hit. I've just been looking at the feedback on Tripadvisor. See for yourself."

I take the iPad and scan the reviews. Fantastic cocktails , one reads. A hidden gem, another states.

I can't quite believe it. "This is great. The hotel hasn't had this much positive feedback in years."

"Apart from the wedding reviews," he says, stroking his chin in thought. "I'm going to get some of the quotes put on the front page of the website. The Likes for the Facebook page have increased fifty per cent since the evenings have been up and running. It's exactly what we needed." He takes the iPad from me and puts it back on the table. "Now that I've been here a while and had the opportunity to get to grips with everything, there are some other areas where I think a few changes are in order."

"What areas?"

"The management team."

I frown, unsure of where he's headed with this. "What do you mean?"

"I think George needs some support."

"You mean, like a deputy?"

"Exactly. He's got a lot on his plate, and I don't think he's the sort who'd come to me and ask for help."

"No, because he's probably too scared to."

Art looks mildly offended.

"Don't look at me like that. You haven't been exactly nice to him."

He draws his brows together into a frown, as if he doesn't like what he's hearing but knows I'm right. "Yeah, well, you know patience isn't my strong point, and George puts it to the test, but now that I've been here a while, I can see how hard he works. He gets on with things quietly, without any fuss, when, in reality, he's carrying a lot more than he should. He took on too much when my uncle owned the place, and he's just continues to do it. A deputy assistant manager would take some of the pressure off, but it needs to be the right person. Someone who knows the hotel well, who's experienced."

I suppose it does make sense.

He reaches out a hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Someone like you."

He's mad.

"What? No way."

"Why not?"

"Do you have any idea how absurd that suggestion is?"

"No, but I've a feeling you're about to enlighten me."

"Firstly, I've no management experience." I tick off the reason on my fingers. "Secondly, I like my job just fine, and thirdly, can you imagine what the other staff would think? They'd think I slept my way to the top—that's what."

"Firstly, training for the role would be offered, and you do have experience with managing staff. Secondly, the fact that you like your job isn't an argument, and thirdly, I think by now, you know that I don't give a fuck what the other staff think."

"Well, you should, and I do," I say crossly. "It would look unprofessional. Even more than you and me getting together."

He shrugs his shoulders in defence. "How would it? The job would be advertised. There would be a formal application process. You'd have to apply and go to interview, and there wouldn't just be me on the panel. You wouldn't be handed the job. You'd have to work for it."

I'm not sure I'm convinced.

He puts his hand on my thigh and slides it down over the fabric of my skirt to the bare skin, grazing his fingers slowly up my leg, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. "I just think you've got a lot more to offer. Just planning weddings is a waste of your talents."

I press my lips together to suppress a shiver. He's trying to distract me.

I put my hand on his to stop it from moving any further. "I love my job. "

He tilts his head and looks at my hand thoughtfully. "I'm going to tell you something that you won't believe. You'll think I'm just trying to talk you into considering the job, but I'm not." He carries on pushing his hand up my thigh, and this time, I let him.

Fucking hell, I've got zero self-control when it comes to this man.

"Me thinking you're right for the job has nothing to do with me and you being together. Even if we weren't together, I'd still think you were right for the job. I'd still say to you what I've just said. Because it's true."

I've never really considered stepping up the ladder. I'm pretty sure I could handle the responsibilities, but I'm not sure whether I want the hassle. I can't think about it. Not now.

I part my lips and suck in a long breath as his thumb strokes my knickers in between my legs. "And I thought you'd invited me up here for a nice, relaxing lunch break."

"I did." Art flicks me a grin and kisses my throat.

I close my eyes, succumbing to his touch.

"Sex is a great way to relax."

A rap sounds at the office door, and I snap open my eyes. I go to shift off his lap, but he tightens his hold of me and continues kissing my neck.

"Art, I need to move. I really don't think it's appropriate for anyone to see us. We need to stop."

"Mmhmm."

I pull myself away from him and worriedly glance at the door. "I need to move."

"We're on our lunch break."

I fix him a firm look. "You're being unreasonable. You might not give a shit what the other staff think, but I do."

"Everybody already knows about us. What's the big deal?"

"You're the one who's just been trying to convince me that me going for the deputy job wouldn't look unprofessional, and now, you want me to stay sitting on your lap with your hand up my skirt while we get served our lunch! "

A firmer rap sounds at the door.

He frowns and removes his hand. "Better?"

I roll my eyes. "No, let me go."

He looks at me for a long moment, deciding whether or not to listen to me. "Okay, if you're that worried."

He finally releases me from his grip. I slide off his lap onto the seat beside him.

"Come in," he calls.

The door opens, and George walks in, carrying a tray with our lunches. His eyes anxiously dart between me and Art as he places it on the coffee table.

"Thanks for bringing them up, George," I say.

"No problem. I was hoping to have a word with Art." He looks worried that he's interrupted something. "But I can come back."

"No, George, it's fine," Art assures. "And you're here now."

George nods, and he smiles nervously. "Oh, okay, righto."

"How can I help?"

George takes a hesitant step into the room. His neck and cheeks are a deep shade of red, and there's a faint sheen of sweat across his brow. He looks even more nervous than usual. He pats the front of his navy blazer. "Well, funny you should mention the cocktail evenings because I, er … well, that's what I need to speak to you about. I'm afraid I can't cover the last one this Saturday. You see, I've been quite lonely since my wife died. It's been two years, and I still can't believe it."

George shakes his head sadly, and I feel a pang of empathy.

"When I turned sixty earlier this year, I promised myself that I wouldn't be lonely anymore."

I glance at Art, who's frowning, and I know his patience is on the verge of snapping. I rest a hand on his knee. It's clear this is important to George, and I don't want Art interrupting him.

"I joined an over-sixties online dating site. It took me a while to get my bearings, but I managed it. Anyway, I met a lovely lady called Linda. She's sixty and a widow. We've been Skyping each other for months. We both like bridge and gardening, and … well, I'm taking her on a date on Saturday. Just to the pub, nothing fancy." He rubs a hand across his sweaty brow and looks at Art, waiting for his response.

"It's fine, George," I blurt. "I'll cover Saturday for you. You go and have a lovely time with Linda."

I can feel Art's eyes on me, but I ignore him. I know I've overstepped the line, but I don't care.

George beams. "Wonderful. Thank you, Sophie. How kind." He straightens his tie. "Well, that was all. Thanks both." He opens the door and stops, looking back over his shoulder at us. "Love is precious. Cherish every moment you have together. You'll miss it more than words can describe once it's gone."

I watch George disappear out the door with a lump in my throat.

"How could you say no to that?" I say, not looking at Art.

He frowns. "Do you really think I'm that harsh?"

"I could tell he was annoying you. I wasn't sure whether or not you were going to agree."

"If you'd let me get a word in, I was actually going to suggest getting agency cover."

"You're definitely softening up."

"Maybe." He smiles. "If I am, it's because of you."

His arms slide back around me, and I'm back onto his lap in a heartbeat. I curl my arms around his neck as he rests his forehead to mine.

"I'm not sure I like the idea of you working here late though."

I roll my eyes at his overprotectiveness. "Relax. I'll hardly be on my own. The other staff will be here."

"I'd work late with you if I could, but I need to go to the club on Saturday." He pauses, as if considering something. "In fact, there's something I want to discuss with you. It's about Dark Desires."

This sounds serious.

I draw my head back slightly and look at him. "You've got my undivided attention."

His phone rings on the coffee table. "Ash Calling" flashes on the display .

My stomach drops. What does she want? There are only so many times I can say I don't trust her, and there are only so many times he can tell me I've got nothing to worry about. I bite back the urge to tell him to answer it. I don't want to sound as if I were giving him permission to speak to her. He might be irrationally jealous, but I'm not that person. Am I?

He keeps his eyes on me as he reaches forward and picks up the phone. "Hi, Ash."

I twirl a strand of hair around my finger and try very hard to act as though this isn't bothering me. I can just about hear her voice on the other end of the phone but can't make out what she's saying. I hear her laugh, and my stomach twists in irritation.

Chill out, Soph.

"I'm not sure. I'll see if I've got a number. If I do, I'll forward it to you. Okay. Bye."

Short and sweet.

He ends the call and puts the phone back on the table. "She was calling to ask whether I know any good conveyancing solicitors," he says, reading my mind.

I nonchalantly nod my head, acting like I'm totally fine.

I'm not sure whether he buys it, but I'm grateful when he carries on, "Now, as I was saying. The club. I'm thinking of transferring the ownership over to Big Steve."

"What?"

"When I say I'm thinking about it, I've thought about it, and it's what I want to do."

I must admit, I won't be sad that my fiancé will no longer own a strip club, but I don't understand the reason for his change of heart. "Why have you suddenly decided this?"

"It's time to move on. The club is part of my old life. I'm not the same guy who used to go to Savage or who bought Dark Desires. I've changed, and more importantly, I know you've never been comfortable with me owning it."

I appreciate him doing this but know it runs deeper. "But you bought it because of your birth mother."

He nods slowly. "Yes, I did, partly, but that's also part of my past. I'm ready to move on and look to the future. Our future. It feels like the right step. "

"I'll feel better once you've got rid of it," I admit. "Not just because of the obvious, but I don't like the sound of what's been going on there. I don't like the thought of you getting caught up with drug dealers."

A look of determination glints in his dark eyes as he looks at me. "Not for much longer, brown eyes. Their days are numbered."