‘She?’
‘Brunette. Mid-to-late twenties, I’d say. Slim. Could be stunning if she tried. Not really dressed for partying. She’s saying she met you in the bar the October before last. She sounds like a fruitcake if you ask me, but I thought you should know in case she turns out to be a crazy stalker or something.’
Finn’s brows snapped together. ‘CCTV?’
‘Sure.’
The doorman pulled a device from the inside of his jacket and hit a couple of buttons. ‘There she is,’ he said, pointing at a figure on the screen.
Finn took the device, examined the live feed and froze, his entire body clenching with recognition and an unwelcome punch of heat.
Georgie.
Once met, never entirely forgotten, much to his irritation.
If he chose to, he could recall the night they’d spent together as clearly as if it had been yesterday. The heated looks they’d exchanged at the bar, the heavily laden conversation, the bizarrely intense connection... The chemistry between them had been incredible. The sex had been hot and wild, the best he’d ever had. Over and over again that night she’d given him the oblivion he’d craved, and for a brief mad moment as dawn had broken he’d been tempted to ask for her number before remembering that they’d agreed to one uncomplicated night only, and, in his case, why that was. He’d had enough on his plate with Jim’s illness. He’d been in no way looking for anything more. But that hadn’t stopped her invading his dreams and giving him uncomfortably sleepless nights for weeks afterwards.
‘What does she want?’ he asked, ignoring the heat and handing the device back with an odd sort of reluctance.
‘She won’t say. Just keeps flashing around this photo of you on her phone.’
The same photo she’d taken outside his club, just in case, she’d said with a foxy smile that had thumped him square in the chest? Had to be. She wouldn’t have found one anywhere else. Despite owning a company whose portfolio boasted seven-star hotels, top-end bars and clubs, and restaurants with six-month waiting lists, he rarely appeared in the media. He didn’t need to; the firm that dealt with his PR was outstanding.
‘What would you like me to do?’
Good question, thought Finn, shoving his hands in his pockets as he searched for the answer that not so long ago would have come to him instantly. If Georgie had come looking for him before his entire life had been turned upside down he’d have wondered if perhaps she’d been having as much trouble forgetting him as he had her, and whether she might be up for a repeat performance.
But now he didn’t know what to think and because he didn’t, because his behaviour was currently so unpredictable, he ought to have her sent on her way and put her out of his mind. Besides, he didn’t need to know why she was here. They were done months ago and the last thing he wanted was potentially even more chaos and complication.
And yet for some unfathomable reason, despite his better judgement, he wanted to know why she was looking for him, now, after all this time. It intrigued him, shifted his focus and gave him a welcome respite from the turmoil. Frankly, her reason for showing up here couldn’t be any more destructive than anything else that had happened to him over the last couple of months, could it? ‘Send her up.’
* * *
With a heavy heart, Georgie locked her phone and stuck it back in her bag, weariness and despondency washing over her in a great, drowning wave. Coming to the club where she and Finn had met all those months ago had been a long shot, but she hadn’t known where else to try.
She’d spent two days trying to track him down with nothing to go on except his first name and a photo. Unsurprisingly, the internet had yielded nothing. The records held by the hotel in which they’d spent the night were data protected, and her enquiries here had met with blank stares and stony silence.
Which meant she was all out of options and back at square one, she thought, anxiety churning around in her gut as the hopelessness of her situation hit her all over again. She had no job, little money and home was, for the moment, a tiny, damp bedsit in a crime-ridden part of London. Because of what had happened,
she was unemployable. Her prospects were nil. Her confidence had hit rock bottom and her judgement was unreliable. How she was going to manage going forward she had no idea.
Digging deep to stave off the relentless despair, Georgie turned to leave, only to freeze when she heard a brusque, ‘Stop.’
She swung round, her heart banging against her ribs, to see the man with the muscles and the unpromising attitude, he of the stony silence and blank stare, bearing down on her.
‘Don’t worry, I’m going,’ she said, lifting her hands and backing off as he came to a halt in front of her.
‘Wait.’
She blinked. ‘What?’
‘The man you’re looking for,’ he said curtly. ‘He’s upstairs.’
At the unexpected information, Georgie’s stomach gave a great lurch and her pulse leapt. ‘Really?’ she said, glancing up and seeing nothing but dark windows and an absence of movement.
‘Follow me.’
He turned smartly on his heel and, for a moment, she dithered. Was it true? Could she really have found him at last? On the other hand, how likely was it that Finn was indeed up there? Why would he be? What if Muscles was part of some dastardly trafficking scheme or something and taking her to a place from which she wouldn’t return?