A New Year Bride. Scarlet WilsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
to get him some Christmas decorations, didn’t he?’
Grace set the cup and saucer down. ‘Yes,’ she replied hesitantly.
‘Then, he’s reached the stage that he’s ready to start living again.’
The words were so matter-of-fact. So to the point. But Alice wasn’t finished.
‘It’s time to bring a little Christmas magic to The Armstrong, Grace, and you look like just the girl to do it.’
One hour later the black shirt was crumpled in a bag and her long-sleeved deep pink shirt with funny little tie thing at the collar was firmly in place. She grabbed some more deodorant from her locker. She was feeling strangely nervous. A quick glance in the mirror showed her hair was falling out of its bun again. She pulled the clip from her hair and gave it a shake. Her hair tumbled in natural waves. She was lucky. It rarely needed styling. Should she redo her lipstick?
She pulled her plum lipstick from her bag and slicked some on her lips. There. She was done. She took a deep breath, reaching into the apron that she’d pushed into her locker for her array of pictures. Her last touch was the black suit jacket—the only one she owned. She’d used it for her interview with Clio some months ago and thought of it as her good luck charm.
Finally she was satisfied with how she looked. She’d never be wearing designer clothes, but she felt presentable for the role she was about to undertake.
She pushed everything else back into the locker and did her final job—swapping her square-heeled black shoes for some black stilettos. She teetered for the tiniest second and laughed. Who was she trying to kid? She pulled open the locker again and slid her hand into the inside pocket of her black bag. There. Drop gold earrings that her gran had given her for her twenty-first birthday. She usually only wore them on special occasions but in the last few months, and particularly at this time of year, she missed her gran more than she could ever say. She slipped them into her ears and straightened her shoulders, taking a deep breath.
There it was. The little shot of confidence that she needed. She glanced down at the papers in her hand and smiled.
She was going to give this hotel the spirit of Christmas no matter what.
He could hear a strange noise outside his room. Like a shuffling. After more than a few seconds it was annoying.
Finlay’s first reaction was to shout. But something stopped him. Maybe it was Alice Archer? Could she have come looking for him?
He sat his pen down on his desk. ‘Is someone there?’
The noise that followed was almost a squeak. He smiled and shook his head. ‘Well, it’s obviously an infestation of mice. I’d better phone the exterminator.’
‘What? No!’ Grace’s head popped around the door.
Grace. It was funny the odd effect that had on him.
She kind of sidled into the office. ‘I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, Mr Armstrong.’
He gestured towards the chair in front of him. ‘It’s Finlay. If you call me Mr Armstrong I’ll start looking over my shoulder for my father.’
She shot him a nervous smile and walked hesitantly across the room towards the chair.
He tried his best not to stare.
Grace had already caught his attention. But now, she wasn’t wearing the maid’s outfit. Now, she had on a black suit and stiletto heels.
Finlay Armstrong had met a million women in black suits and heels. But he’d never met one quite like Grace. She had on a pink shirt with a funny tie at the neck.
And it was the colour that made him suck in his breath. It wasn’t pale or bright, it was somewhere in the middle, a warm rose colour that brought out the colour in her cheeks and highlighted the tone of her lipstick. It suited her more than she could ever know.
Her hair swung as she walked across the room. It was the first time he’d seen it down. Okay, so the not staring wasn’t going to work. Those chestnut curls were bouncing and shining like the latest shampoo TV advert.
Grace sat down in the chair opposite him fixing him with her warm brown eyes. She slid something across the desk towards him.
‘I just wanted to check with you.’ She licked her pink lips for a second. ‘How, exactly, do I use this?’
He stared down at the company credit card. ‘What do you mean?’
She bit her lip now and crossed one leg over the other. Her skirt slid up her thigh and he tore his eyes away and fixed on her eyes.
Big mistake.
‘I mean, do I sign—can I sign? Or do I need a pin number or something?’
‘You haven’t used a company credit card before?’ He hadn’t even considered it.
She shook her head. He could see the slight tremble to her body. She was nervous. She was nervous coming in here and asking him about this.
‘Sorry, Grace. I should have left you some instructions.’ He’d just left the card for her in an envelope at Reception. He scribbled down some notes. ‘This is what you do.’
She leaned forward on the desk as he wrote and a little waft of her perfume drifted towards him. He’d smelled this before. When he’d been inches from her in the penthouse he’d inhaled sharply and caught this same scent, something slightly spicy with a little tang of fruit. He couldn’t quite place which one it was.
He finished writing and looked up. ‘Have you had some ideas about what you need for the hotel?’
She nodded and lifted up some papers in her hand, unfolding them and sitting them on the desk. She still looked nervous. ‘I know quality is important to you. But, because you’ve left things so late this year, I can’t really pre-order or negotiate with anyone for a good price. We’ll have to buy straight from the retailer. So…’ she pressed her lips together for a second ‘…I’ve prepared three price ranges for you. You can let me know which one you prefer and we’ll go with that one.’
He waved his hand. ‘The price isn’t important to me, Grace. The quality is.’
Her face fell a little. Wasn’t that the right answer he’d just given her—that she had no limits to her spending? Any other designer he’d ever met would have cartwheeled out of the room at this point.
She shuffled her papers.
‘What is it?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
There were a hundred other things he could be doing right now. But since he had worked on the plane on the way home most things were up to date. Just as well really. After his experience last night, sleep hadn’t come quite as easily as he’d expected.
Oh, he’d eventually blacked out. But he’d still managed to spend a few hours tossing and turning.
Her brown eyes were now fixed on those darn papers she was shuffling in her hands and he was strangely annoyed. He reached over and grabbed them.
It didn’t take long to realise what he was looking at. He started to count them. ‘Nine, ten, eleven, twelve… Grace, how many versions of these did you do?’
‘Well, the first one was my absolute wish list. Then, I thought maybe you wouldn’t want lights, or the big tree, or some of the other ideas I had, so I made a few other versions.’
He couldn’t believe it. He’d only sprung this on her yesterday. The last company he’d worked with had taken three months just to give him a quote for something.
He