Promised
Page 34

‘Your phone’s off,’ Nan fires accusingly. ‘Why?’
My arms drop to my sides on an over-the-top sigh before I push my way past them, heading toward the kitchen. ‘The battery died.’
Her scoff indicates her thoughts on that lie as she tracks me. ‘Your boss stopped by.’
I swing around, horrified, finding straight lips and George still grinning over her shoulder. ‘My boss?’ I ask tentatively, my damn heart pounding against my chest.
‘Yes, your real boss.’ She watches for my reaction and she won’t be disappointed. I’m trying my hardest not to, but I’m blushing furiously and my body has completely sagged. ‘Nice cockney man.’
‘What did he want?’ I breathe, gathering myself together.
‘He’s been trying to call you.’ She fills the kettle and signals for George to sit, which he does without delay, still grinning at me. ‘Something about a charity gala this evening.’
‘He wants me to work?’ I ask hopefully, retrieving my phone and quickly turning it on.
‘Yes.’ She continues with tea-making duties, her back to me. ‘I did point out that it might be too much after your long shift yesterday evening.’
I’m scowling hard at her back, and I know George’s grin has just widened. ‘Give it a rest, Nan,’ I warn, stabbing at the buttons of my phone. She doesn’t turn around and she doesn’t answer. She’s made her point, as have I.
Putting my phone to my ear, I take the stairs to escape to the sanctuary of my room. Del needs me to waitress this evening and I accept eagerly, before I’m told where to be and when. I’ll do anything to distract myself.
Pushing my way through the staff entrance of the hotel, I’m immediately greeted by a pacing Sylvie. She’s on me like a wolf, like I knew she would be. ‘Tell me everything!’
I walk past her, heading for the kitchen. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’ I brush her off, reluctant to confirm that she was right. I take my apron from a smiling Del and start putting it on. ‘Thank you.’
He hands one to Sylvie, too, who snatches it and doesn’t thank our boss. ‘So you told him where to go?’
‘Yes,’ I say very convincingly, probably because it’s part truth. I have, in effect, told him where to go. I start loading my round silver tray with glasses. ‘So you can quit with the nagging because there’s nothing to nag me about.’
‘Oh,’ she says placidly, starting to help me. ‘Well, I’m glad. He’s an arrogant bastard.’
I neither deny nor confirm it, instead opting to change the subject completely. I’m supposed to be busying my wandering mind, not feeding it. ‘Did you go out last night?’
‘Yes, and I still feel like crap,’ she admits, pouring the champagne. ‘My body has craved junk food all day, and I necked something close to two litres of fat Coke.’
‘That bad?’
‘Horrendous. I’m not drinking again . . . until next week.’
I laugh. ‘What makes you bad . . .’
‘Don’t! The smell of this is turning my stomach.’ She gags and holds her nose as she continues to fill the flutes. It’s only now that I take a good look at her, noticing her usually shiny black bob looks a little dull, as do her usually rosy cheeks. ‘I know. I look like shit.’
I return to the tray. ‘You really do,’ I admit.
‘And I feel worse than I look.’
Del appears, looking his usual happy self. ‘Girls, we have members of parliament in tonight and a few diplomats. I know I don’t have to tell you, but remember your manners.’ He looks at Sylvie when he speaks, frowning. ‘You really do look like crap.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. Don’t worry. I won’t breathe on them,’ she quips, breathing onto her palm and smelling. I grimace, watching her face screw up in disgust before she rootles through her pocket and shoves a Polo mint in her mouth.
‘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.