People were a little surprised to see me. Or perhaps more surprised to see me in a dress. And I was surprised that Mr Callaghan hadn't employed one of the people in his imaginary queue to take over my position. I wasn't born yesterday, anyone could tell he was trying to intimidate me. And he wasn't the first, nor the last guy to puff his chest out and state his authority. My whole life, men had tried to trample all over me, and some succeeded, but I vowed since taking on the kids and my brother that if I couldn't fight for what was right then I might as well admit defeat and be a miserable doormat for the rest of my life. I didn't want Sarah having a pathetic wallflower for an Aunt. I held my head high and got on with my job, the job I'd worked so long and so hard for, and lunch service blurred by, the kind of fare I could throw together blind folded. And for the first time Gerry actually spoke to me. Maybe I'd earned a little respect from him, for my little stand off yesterday. And when I say Gerry spoke to me, I mean he really spoke to me, without grunting. He was monosyllabic as a rule. Kevin had this theory that he'd emerged from the deep freeze, some caveman from millions of years ago, and he hadn't yet acquired the fine art of conversation. The theory, however out there, made sense.
'Glad you didn't let that sod push you around.' Gerry muttered, gruffly.
'Thanks Ger.'
'He's been lording it up, shouting orders and bollocking people since you walked out. Never met a bloke more grumpy than that bastard.'
You mean other than you, Gerry? I was saying nothing.
'He won't last.' He slammed the door of his locker shut, shoving his arms into a black bomber jacket. It was a close fit. Gerry isn't a small man. He's a patisserie whizz, and it shows. 'Some o' them bell boys got laid off today though.' He continued, positioning his hands on his hips. 'There might just be a riot on our hands.'
'Dya know if....is Kevin....'
'Aye. Saw the poor sod earlier. It ain't right. People getting fired here there and ev'ry place.....'
I left Gerry there, thrusting through the double doors into the corridor. I had to find Kevin.
My heart sank as I remembered the first month of his employment. We'd just been taken over by a hospitality company with a range of hotels, spas and leisure centres across the UK. They were a shoddy outfit, to put it mildly. Management never showed their faces unless we had celebrities or politicians staying for the weekend. And Kev had never received a contract of employment. I just had this bad feeling that made me want to slap Trent Callaghan's smug face. He was the type of bloke that sailed through university, all paid for by Mummy and Daddy, only to find himself fronting a cash heavy family business. The kind of thing you could just fall into, never having worked a day in the industry in your life.
I got Kevin this job six months ago, and even Andrew could vouch for the fact that he's never been late.
Well, apart from the time when I left him at a bar with a rugby team and he stumbled into work an hour late the next day. He's only human.
Marianne didn't know where he was, nor did Briar, the stupidly beautiful receptionist who could easily outshine A list actresses. I doubled back on myself, ambushing kitchen staff and then Marianne's brigade of downtrodden looking cleaning staff.
Andrew.
He'd know.
I didn't bother knocking. Putting my weight behind the door handle, I forced open the office.
'Excuse me, but this is a private convocation!' Andrew blustered, from where he was perched precariously on the edge of his grand mahogany desk. My eyes were immediately distracted. The Aussie bloke from earlier sat opposite Andrew, his blue-green Aqua eyes burnt every inch of flesh they traced, all the way from my feet to my face. I don't know how much time lapsed, but I'd quite happily have stood there all day, feeling his gaze sizzle every last morsel of my flesh.
'I think that Miss....' Mr heartthrob raised his eyebrows, looking towards me, as if to ask my name. This was the start. Once he knew my name there was no going back....
'Cerys.' I choked, thickly. My cheeks were red hot, body bristling with embarrassment at my stupid female reactions. Even Andrew would be able to decipher my body language. It was only his presence and the circumstances of today standing in the way of me fawning over this bloke and throwing myself at him. God I missed male contact.
'I'll step outside for a second.' The Aussie dream boat cooed, in a voice that tickled me from the pit of my stomach to every female part of my anatomy.
I dumbly watched him leave, only partially aware of the thunderous look on Andrews face. I tried not to imagine myself gripped around Aussie boys waist, as he revved the engine of his motorbike. He definitely had one. I could picture him lifting off his lid.
I could picture him naked.
Was it hot in here?
'Cerys what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?'
'I need to speak to what's his face.'
Dear God. Now I've forgotten how to speak.
Andrew was losing whatever small sliver of patience he had left.
'Spit it out woman, you just interrupted a critical meeting.'
He made it sound like the world was ending and within these four walls, he and Aussie God were the only ones capable of saving humanity. I'd buy that for the Aussie. He could carry me from a burning building any time...
Head in the game, love.
'Did you sack a load of staff today?'
Andrew looked blank.
'Where's Trent Callaghan?'
He screwed up his brow, reminding me of a gorilla, looking to the heavens. 'Well I expect he's up in the penthouse. Haven't you seen his furniture arriving Karen?'
I wasn't even going to correct him.
I'd suffered enough of Andrews presence. I was rehearsing a speech in my head, eager to inform his highness the royal arsehole Callaghan that there were consequences to pushing people around. But I had to find him first. Once again, as I left the room, I collided with the hottie with the pouty, kiss me right now lips. God I could imagine being sandwiched between his body and the wall....
'Sorry.' I called brusquely over my shoulder. I didn't mean to sound so clipped.
But I didn't have time to stop. Not whilst my speech was so Oscar worthy. If I tried to attempt conversing with the hottie I'd forget every last syllable and wind up looking a Plonker when face to face with Callaghan.
'It's cool.' Aussie shot back, as my feet hit the staircase. 'I'm Declan.'
God. Even his name was hot. But I had a job to do, and only half an hour to do so, before rushing off to collect Sarah and the monkey.
...............
'I love and respect this hotel, and everyone in it. I won't have you pushing people around like you're the prime minister of....' I slapped my forehead, irritatedly, glaring at my reflection in the back of the lift door. Even with the dress, I looked like I'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, and then forwards, and then backwards again. I straightened up the neckline, and tried three different hairstyles.
But it didn't matter. My hair wasn't in the mood to co operate. I had no chance of looking like one of those preened professionals you get on 'The Apprentice.' That's the look I'd been going for this morning. Right now I looked like a grungy, tomboy chef in a dress she'd bought from a charity shop.
The doors pinged open in the lobby for the penthouse suites. One suite has always been reserved for celebrity guests, Beyoncé stayed here fairly recently and afterwards Kevin and I snuck in to breathe the air of a true queen. And we believe we found one of her earrings. I was going to tweet her in an attempt to build a really unlikely friendship, the kind that bags me trips to Barbados and front row seats to her concerts. Kevin decided however, that he'd keep the earring, and it turns out he scores pretty well on nights out because of his little beyond story. One of us has to get laid, I guess.
Anyway, the Lord Templeton suite had to be the one.
I straightened my dress for the thousandth time and inched towards the door. Not because of nerves, although my heart was charging about like a caged bird on acid, but because I wanted to sound composed when we talked. Not emotional or subjective.
The door was open. I could see a large red leather chair, the kind of ostentatious rubbish some bloke born with a silver spoon in his mouth might deem 'tasteful.' I forced the door a little further, relaxing a little as I heard voices from somewhere beyond the door. He was here.
If we thought Beyoncé's gaff next door was any cop, this place took the biscuit. It was contemporary, all shiny flat screens and one of those fake fireplaces but three times the size of the ones I dream about while I'm pretend dressing the house. A humongous Persian carpet beneath my feet made me feel like I was walking on pure silk. And I probably was.
'Mr Callaghan?'
Was I being grossly unprofessional? All that fire from before was beginning to wane. Wasn't I better off consoling Kevin if he'd been laid off? Shouldn't I be on the road right now, singing along to fiery rock songs and choreographing the perfect dance off against Callaghan and Andrew in my head.
Probably.
The voices got louder, and I found myself in possibly the worst situation anyone can ever find themselves in. What I saw before me could probably stick with me for the rest of my life.
Trent Callaghan, boning some woman on an exquisitely carved desk.
...............