Chapter 22

22

A s I enter the dining room from the kitchen with a silver warming dish full of bacon and sausage in my hands, I resist the urge to wince.

Or smirk.

I'm a bit undecided.

There's definitely something to be said for having an older lover. He's not only sexy as hell, but he's also very thorough. I don't think there's a single inch of my body he didn't worship last night.

Once our overheated bodies had cooled, the conservatory became too cold for lounging around naked, with the added, albeit small, risk of someone stumbling across our intertwined bodies on the chaise. It was so late that most of the staff was probably in bed, but still.

Although you never know with Mr Pennington. I caught him wondering around the hotel in the middle of the night a few days ago so he could, in his words, experience the nighttime terror of a haunted hotel as research for his book.

Yes, it may be haunted, but there's really not that much terrifying about it at all.

Morgan and I had snuck up the stairs half-dressed and covered in sweat and cum, trying not to get caught, then showered together in his room, and I spent the rest of the night in his bed.

I pause and close my eyes to fully immerse myself in the memory. I've never spent the entire night with someone before. He'd made love to me all night long. It was as if he was aware, just as I was, that the clock is ticking on this thing between us.

I'd left him in bed this morning tangled up in sheets that smelled of us. I had to get up since I had duties in the hotel, but god, I hadn't wanted to leave that warm cocoon or the heat of his naked body. Setting the dish on the table, I look up to see Morgan saunter into the dining room. His dark eyes immediately zero in on me, and I smile.

It's such a marked difference from when he first arrived. Gone is the tightly buttoned, overly stressed, extremely grouchy man with perfect hair and a thousand-dollar suit, and in his place now is a relaxed and happy man wearing jeans and sweaters, looking perfectly at ease with himself and the world.

He comes up and drops a kiss onto my lips. "Good morning," he mutters against my mouth, then kisses me again.

"Morning." Heat travels to my cheeks as my mouth curves into a wide smile.

"Missed you this morning."

At his words, that flush of pleasure decides to travel from my face down to my chest—suspiciously in the direction of my heart.

"I had to get up and help Aggie in the kitchen," I reply with a chuckle. "Although helping Aggie in the kitchen is restricted to fetching and carrying whatever she tells me to. None of us are allowed to so much as toast a slice of bread."

He looks over at the full English breakfast set out in the deserted dining room.

"Why do you go to all this trouble when there aren't any guests?" There's no censure in his voice, only curiosity.

"Well, there's Mr Pennington, and you, and all the staff will pop in at some point and eat too. Either me or Rosie will make a plate and take it up to Mr Asht—" I shake my head and laugh. "I'm still getting used to calling him Cedric. Anyway, we could just send it up in the dumbwaiter, but we like to check in on him every morning. Even though he grumbles and says we're annoying him, we make sure he has plenty of company through the day. He may refuse to leave his rooms, but it's not good for him to be on his own too much."

His hands gently cup my face. "You're incredible, you know that?" Leaning in, he kisses me again, but this time there's nothing chaste about it. He kisses me so thoroughly I feel it all the way to my toes, and when he straightens again, I sway into him. "Thank you for taking such good care of my grandad when I should have been."

"Ah, no!" I shake a finger at him. "No self-recriminations before breakfast. The situation was what it was, so draw a line under it and move on. You're here now and that's what counts."

"Ellis!"

I turn towards the door at the sound of my name. Rosie is hurrying in with a piece of paper clutched tightly in one hand, her face a mask of worry.

"Rosie, what's wrong?" I ask in concern as, slightly out of breath, she stops in front of me and Morgan.

"I just got an email." She thrusts the paper towards my face. "I printed it out for you to read."

I reach up and take it from her hand, then read it quickly. My heart begins to pound, and my stomach sinks. I return to the beginning and read it again to confirm I didn't misunderstand the message.

At my obvious distress, Morgan asks, "What? What is it?"

I can't find the words to respond.

"It's the bank," Rosie says. "Apparently, they took us to court over all the outstanding debts, and since we didn't show up, they've ordered a full valuation and audit of the house and its contents so it can be put up for auction."

"What?" His eyes widen. "Why would you ignore a court summons?"

"We didn't know," I whisper.

"How can you not know? There should have been letters?—"

He cuts himself off with a curse and then, gripping the paper, stalks towards the door.

Rosie and I scramble to catch up with him, but he doesn't stop until he's on the fourth floor and hammering on his grandfather's door.

"Hold your horses," declares angry muttering from the other side of the door. "The house better be on bloody fire."

The door opens and Cedric appears scowling at the three of us. Morgan holds up the piece of paper.

"Where are they?" he demands.

Cedric glares at him. "Where are what?"

"The letters, the court summons?" Morgan says coolly.

Cedric's eyes narrow and he juts his jaw out stubbornly. "I don't know what you're talking about. Now go away." He turns and shuffles back into his room, but Morgan reaches out and catches the door before it slams closed, then strides into the room after him.

"Oh no, you're not getting off that easy."

Cedric turns to face him, his cheeks blotchy with anger. "Get out!"

"No," Morgan snaps, and honestly, it's like watching two very stubborn goats butt heads and bleat at each other. "Where. Are. They?"

Cedric's lips purse shut, but his eyes betray him when they inadvertently flick to the bottom drawer of the sideboard.

Following his gaze, Morgan crosses the space in three strides and yanks the drawer open, allowing letters to spill out and tumble to the floor.

"Jesus Christ." He grabs handfuls of them and, realising just how many there are, straightens up and holds some out to his grandfather. "How long have you been hiding this from them?"

"None of your business," Cedric snaps.

"The hell it isn't," Morgan shouts back, shaking one handful at his grandad. "You're about to be homeless! When you didn't show up at court, they decided to send out an auditor to value the house, grounds, and contents for auction. You're going to lose your home." He points the other handful of letters in the direction of me and Rosie. "They're going to lose their home. Don't you care?"

"That's rich coming from you!" Cedric's voice breaks on the last word. "You weren't here, so don't think you can come in here and start throwing your weight around and judging me. I didn't need you before and I don't need you now, so why don't you fuck off back to America, to your fancy hotels and la-di-da lifestyle."

"I can't!" Morgan shouts. "Because like it or not, I'm your family and that makes you my responsibility." He throws his hands up, letters still in a death grip. "Otherwise, you'll end up homeless and living out in the orchard until you freeze to death like that dumb-ass ancestor of ours."

"That's really very rude," Edwina's posh and slightly affronted tone murmurs behind me, but I don't pay her any attention. The ghosts are the least of my problems right now.

"I don't need you! And they can fuck off if they think they're setting one foot inside my house! I'm not going anywhere! They'll have to burn the place down around me because the only way I'm leaving is in a coffin!"

He whirls around, well as much as he can with his bad arthritis, and hobbles back to his train room, slamming the door. Morgan moves to follow him, but I grab his arm to stop him.

"Morgan, don't," I say softly. "That's not how to handle him. He's an old man, and this house is all he's ever known. He's scared, and he doesn't know what to do, so he's trying to push it all away and ignore it."

Morgan growls in frustration. "That's not going to solve the problem. That's how he got into this mess in the first place."

"I know." I pet his arm and continue to talk softly to try and calm him down. "But this is partly on Rosie and me."

"How do you figure that? Did you ignore a drawer full of legal correspondence and court summons?"

"No," Rosie interjects with a troubled frown. "But we gave him the letters. Anything official-looking we've always passed to him so he could preserve some of his privacy. In reality, we should have opened all of them. If we had, we might've known, and we might've been able to do something in time." Her voice catches and she shakes her head.

Morgan takes a deep breath, hands me the stacks of letters, and goes back to the drawer to get the rest. "Show me the books. All of them."

I hesitate. Yes, I probably should do as he asks, but Cedric hasn't given me express permission to allow his grandson access to the financials, and I don't want to upset him further. It's not good for his blood pressure.

"I'll do it," Rosie says firmly. "I'll show all of it."

Carrying all the correspondence we could find, the three of us trudge down to the office. Morgan pushes up the sleeves of his sweater and plants himself at Rosie's desk, and we ply him with a never-ending stream of coffee and hand over reports and letters from the bank and creditors when he requests them.

The next couple of hours are excruciating. It's clear the others know something's going on. John the Maid has cleaned the reception desk on the other side of the open office door so many times that I wouldn't be surprised if I could see my reflection in the work surface by now. Aggie brings in bacon sandwiches around mid-morning, her expression worried, but she leaves us to it without a word. Every now and then, I even see the ghosts stick their heads around the door, but I don't engage with them either.

All my focus is on Morgan, who mutters to himself as he sits and taps away at a calculator. The sexy, laid-back man from earlier is gone, once again replaced with tight shoulders and a scowl etched between his brows. Which, honestly, is still really hot.

Finally, he slumps back in the chair and rubs his eyes. "I'm missing payroll."

"There isn't a payroll," Rosie says.

Morgan's frown deepens. "What? Why wouldn't you keep a record of payroll? From what I can see here, you've been meticulous about documenting everything. It's incredibly professional."

"It's not that we didn't keep a record of the payroll," Rosie explains. "There isn't any payroll."

"But that doesn't make any sense." He shakes his head in confusion. "The only reason you wouldn't have a payroll is if you haven't been pay?—"

He breaks off and stares at the two of us as his brain connects the dots. Sucking in a sharp breath, he pinches the bridge of his nose. Either he has a nasty headache brewing or he's searching for his patience, possibly both. Probably both.

"How long?" he grits out, looking up at the pair of us. "How long haven't you been paid for?"

Rosie and I look at each other. "A year," I finally answer.

"A year!" he exclaims, caught somewhere between horror and disbelief. "You haven't been paid for over a year?"

"Slightly longer if we're going to be totally honest here," Rosie adds.

"How the hell have you all survived working for free for over a year?"

I shrug. "It's inconvenient, but it's not as bad as it sounds. We don't have to pay rent or utilities, and we get fed. John the Maid was discharged from the army on medical grounds so he has a pension he lives off. Dilys and Aggie both have savings and have always lived frugally anyway."

"And you two?" he says. "Because, given your age and how long you've worked here, I can't imagine either of you have savings worth a damn."

"My parents help me out when I need it," Rosie offers.

"So does my mum," I say. "She bought me some new clothes and underwear for my birthday and Christmas, and she pays for a basic phone package for me. I don't need much else. I do miss being able to buy wool for my knitting though."

"That's probably too much information, babe," Rosie suggests. "Although, judging from the sounds coming from the conservatory last night, I expect he's already seen said underwear."

From the heat in my cheeks, I'm guessing it's safe to say I'm several shades past fire engine red right now.

"You're missing the point," Morgan interrupts. "I mean, not about Ellis's underwear—which is very nice, by the way—but you worked. You should have been paid regardless."

"There wasn't enough money," I reply. "We all met together as a group and decided we'd give up our wages and support each other while we tried to save the hotel. Please don't be mad at your grandfather. He didn't know we weren't being paid. That was the only thing we kept from him."

Morgan sighs and drops his head into his hands.

"Is there any hope?" Rosie asks. My heart sinks when Morgan looks up and slowly shakes his head.

"Even if we could get a lawyer and delay the auditor to work out terms with all the creditors, there's just no income to cover it. Everything has been paid with credit, on accounts that are now dried up. There's not enough left to even continue at the level you have been, let alone begin to pay off the debts."

"But," Rosie says, "you own a hotel empire. Can't you?—"

"Rosie!" I say sharply. "It's not Morgan's responsibility to pay off the hotel's debts."

"I couldn't if I wanted to," Morgan admits. "This is multiple decades of mismanagement coming home to roost and very little left in the way of any actual wealth. The family was almost bankrupt by the time I was born. Frankly, I'm stunned you've managed to keep this place going for as long as you have."

"But can't you?—"

"I'm sorry, Rosie." Morgan shakes his head. "I know you want me to be some kind of saviour. Yes, my brother and I inherited a high-end hotel chain from my stepfather, but all the decisions on acquisitions are decided by the board, and there's no way they'd invest in this place. Not when there are mountains of debt and no discernible profitability in the near future. Even if by some miracle I managed to convince them, they'd gut the whole place, strip it of everything that makes it special, and turn it into another bland carbon copy of all the other hotels."

"But—"

"Before you go ahead and ask another extremely personal and intrusive question because I can see you're going to, yes, I do have my own money. But I could pour every last cent I have into this hotel and it wouldn't be enough." His eyes are filled with sadness as he looks at us both. "I'm sorry. There's just nothing I can do."

I feel like I'm choking on a hot, hard ball of misery burning at the back of my throat, and my eyes sting from the tears threatening to spill.

"I thought we'd have more time," I whisper painfully.

"Ellis." He pushes to his feet and comes to me, one hand lifted, but pauses when his phone starts ringing in his pocket. Swearing under his breath, he pulls it free and connects the call, and whoever's on the other end is so loud that I can hear their greeting clearly in the small, cramped office.

"Warren," Morgan replies, his eyes linked with mine, "this isn't a good time."

"No kidding," says his brother. "I need you back in New York straight away."

Morgan scowls. "What?"

"The board has called an emergency meeting and your presence is required… in person."

"What? Why?"

"No idea. They didn't say," his brother answers. "Play time's over. I've had your assistant check everything on your end. The roads are clear enough, so we've got a car coming to pick you up in an hour. Your flight is at six p.m. from Manchester. Don't miss it."

Morgan hangs up the phone, his gaze still on me, his expression a myriad of emotions I'm too tired to try and identify.

"Ellis," he whispers.

But I give him a small smile, one tear spilling over and escaping down my cheek. I brush it away quickly.

"You have to go." I nod. "You should go and pack."

I bite my lip to keep myself from crying. It's not fair that I'm losing my home, my family, and now him too, even if I knew deep down he was never really mine to begin with. I swallow hard and raise my chin, then turn to Rosie, who looks just as heartbroken as I feel. "We should call a staff meeting. The others will be worried and they deserve to know the truth. And if this place is going to close, we need to make sure Dilys is taken care of."

"Ellis," Morgan says again. I can hear the sadness and regret in his voice, but I can't deal with it now. It's time to deal with the practicalities. I can cry later in private, where no one can see me. Right now, I need to be strong for the others.

"It's okay, Morgan," I tell him. "Really."

"Maybe I could get a lawyer or something. They might be able to stop the audit and arrange for a new hearing."

I shake my head slowly. "There's no point. Like you said, without investment, we can't save this place, and no one is going to want to take on a failed business and a Grade II listed building in desperate need of repairs and drowning in debt."

"I wish—" he begins, but I don't let him finish.

My heart can't take it.

"I know," I say, reaching for Rosie's hand as she wipes her eyes with a tissue from her pocket. "I do, too."

Then I pull Rosie from the office and go in search of the others so we can tell them we're going to lose our home.