4. Four

Four

I toss and turn all night. My brain is constantly occupied by a myriad of thoughts from bloody Art Black and his cocky gorgeousness to the fact I might have no job soon, and the possibility of a harmful substance in my flat that is going to render me homeless. I wake up irritated and in need of a hot shower.

I step out of my cupboard-sized bathroom with a towel wrapped around me and glance out of the tiny bedroom window onto the high street below. It's barely eight o'clock in the morning and the sunny clear blue sky is signalling it's going to be another warm day, so I need to dress appropriately.

I settle down on the edge of my bed and examine myself in the mirror, tweaking my semi-damp, mocha brown hair as it falls into natural waves across my shoulders. My eyes lack their usual sparkle due to the rubbish night's sleep I've had. Five minutes later, I feel a little more human as a result of some carefully applied make-up and slip into a sleeveless jade-green dress. It's light and summery, with a slight V-neck, and rests above my knee. I step into tan wedge sandals, sling my bag onto my shoulder, and I'm good to go.

The warm air hits me as soon as I step out onto the grimy pavement and confirms my thoughts that it's going to be another beautiful day. I climb into my red Mini and pull away, my thoughts already turning to the day ahead.

There's a baby shower in the Orangery this afternoon at two o'clock. Hopefully today won't be as hectic as yesterday.

The centre console of the dashboard lights up and "Mum calling" flashes on the display. I roll my eyes. She knows I'll be driving to work but I'll answer it anyway because if I don't, she'll worry.

"Hi, Mum."

"Hi, Sophie. You okay?"

There's no way I'm telling her about the asbestos or the fact my job's potentially at risk. After everything I went through with Theo, she frets about me.

"Yes, I'm fine," I reply, trying to sound convincing. "Are you and Martin okay?"

I make a point of asking about my stepdad. When Mum started dating him, five years after Dad died, my hormonal fifteen-year-old self didn't take too kindly to having another man in the house. Even though we're fine now, I'm still a little embarrassed about my appalling behaviour towards him back them.

"Yes, he's good. He's just had a new shed delivered. Are you on your way to work?"

"Yes."

"I'll be quick then. I'm just calling to remind you that it's Martin's sixtieth birthday at the end of the month, and we're having a meal at Carluccio's. You are coming, aren't you?"

I suppress another eye roll. I could have guessed Martin would choose to celebrate at their local Italian restaurant, where they've been hundreds of times. He's nothing if not a creature of habit. "Of course. I'll meet you there."

"Great, wonderful. He will be pleased." I know Mum is smiling and I can't help but feel pleased she's pleased. "Okay, I'll let you go then. Bye, sweetie."

"Bye, Mum. "

By the time the call ends, the city skyline has given way to trees and greenery as I head towards the hotel. The blazing sun lifts my mood and makes me forget about my job and the asbestos. But not Art.

My stomach churns with nerves at the thought of him. He's taken up residence at the front of my mind and is proving difficult to budge. I don't think I've got the energy to endure another day like yesterday, full of enough heated looks and sexual tension to make my knickers burst into flames. My defences are waning already, and I haven't even reached the hotel yet. I'm going to stay as far as possible away from him, I decide. Sit in my office and keep my head down. There's every possibility that he won't even be at the hotel today. Surely, he's a busy man. Isn't he?

By the time I turn into the gravel driveway of the hotel, I've convinced myself he won't be there. I'm instantly proven wrong when I spy his Aston Martin parked up right outside the front of the hotel where I told him to move it from yesterday.

He's probably done that on purpose, I tell myself, as I pull up beside a white transit van. I climb out of the car, swing my handbag over my shoulder, and stroll through the front doors, passing a guy wearing white-paint-splattered overalls and plastic bags on his feet.

Some part of the hotel is being decorated. Art hasn't wasted any time.

I smile politely at Kelly, the receptionist, who's covering Lucy's morning off, and carry on down the corridor, past George's office on the right, and towards mine at the end.

I push open the door and freeze in horror at the sight of the back of a head of thick dark hair, and a set of exquisitely toned shoulders peeking above the padded leather chair. A familiar deep voice is talking on a mobile phone. My heartbeat instinctively speeds up at the sight of him. He slowly swivels round and flashes a perfect white smile as he sets eyes on me. Today he's in beige and white: sandy-coloured chinos, brown suede boat shoes, and a very, very tight white t-shirt with a V-neck. Left foot resting on his right knee. I haven't moved a muscle for at least ten seconds; I'm sure it's obvious I'm checking him out. And as his dark gaze roams over my body, I notice he's doing exactly the same .

You're fucked off with him.

I storm over to the spare desk and dump my handbag down in a huff. I pull up a chair and switch on the laptop. He's facing me now, looking over the desk at me wearing the same annoying smile he had on his face yesterday.

I angrily tap the spacebar and glare at the screen waiting for the machine to boot up. Every nerve ending in my body is jangling at being this close to him again and I'm worried my defences aren't going to be able to hold for another day.

"Listen, I've got to go. Call you later." He ends the call abruptly and places the phone on the desk. "Good morning, brown eyes."

I glare across the desk at him despite the fluttery feeling his voice evokes in my knickers. "What are you doing in my office?"

He tilts his head to the side in that way of his, he's still smiling. "I think you'll find every room in this place belongs to me and I can't sit in my office as it's being decorated."

"You didn't hang about getting that sorted, did you?"

"What's the point in fucking about? If you want to do something, do it." His voice is calm and controlled but I can't help feeling that he's not talking about his office being decorated anymore.

"Why are you bothering having your office decorated if you're selling the place?"

His long fingers stroke the scruff of his jaw. "I'm reconsidering."

My eyes snap to his in surprise and I feel a tingle of hope. "Really?"

He doesn't expand and before I can probe further, my mobile begins to ring.

I plunge my hand into my bag and yank it out, only to see "Magda calling" flashing in the display.

Shit! I can't exactly ignore her with everything that's going on.

I place my elbows on the desk and rest a palm against my forehead staring down at the laptop keyboard. "Hi, Magda."

"Hello, darling," she calls down the phone. "I'm just checking I'm still okay to pop round the flat this evening, so we can talk about the asbestos? Is six okay?"

Just what I want on a Saturday night .

"Yes, fine," I sigh.

"Have you found another place to stay yet?"

I briefly close my eyes. I was hoping to put it off. "No. I was going to take a look tonight."

"Okay then darling, I'll see you later."

"See you later."

I drop my phone on the desk and heave another sigh as the very real prospect of becoming homeless bubbles back to the top of my priority list. Not that it wasn't there anyway. I'd just blanked it out, the way I always do when things start to unravel.

"Who's Magda?"

I lift my head to find him watching me carefully.

"It doesn't concern you," I reply with a dismissive shake of my head and turn back to my laptop.

"Who's Magda? And why was she talking to you about asbestos and asking if you've found somewhere else to live?"

I draw back slightly into the chair. My shoulders tense at the realisation he already knows too much about my life. "You were earwigging my conversation?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "She was loud."

He's right. There's nothing subtle about Magda.

I'm annoyed that he feels like he can question me about this, and that I feel like I ought to tell him.

"She's my landlord. They've found asbestos in her shop below my flat and she's had to close. Apparently, there's a chance there could be some in my flat."

"When do you need to move out?"

"Asap."

"Have you got somewhere to stay?"

What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? "Nope. I only found out yesterday. Haven't had a chance to look."

"So, you're living in a flat with asbestos in?" He sounds far from impressed .

"Potentially has asbestos in, and I don't have any other choice at the moment," I correct him.

He frowns. "Asbestos is extremely dangerous." Now he's bordering on telling me off.

A knock raps at the office door and Kelly's head pokes round. "Art, there's an estate agent at reception asking for you," she says, fluttering her eyelashes.

I frown as he unfolds his long limbs and slides to his feet, straightening his white top. He flickers his eyebrows up and gives me an easy smile, as if he knows exactly what's going through my head, before he strolls out of the room.

Reconsidering my arse!

Since Magda's phone call, I'm completely distracted. Instead of working up a timetable for next Saturday's wedding, I spend the morning trawling estate agent websites looking for anything that's remotely in my price range that isn't in an extremely undesirable area and doesn't look as though it needs to be fumigated before a human steps foot inside. Turns out there isn't.

By the time mid-day rolls around, it's time for me to go and check the final arrangements for the baby shower but my head's aching from too much screen time and I'm feeling thoroughly depressed.

I spend a few moments checking the room is ready for the baby shower, which is going to be a low-key affair. The blue balloons I decorated the tables with remain upright, and the blue and white banner is thankfully still attached to the white tablecloth. The waiting staff have laid out the silver buffet serving cloches ready for the food along with plates and cutlery .

Olly is pouring orange juice into champagne glasses on a round black tray. "My favourite wedding planner." He flashes a cheeky grin as he sees me approaching the bar. "I'm just going to take these through ready for the guests' arrival, but while you're here there's something I'd like you to try."

He puts down the carton of orange juice and turns round, reaching into the low-level fridge behind the bar.

The murmur of voices makes me look up. Art's standing in the entrance way talking to a blonde woman. His hands are pushed into the back pockets of his chinos and his brow is furrowed. He looks pissed off. An unsettling feeling takes hold of me as I take in the woman. Ridiculously high, black peep-toe heels bring her face level with his. Long, tanned legs stretch upwards and disappear beneath a very short, tight black dress. She's definitely not an estate agent. The woman flicks her shoulder-length, platinum blonde hair over her left shoulder and I can see her red lips are moving very quickly. Although I can't hear what she's saying, she doesn't seem happy either. A lovers' tiff. The woman oozes sexual confidence and jealousy snakes its way into my thoughts as she runs a hand down his left bicep. Maybe she's the trophy girlfriend to go with his flash car, I think bitterly.

"Try this."

I turn to find a tumbler full of ice, clear liquid, and mint leaves on the bar in front of me. Olly rubs a hand through his wavy hair and smiles proudly. "Virgin Mojito."

"Is this another one of your experiments?" I ask, closing my hand around the ice-cold glass. He leans forward on the bar. "Go on, Soph. You'll like it. I promise."

I shoot him an uncertain look and pick up the glass and take a sip. It's cold but refreshing and just right for a day like today.

"You know, that's not bad actually." I nod, placing the glass back down. "That could be a winner."

Olly breaks out into a pleased grin, but it's short-lived as it quickly fades, and he straightens as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. I'm about to ask him what's the matter when I feel a large firm hand rest on the base of my spine and I nearly jump out of my skin. Art sidles up beside me. Every inch of my body tingles from his touch.

"Starting early?" He looks at the glass on the bar in disapproval.

"Do you want to try it?" I offer.

He shakes his head and frowns as though it's a heinous idea. "No, I don't drink."

I didn't expect that.

"It's non-alcoholic," Olly enthuses.

Art's frown remains in place as he regards Olly's enthusiasm with disdain. "No," he replies flatly. "I want two coffees. Bring them out to us on the terrace."

Olly looks crestfallen as he gives a weak nod and turns to the coffee machine.

This guy is so rude!

The heat from Art's palm is warming my back through the thin cotton of my dress and jumbling my thoughts. He leads me outside and it takes me a few seconds to realise that when he said "us", he meant me and him.

He steers us outside onto the slabbed area of the empty terrace, guiding me over to a cast iron table at the far end and doesn't remove his hand from my back until I'm at my chair. Although I've relished the feel of his touch, I can't help but think what the other staff might think of this.

I sit down and cross my legs. "I haven't got time for this, there's a baby shower starting very soon."

He pulls the chair to the right of me a little closer, so we're sitting side by side and sits down. "The difference is the guests can manage without you; I can't."

What the fuck did that mean?

My stomach does a 360 flip and I stare out at the sunny rose gardens to distract myself from reading too much into it. "Why are we out here?"

"Like I told you yesterday. I want to get to know you better." He rests his elbows on the arms of the chair and stretches his long legs out in front of him.

"I told you about myself in the meeting..." I begin, but he chuckles, a low, deep laugh that makes the hairs on my arms stand to attention. His eyes crinkle at the corners and his face lights up with a smile, very different to the Art from seconds earlier.

"You told me how long you'd worked here for and that you're the wedding planner. That's not going to cut it, I'm afraid."

"Oh, so I'm not a party planner anymore then," I snap back sarcastically.

There's a spark in his brown eyes. "I only said that to piss you off."

I knew he'd enjoyed winding me up. "Why?"

"Because you're even sexier when you're angry."

I press my lips together and silently thank the Lord when we're interrupted by Olly bringing out the coffees because I have no idea how to respond to that.

I take a sip of coffee and wince. It's far too strong and hot but I don't care because it's giving me something to do and think about other than him.

He waits for Olly to disappear then puts his hands behind his head and lounges back in the chair studying the gardens. "So, how old are you?"

"Twenty-eight," I reply before I can stop myself.

"You look younger."

I roll my eyes and place the coffee cup down on the saucer with a clink. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"It's not a line. What about boyfriends?"

I frown. "What about them?"

"Have you had many?"

"Not really, just one serious relationship." I silently reprimand myself for giving him what he wants. It's like an override switch has flipped in my brain and my mouth has lost control.

"What happened?"

I smooth a hand across the green cotton on my thigh and notice his eyes flick to the movement. "We split up three years ago."

"What happened?" he presses.

I fiddle with the hem of my dress. There's no way I'm telling him that my ex was a lying cheating abusive arsehole who made my life hell for three out of the four years we were together. "It just didn't work out," I reply, hoping he doesn't push it any further.

"What about whatshisname behind the bar?

I glance over my shoulder, perplexed. "Olly? What about him?"

"Have you two fucked?" Tension appears in his voice and his eyes burn into me as he watches my body language.

I draw my head back slightly. His directness and scrutinising gaze are proving too much, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Erm… no."

"He wants to, though." The tension remains in his voice as he nods briskly, as if confirming the thought to himself. "What about your parents?"

"What about them?"

"Tell me about them."

"My dad died when I was ten. Mum remarried."

He rests his glorious forearms on the iron armrests of the chair and looks at me for a long moment. "Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

"No," I sigh, growing tired of his interrogation tactic. "And I don't really know what my family has got to do with you."

He casually brushes his hand across his thigh. "Like I said yesterday, I want to get to know you better. I want to know all there is to Sophie Ward."

My fingers curl around the edges of the cool wrought iron arms of the chair at his declaration and the sweat from my palms feels clammy against the metal beneath my hand.

"These gardens are better maintained than the inside of the hotel." He curls his long fingers around the cup and raises it to his lips.

I'm relieved his interrogation seems to have ended but annoyed it's been rather one-sided. "So, I've shared loads of info about me and I still don't know anything about you."

His dark brows raise a fraction as he takes a sip of coffee, then he lowers the cup to the saucer. "You haven't shared ‘loads of information', but it will have to do for now. What do you want to know? "

Everything.

"How old are you?"

"Thirty."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

A crease appears in his brow as if I've asked a really stupid question. "No."

I want to ask him about the blonde in reception earlier but worry I'll come across as a jealous weirdo, so I don't push it. "Have you ever?"

"No."

Another red flag pops up in my head. "So, you're thirty and have never had a relationship?" I can't believe it's due to the lack of offers and his response confirms my initial impression that he's a Playboy. A commitment-phobe. A love ‘em and leave ‘em type.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I haven't met the right woman… yet." Those brown eyes are studying me carefully, and he emphasises "yet."

Excitement and nerves dance in my stomach and I tear my eyes from his because I can't look at him any longer. I clear my throat. "What about your parents?"

His right eyebrow twitches ever so slightly. "Dad died five years ago. Mum's still alive. I'm an only child."

"Are you Italian?"

He takes a while to reply and I get the distinct impression he's choosing his words. "I've Italian in my blood line."

I sense his guard is about to snap up but I'm on a roll. "What about Art? That's an unusual name."

He drags his fingers through his thick hair and his left foot begins to twitch. He doesn't like being questioned, for some reason. "It's short for Arthur. My dad's name." His brown eyes slide to me. "Enough questions."

There's a warning in his voice. He's telling me rather than asking me to stop. I get the impression I won't get very far trying to push him anymore today, so decide to switch subjects. "How come you met with the estate agent this morning, when you told me you were reconsidering selling the place?"

"I arranged the meeting before I came here yesterday and decided to keep the appointment."

"You changed your mind about selling the place after you visited yesterday?"

"Yes."

"What changed your mind?"

"You."

I stare back at him blankly. "Me? What did I say?"

He shifts round slightly in his chair to face me and my stomach twists as I'm hit with the full force of his beautiful face. "What you said about this place being left to me and it being part of my family history made me think."

I can't suppress my smile of relief. "And there was me thinking I'd shouted my mouth off."

"You did, and I wouldn't usually take shit like that from anybody." His tone suggests he's not joking. There's an edge beneath the charming, handsome veneer.

He tilts his head to the left and his dark eyes search my face as if trying to find an answer to a puzzle. "You've a beautiful smile."

My heart starts jumping around in my chest, and I know he's reeling me in.

"Let me take you to dinner this evening."

Talk about striking when the iron's hot.

I stare at my hands in my lap because I can't think straight when he looks at me. With my sensible head on, I ask myself what's changed in the past twenty-four hours since he last asked me to dinner, and the answer is nothing. Even though I know a little more about him, my heart can't take that risk.

"I can't, Art."

Five long seconds pass as his dark eyes widen, and he doesn't move a muscle. When he eventually speaks his voice is deep and breathy. "That's the first time you've said my name."

Is it? Maybe it is. What does that mean ?

He seems to come to his senses and drags his gaze back to the gardens in front of us. "Right. I have to go, there's some business stuff that I need to sort out."

I'm surprised that a tiny part of me can't help but feel a little disappointed that he has to leave and I have no idea where the next question comes from. "Nothing too taxing I hope, it is Saturday afternoon."

He shifts forward in the seat and rubs his lovely hands together. I notice the expensive black leather watch on his right wrist is a Rolex. The leather strap is showing some signs of wear and the gold face looks an older design. It's not as flashy and pristine as the rest of his image and has my interest piqued.

"One of my staff popped in earlier. Tara, the woman you saw me talking to. Something has cropped up which I need to sort."

How did he know I'd seen him?

Before I can ask any more questions, he gets up and puts his hands in his pockets.

"I'll see you later." He throws me an easy smile which makes my heart turn over and leans forward ever so slightly, brushing his fingers over the top of my knuckles with a feather-light stroke that sends a weird electrical current zapping through my bones making them melt. He swaggers away towards the car park and leaves me swooning, with an uninterrupted view of his gorgeous arse, again.

Shit. I'm in trouble.

The sound of laughter and lively chatter from the baby shower pours through into the entrance hall as I head back into the hotel. Olly is leaning against the desk in reception, deep in conversation with Lucy, and they both look up as I approach. The guilty looks on their faces tell me they've been gossiping about someone.

"The boss has gone, I see." Lucy sits back in her chair and a wry smile spreads across her face as she spins round to face me.

"Is everything okay?" Olly's brow twitches into a frown as he straightens up. "I mean, he hasn't upset you or anything, has he? Because he's a rude twat and if he has…" He trails off and I'm not sure what the end of the sentence would be. Olly's misplaced protectiveness is endearing, but his tall, lanky frame would be no match for Art's toned, lean muscular physique .

"No, no." I shake my head not wanting him to get the wrong end of the stick. "He's been fine with me."

"He's been more than fine with you," Lucy scoffs, lounging back in the chair.

Olly's green eyes narrow ever so slightly as he looks from Lucy to me and I'm not planning on hanging about to see if he works out what she meant.

I carry on down the corridor and make my way back to my office, pushing open the door. Then I stop. Something's different. A short glass Mason jar sits on the desk beside my laptop, overflowing with a bunch of forget-me-nots.

I slump down on the chair perplexed and twist the jar around, admiring the pretty blue flowers.

Who put them here? Definitely not Art. This is far too romantic for someone so cocky and direct. Olly? I could imagine him doing something like this and being too shy to mention it. Whomever they are from, it's a nice gesture.

I shift the jar onto the window ledge and smile to myself.