Promised

‘Don’t speak unless necessary.’ Del shakes his head, leaving me and Sylvie to finish up with the champagne and transfer the canapés from the Tupperware to the trays.

‘All set?’ Sylvie asks, swinging her tray onto her shoulder.

‘Lead the way.’

‘Great. Let’s feed and water some elitists,’ she grumbles, smiling sweetly at Del when he throws her a cautionary look. ‘Would you prefer snobs?’

He points his finger at her, fighting a fond smile. ‘No, I’d prefer to have enough staff so I didn’t have to resort to drafting you in. Get your arse in gear.’

‘Yes, sir!’ She salutes him seriously and marches on, me following behind, laughing.

I don’t get very far, though. And my laughing is sucked up in a second.

His face is impassive as he watches me, while I’m frozen on the spot, body shaking, pulse racing. But he seems completely composed, the only clue of his thoughts being how closely he’s studying me.

‘No,’ I whisper to myself, trying to gain control of my shaking tray as I reverse my steps, backing up into the kitchen. He’s with that woman, and she’s adorned in cream silk and dripping with diamonds, her hand glued to his arse, her smiling face beaming at him dreamily. Business? I feel sick – sick with jealousy, sick with pain and sick with delight at how beautiful he looks in a taupe three-piece suit. His flawlessness defies reality on every level.

‘Livy?’ Del’s concerned voice seeps into my ears and his hands rest gently on my shoulders from behind. ‘You okay, sweetheart?’

‘Pardon?’ I rip my eyes away from the painful sight across the room, and turn blankly towards my boss, registering a face to match the concern in his voice.

‘Christ, Livy, you’re as white as a ghost.’ He takes the tray from me and feels my forehead. ‘And you’re cold.’

I need to leave. I can’t work all night in the close proximity of Miller, especially with her draped all over him, and definitely not after last night. I’m shifting on the spot, my eyes darting all over the place, my heart showing no sign of letting up. ‘I think I might have to leave,’ I whisper pitifully.

‘Yes, go home.’ Del ushers me through the kitchen and shoves my satchel in my arms. ‘Get in bed and sweat it out.’

I nod lamely, just as Sylvie comes steaming into the kitchen with a tray full of empties, her wide eyes looking frantic and worried, even more so when she clocks my pathetic, sweating form. Her mouth opens to speak but I shake my head, not wanting her to give me away. What will Del think if he finds out that I’m in this pickle because of a man?

‘You’ll have to work that little bit harder, Sylvie. I’m sending Livy home. She’s feeling ill.’ Del turns me and pushes my shaking body towards the exit.

I glance over my shoulder, giving Sylvie an apologetic smile, grateful when she brushes off my guilt with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Hope you feel better,’ she calls.

I’m sent to the mews at the back of the hotel, where deliveries are taken and the staff pop out to smoke. It’s dusk and the air is heavy, just like my heart. Finding a step away from the chaos of the loading bays, I lower my backside and slump my head onto my knees, attempting to calm myself down before I drag my feet home. Forgetting my encounters with Miller Hart and the feelings I had during those encounters might be easier if I never have to see him again, but it’s going to be impossible if he’s around every corner that I turn.

Returning to solitary confinement seems like my best option, but I’ve been teased, fed something new and appealing, and I want more. The important question, though – the question I should ask and consider seriously – is whether I’m hungry for more with just Miller, or if I can find these tingling, stimulating, alive feelings with someone else, a man who wants me for longer than one night, a man who can maintain these feelings, not spike them, then quickly and cruelly replace them with inadequacy and misery.

I won’t hold my breath.

I force my reluctant body to stand, looking up and coming face to face with Miller Hart. He’s standing just a few feet away, legs spread and hands in his pockets. His expression is still blank, telling me nothing, but this takes nothing away from his impossible beauty. There are many things I want to say, but saying them will only prompt conversation, which will almost certainly cast me further under his spell. The only sensible move I should make right now is escaping his presence. And set on doing just that, I start walking away from him.

‘Livy!’ he shouts, his footsteps trailing me. ‘Livy, it’s simply business.’

‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me,’ I declare softly. That was no body language of a business associate. ‘Please don’t follow me.’

‘I’m talking to you, Livy,’ he warns.

‘And I’m choosing not to listen.’ My nerves are keeping my tone timid and weak when I really want to inject some spunk into it, but the strength required to do so is being used to walk away.

‘Livy, you owe me sixteen hours.’

His cheek makes me falter mid-stride, but doesn’t stop me completely. ‘I owe you nothing.’

‘I beg to differ.’ His body lands in front of me, blocking my path, so I quickly sidestep him, not allowing my eyes to divert from their focus point: the main road ahead. ‘Livy.’ He’s grabbing at me now but I shake him off, silent but firm. ‘Where are your f**king manners?’

‘I don’t care for them with you.’