2. Two

Two

T he oak-panelled hallway is darker and cooler, and I can practically hear my body sigh in relief at the change in temperature as my heels click across the tiled floor.

"Yes, I see why I was needed back at my station," Lucy mutters sarcastically, as she slips onto the chair behind the small oak reception desk. "It's heaving in here."

I scoot behind the desk and locate my clipboard. Running my finger down the itinerary for the rest of the day I can see I was right. Photographs are due to end at three forty-five with exterior shots at the front of the hotel. At four o'clock, the wedding meal commences in the Summer Room.

"I'm still not completely decided on what we should all dress up as on my hen-do." Lucy places a biro in her mouth and chews the lid. "School girls, Playboy bunnies, or nurses. What do you think? "

I frown. She's chosen each theme to get male attention which she adores, and I hate. "Err, how about none of the above?"

Lucy opens her mouth to argue her point but is cut off by my mobile phone lighting up and vibrating against the desk. It's Magda. Again. "Please, bloody answer it," she wails. "It's been doing my head in."

"Hi Magda, what's up?" My brain whirs to try and fathom what the hell it is she wants. In the three years I've rented the tiny flat above her florist shop she's never needed to call my mobile. What the hell's happened?

"Sophie, darling," she croons in her Polish lilt. "I've been trying to get hold of you all afternoon."

"I'm at work today." I glance at Lucy who rolls her eyes. Lucy's never been a fan of Magda. Her psychedelic hippy, spiritualistic vibes don't mix too well with Lucy's that's-a-load-of-old-rubbish approach to all things mindfulness.

"Oh darling, of course you are. Silly old me. I'm sorry to call you about this whilst you're at work. It's not good news, I'm afraid."

A moment of uneasiness seizes me, and I freeze. Gas leak? Water leak? When Theo and I split up, I was left with only a few possessions, but they were mine. I had to start over and most of my bits of furniture are second-hand, but I've made them my own by adding pretty throws or cushions. The idea of them being water-damaged in a leak or burnt to a crisp in a fire renders me mute for a moment. And then there's my Dad's painting…

"Whatever's the matter?" I ask, not entirely sure I want to hear the answer.

"Asbestos."

I frown and try to work out what the impact that one word will have on my life.

"Asbestos?" I repeat.

Lucy's eyes widen, and she pulls a face which signifies it's not good.

"I'm afraid so, darling. I was having some rewiring done in the back of the shop and the electrician found some dodgy panels on the ceiling. Next thing I know he's telling me it's a highly dangerous form of asbestos. "

I chew my bottom lip as my stomach somersaults at the words "highly dangerous." "But that's just in your shop, isn't it? My flat should be okay?" I ask hopefully.

"Sorry, darling. The electrician said it's likely the building is riddled with it, including the flat. I've got a specialist team coming in to investigate it further, drill holes and such, and it'll make a right mess. I'm having to close the shop and you, darling, well I'm afraid you've got to get out."

"Get out!" I cry. My stomach feels as though it's cartwheeling down a hill now. I can't get out, I've got nowhere to get out to. "Erm… when have I got to get out by?"

Lucy shoots me an alarmed look.

"Right away, darling. It's not safe."

"Right away," I repeat, unable to believe my ears.

"I'm not sure how long it's going to take to sort out." In the background I hear a doorbell ring. "Oh, darling. Sorry, that's the front door. I'll pop by the flat tomorrow, so we can talk more then. See you." And after dropping that bombshell she hangs up.

I stare down at my mobile in disbelief as my brain tries desperately to digest the information dump I've just been subjected to.

"Did I hear right?" Lucy swivels round on her chair to face me. "Your batshit crazy landlord has just phoned to tell you she's evicting you from your flat?"

"Asbestos," I reply quietly, dropping the phone on the desk with a clatter. "What the fuck am I going to do, Luce? I've got to get out, it's dangerous."

"I've heard it is pretty bad to be fair," Lucy says. "What about staying with your mum and Martin?"

I frown. When Mum and my stepdad married, they downsized to a two-bed terrace and his love of miniature railways means there's little room for anything else. "Apart from the fact that I'd go utterly crazy, they haven't got the space."

"You can always come and stay with me and Mark till you get something more permanent sorted," Lucy offers.

I'm already shaking my head. "No, but thanks. "

"It'll be fine. You can have the spare room if you don't mind being surrounded by wedding stuff. To be honest, it'll be nice to have a bit of company. Mark's working until all hours at the mo."

"Thanks for the offer, but it's not fair to do that; not now. You've got enough on your plate with the wedding coming up, you don't want me in the way." I smile, grateful for the offer, but pretty sure I'm not going to play gooseberry between my best friend and her fiancé.

They met at university, the same time I met Theo. Whilst our relationship went from light to dark pretty quickly, then crashed and burnt four years later, Lucy and Mark went from strength to strength. They looked after me when I left Theo, offering me a place to stay, a shoulder to cry on, and whiling away many nights putting the world to rights over a bottle of wine. I couldn't impose on their pre-wedding bubble.

"I'll sort something," I nod, trying to keep positive. "There's bound to be something available." My positive vibe is already slipping before I've finished the sentence. My rent is cheap and to find another place I can afford is going to be a challenge.

"The offer still stands." Lucy gives my hand a pat in a way that suggests she knows the struggle I'm facing. "Something will come up. Things can only get better."

I bloody hope so.

The deafening sound of a bass beat over the top of a throaty, car engine shatters the peace of the hotel grounds.

The front doors are open, providing a view of the sun-baked gravel driveway and the car careering towards us. The noise intensifies as it gets closer and I grip the corner of the desk as panic slices through me. For a second I fear the car's not going to stop and will tear straight through the front of the building, but at the very last minute it swings into a space right outside, sending gravel spraying everywhere. The roar of the engine quits and a few seconds later the ear-splitting thud of the bass is silenced.

"Someone needs to learn how to drive," Lucy moans, sounding as unimpressed as I feel. "Prick."

I silently agree. The driver is obscured by one of the tall twisted box topiary trees placed either side of the doors. I can no longer see the car either, but I know it's a sports car by the roar of the engine and speed at which it hurtled down the drive. It's matte gunmetal grey, and everything about it suggests it's a male driver.

"Whoever it is needs to move their bloody car, because in exactly"—I twist my wrist and glance at my watch—" three minutes, the bride and groom will be having their photos taken out the front. Haven't they seen the "No Parking" signs?"

We're both staring at the door, waiting for the driver to walk in, and my patience is dissolving swiftly with each second that passes. My fingers drum against the wooden desk. After the day I've had whoever it is better watch out because I'm in no mood for messing about. They've got exactly five seconds otherwise I'm going out there.

The slam of a car door echoes through the entrance hall followed by the crunch of gravel. The tall, broad figure of a man appears. It's darker in the entrance hall and the bright sunlight beating down outside casts him in shadow and it's difficult to make out his features clearly.

His wide shoulders nearly fill the width of one of the doors and his head stops only a few inches short of the top frame. His broad upper body gives way to a slender waist and long legs that seem to go on forever. Even from this distance he screams powerful and intimidating, and there's an air of foreboding to him. My thoughts about giving him a piece of my mind are swiftly disappearing. He's six foot two at the very least.

"Who the fuck is that?" Lucy says under her breath.

I'm about to say I have no fucking clue when he starts to move in our direction with slow, confident strides and a swagger that suggests he's aware he's being ogled and is not in the least bit fazed. The soles of his black suede boat shoes hit the tiled floor, sending the sound of his footsteps reverberating across the entrance hall and causing my heart to skip a beat. My mouth dries as my eyes travel up long muscular limbs encased in deep grey tapered chinos. A black cotton polo shirt clings to a ripped upper body and tanned biceps. I shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. I know I'm acting way out of character. I'm staring at him like some love-struck teenager and I should have averted my eyes about thirty seconds ago, but I can't help myself. His smart-casual look does nothing to play down his sizzling physique. Part of me doesn't want to look any further because if his face is as hot as his body, I'm in trouble .

Maybe he's not that good-looking, I tell myself.

Maybe he's got a physique like Adonis because God let him down when he dished out good looks.

Maybe… if I just take a little peek…

I'm so fucking wrong I want to cry out that it's not fair.

Black facial hair adorns a square jaw. It's longer than stubble, but it's not long enough for a beard and does nothing to detract from his fine features. My top teeth snag on my bottom lip as I can't help wondering what it would feel like against my cheek and there's a horrid churny feeling in my stomach at the thought of getting that close to him. Thick, glossy black hair is styled shorter on the sides and swept back longer on top and it's just the right length to run your fingers through.

He's so good-looking it hurts and the staccato beat of my heart tells me I'm in trouble.

Disappointingly, his eyes are obscured by black Ray-Bans, meaning he can see me gawping at him but I have no way of knowing where he's looking.

I'm brought back down to earth with a painful bump, as Lucy grips my hand digging her fingernails into my knuckles. It seems that I'm not the only one the handsome stranger has cast his spell on.

My heart continues an erratic rhythm and I focus on my breathing as he stops a few steps short of the desk and tilts his head upwards at the ceiling as if inspecting the place. He reaches up and pulls the sunglasses off his face. For a few seconds, he surveys the entrance hall then a pair of chocolate brown eyes stare straight at me.

As he shows no signs of looking away, my chest tightens, and I feel like he's reaching into my rib cage and squeezing my heart. I'm overcome by a lustful hungry feeling as I stare back, pinned by his eyes. Dark pools with unknown depths. Captivating and dangerous. Dampness clings to the palm of my hand pressed against the top of the desk as heat prickles my body, causing me to flush from head to toe. My heart is hammering so hard I'm pretty sure he can hear it, and I know I should be looking away because I'm making an idiot of myself. But guests who look as good as him don't grace us with their presence very often. And besides, he doesn't seem to be making any move to look away from me either.

The guy folds up his sunglasses and slides them into the back pocket of his chinos, all without taking his eyes off me.

"Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Gladstone Country Manor. Would you like to check in?" Lucy whimpers.

The interruption breaks the moment and the guy pulls his eyes from mine to look at Lucy and I take the opportunity to steady my breathing.

Get a grip.

I glance at his car, parked where it shouldn't be, and straighten up. I'm here to do a job. He needs to move his car. Pronto. Even if he is delicious.

A small frown dances across the man's dark brow for a second as if perplexed by the question. "No, thank you."

Deep, velvet tones slide across my skin and have me wondering what my name might sound like coming from those perfect lips.

Get a fucking grip.

I clear my throat. "I'm afraid I need to ask you to move your car, sir." My tone is bordering on brusque and I overemphasise the word "sir." I'm overcompensating for my physical reaction, but I can't help it.

A smile twitches at the corner of his lovely mouth. He seems amused and I'm instantly annoyed by his reaction. This throws me once more. I don't know how to act around the guy.

He glances over his shoulder, then turns back to me with a smile. "That car?"

Irritation fires in my gut. He might be good-looking, but he's coming across as a cheeky git.

I glance at my watch impatiently. The photographer will be out the front in one minute with a wedding party of fifty guests waiting. I haven't got time for this. I'm here to do my job, and he's getting in the way.

I force a smile and play the game. "Yes, sir. The car you arrived in less than two minutes ago. "

His smile disappears at my patronising tone. "I don't understand. I presumed that's the car park." He looks from me to Lucy then to me again. "Well, is it, or isn't it?"

"Yes, it is usually, but today we have a wedding and there are signs out front which say no parking."

"I didn't see any signs."

I'm bringing him down a peg. I can't help myself. "Given that you carelessly careered down the drive at a ridiculous speed, I'm not in the least bit surprised, sir."

I stress the word "sir" again and fold my arms. He assesses my reaction and copies my body language, crossing his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to bulge.

"Carelessly careered. So that's what you think of my driving style?" The glint of amusement is back in those brown eyes, and he appears to find my response funny, yet again, and seems to be waiting for me to take the next shot.

"There's also a very large sign outside the front, right next to where you dumped your car. Are you telling me you didn't see it?"

He juts out his bottom jaw and shakes his head. "Nope."

I don't believe him. He's seen it alright and chosen to ignore it because he obviously thinks he can do whatever he bloody well likes and clearly has no regard for anything. So, he's extremely attractive but extremely arrogant to go with it. Almost perfect.

"Then I suggest, sir needs to have his eyes tested because you'd have to be blind to miss it."

"You've managed to insult me twice in the past sixty seconds. That's quite an achievement." He cocks an eyebrow but his mouth twitches into a smile, telling me he's not as pissed off about it as he's making out.

In fact, I get the distinct impression he's quite enjoying sparring me.

I'm never usually this rude with guests, but there's something about this guy's cockiness that's pushing my buttons. Both the good and the bad type.

"When we have weddings cars aren't allowed to park outside the front of the building— "

"In the actual car park."

He's baiting me and I refuse to rise to it.

"In exactly thirty seconds, the wedding party will be having photos taken out there and I don't think the bride and groom will want your fancy sports car in their photos," I reply dryly.

"It's an Aston Martin Vanquish."

I presume he expects me to be impressed by the fact that he owns an eighty-grand car, but money and flash cars mean nothing to me. I shrug. "I don't care. It's in the way."

The guy tilts his head to the left and smirks. The last thread of my patience snaps. I'm about to give him a piece of my mind when the photographer hurries through the front door.

"Goodness me," he puffs, red-faced, clearly not enjoying the sunshine. "I need to take the shots out front and there's a car that needs moving, quickly."

I glare at Mr Arrogant. "Sorry, Harry. There's been a bit of a hiccup. I need to go and get the assistant manager to remove the problem."

"No need. Who needs the monkey when you've got the organ grinder?" the guy pipes up.

He strolls up to the photographer, takes his hand and shakes it.

"Allow me to introduce myself, Harry. I'm the new manager. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, I'll get it moved immediately," he replies politely.

I hear a gasp from Lucy.

My mouth gapes as I watch him follow Harry out front. Just when I think he's gone and I can have a moments reprieve to make sense of what the fuck is happening, his pace slows, and he glances back over his shoulder at me. The cocky smirk returns to his lips at my confused expression. "Hey, brown eyes. Get the senior members of staff rounded up. I want to meet them in the manager's office in two minutes."

Cocky git.

"That's impossible," I snap.

He frowns and comes to an abrupt halt, turning to face me. "That's an order. "

I fix him a stern look, determined not to back down. "Then you need to reassess it. We've a wedding taking place right now; we can't afford to pull anyone from their duties. There are guests that need attending to, food that needs cooking, drinks that need serving. The whole thing will grind to a halt. We haven't got time."

"Then you need to make time."

I exhale a short, sharp laugh in disbelief. He might be in charge, but he has no idea about running a hotel. "Are you serious?"

"Deathly. Now, go and do as I've asked, brown eyes."

His dark gaze sweeps over me from head to toe then he turns and heads out the door.

I stare, dumbfounded, and watch his exquisite behind disappear as my brain struggles to process the information.

"Fucking hell," Lucy gasps in disbelief. "George is going to have a heart attack."

Fuck George. I think I am too.