Chapter11
Lauren
Amberley skips towards me as I smooth down my skirt. I’ve double-checked that I look my absolute best should Cain appear. I refuse to allow him room to pass judgement on my attire or work. I can’t shift the deep burrowing sense he is purposely needling me. Besides, after he read my calendar, I want to avoid further mishaps. His eye is always too critical, too invested in finding something, and although I know he is a businessman who demands high-quality service and dedication from his employees, with me, there is something more, a compulsion to pick at me. Slowly. Peeling back the smallest of skin to expose me and make me vulnerable. What’s more, he is good at it. Even after a good night's sleep, I’ve woken irritated and on edge. Even in sleep, I can’t escape him, it would seem. I don’t recall having any dreams, but I have this foreboding feeling that he was there. Standing over me. A shadow, playing with my emotions.
Shuddering, I shake it off. “Morning!” I smile, adjusting my name badge. I need to forget about Cain. In fact, from now on, I will only address him as Mr Carson-Ivory, both verbally and mentally.
“Hey, girl.” Amberley grins. “I had the most chill night ever, bubble bath, face mask, wine. It was divine.”
“Sounds like it.” I wish my evening could have been as relaxing as hers. Instead, I was landed with our miserable boss and his pain in the arse sidekick. “Do I look okay?” I ask, twisting to face her head on. I stand with my arms slightly held out and lift my chin to give her a good view.
“Erm… Yes. Why?” She frowns, completely confused by my unusual need for assurance about my appearance. I’m not one to overthink my looks. I know I’m not unattractive. I don’t play it up or down. I just am, and I like that.
“I thought I looked creased,” I lie.
“Nope.” Amberley twirls and hooks her arm with me. “In fact, you are creaseless. You could give Feli-shit-y a run for her money,” she mutters under her breath. I scoff, squeezing her arm in mine, and we make our way down to reception.
I spend most of the day dealing with emails, bookings, and checking guests in and out. It’s an easy day, and it goes by without a hitch. Felicity is too busy doing her own thing to pay me much mind, and our picky boss hasn’t shown his face.
“Lauren, can you give me a hand? I can’t get into the luggage storage.” Beryl huffs red-faced. She holds up the key. “I’ve been wiggling this thing about for ages, and it just won’t budge.” She blows her hair out of her face and sighs.
“Yes, sure. Let me just shut this down.” I close the window I have open on the computer and leave Felicity for a few moments whilst I follow Beryl to the storeroom.
She puts the key in and twists it about, but nothing happens. “See, it’s jammed,” she vents, shaking the handle.
“Let me have a go,” I say, and she harrumphs, passing me the key. I insert it but can feel the lack of movement in the lock. “It’s barely shifting,” I mutter, wiggling it about, much like she did. For god’s sake!
“Should I call maintenance?”
“Just a moment,” I say and push my weight into the door. I twist the key, and it turns without a problem. “There we go.” I smile and pull the door open. “Do you want a hand with the luggage too?”
“Please.” She wanders in and points out the cases for me to pull down. They are heavy, and I nearly drop one as I pull it towards me.
“Jesus!” I curse, stumbling into her and the other cases.
“Oh, my word!” Beryl cries, then begins to titter with laughter.
I giggle too. “Sorry! I think this one has a ton of bricks in it!”
“Must do. Thank you.” She adjusts the handles and wheels them towards the door.
“I’m going to go speak with maintenance about the door. Are you sure you’re okay with the suitcases?”
“Yes, dear.” We exit the store cupboard, and I insist on helping her until we reach the reception again. The deep rumble of a man’s voice has my feet slowing. I tilt my head, trying to listen, but one of the wheels is squeaking, and Beryl is panting up a storm. I really hope that’s a guest and not Mr Carson-I’ve-got-a-huge-stick-up-my-arse!
“Good Afternoon, Mr Carson-Ivory.” Beryl smiles. Great! I let the suitcase roll to a stop behind Beryl and offer a bright smile as he comes into view. His eyes flare, and my heart gives a tight squeeze. Something about knowing this man has been inside my home, shared a meal with me, has my stomach liquifying.
I’m all too happy to give him a wide berth, him and his unflinching cobalt eyes. The hair on my neck prickles, so I know I’m being scrutinised. “Lauren,” he calls, stopping me in my tracks. I twist with the same beam I affixed to my face moments ago.
“Yes?” Beryl and Felicity are glued to our interaction.
“I expect you to look presentable always.” His eyes drop to my chest. It heaves, and his eyes tighten. “Fix your badge,” he mutters and knocks his knuckle on the marble top. “Goodnight,” he bids both women farewell before turning his back on me and striding off. Gritting my teeth until they almost crack, I twist around and strop off towards maintenance, adjusting my badge when all I really want to do is throw the fucking thing at him!
“Look presentable always,” I mutter under my breath. I’d love to see him lug a hefty suitcase about in heels and a pencil skirt, the snobby twat. I never wish ill on anyone, but I really want his day to be shit, maybe a flat tyre or for him to wake with a fat spot on his perfect face. And yes, he has a perfect face, I admit begrudgingly. His lips are not too wide, but full and tempting. His jaw is strong, as is his nose. He is stupidly handsome, stupidly rich, and successful, and his overwhelming sense of self-importance makes me sick with the need to be liked by him, even though I can’t say I like him back, his personality at least. That sucks.
“That is what I said.” His clipped tone makes me shriek, and I spin around and crash into the wall. Shit!
“It’s just that I was collecting luggage, so that’s why my badge was askew,” I say in a panic. Slowly, I right myself and smooth out my shirt. Will I forever put my foot in it with this man?