Page 20 of Ciaran

“If you’ll have me.” And Callum doesn’t persuade you to let me go.

My fingers prickle at his fierce stare, so intense and hypnotic. An alien but very welcome warmth spreads through my body.

“I’ll have you,” he answers softly.

The roughness to his tone, and the way he scrutinizes me as though he can see right through to my broken self, sends tingles shooting up and down my spine.

I blink once, twice, a third time. Is there a hidden meaning in those words? No. Highly unlikely. My judgment is shot to hell. He’s referring to the job, that’s all. I shouldn’t be too surprised Ciaran offered me a position at the hotel. Good, reliable staff are hard to find, and I hadn’t hidden from him how much I needed work. People who need the money make for conscientious employees.

“I should go,” I say. “It’s been a long day.”

Ciaran stands. “Can I see you home?”

No. I’m not ready to show him where I’m living. I’m more than a little embarrassed I’ve fallen so far that my home consists of one room that can only be described as a hovel. Ciaran could easily find out my address from my employment forms, but I doubt he’ll invade my privacy. He has too much integrity to snoop.

I grab my purse. “I’m good. Maybe catch you tomorrow?”

He shrugs, his usually open expression shutting down. “Sure. Maybe. Safe journey.”

I step into the lobby and risk a glance back at him to find he’s staring into space, pensive, his brows pulled low over his eyes.

An ache I don’t understand tightens my chest, so I drag my gaze away from the melancholy man sitting at the bar and leave.

Chapter 7

Millie

My first day working the front desk by myself has gone better than I expected. I even managed to sound confident and perfectly in control when a client asked me to make dinner reservations at a fancy restaurant. When they thanked me afterward, I’d beamed as a bolt of pride clutched at my chest. I’m doing it. Day by day, the shackles are falling away from the broken girl, and I’m beginning to take tentative steps toward becoming the girl I once was: fearless, resolute, determined.

At the clip-clopping of heels, I raise my head, pausing from answering an email regarding our availability. I offer a bright smile at the lady who’s just arrived. It isn’t reciprocated. Instead, she slaps her purse on top of the desk and scowls.

“I’ve got a reservation.”

My stomach shifts uncomfortably at her blistering stare, but I keep my smile in place. “Welcome to O’Reilly Manhattan. What name is the reservation under, please?”

“Drummond. Mrs.”

“Thank you. One moment, please.”

While entering the name into the computer, I try not to let my hands shake when the client begins tapping her long, bright-red fingernails on top of the desk. So far, everyone I’ve come into contact with has been polite and friendly. This is my first potentially awkward customer.

You can do this. Stay calm.

I hit return.

No record found.

I try again. Same response. I enter a couple of different spellings with no luck. The woman’s tapping increases in speed.

“How do you spell your surname, ma’am?”

Mrs. Drummond rolls her eyes, and my knees tremble at her growing impatience. She spells out her name in a clipped tone. Damn. That’s exactly what I entered the first time. I try again and get the same result. Panic wells up in my chest. The hotel is fully booked. If the system doesn’t have a reservation for Mrs. Drummond, that means we won’t have a vacant room.

“Do you have your reservation reference, Mrs. Drummond?” Every booking generates a reference in the system. Maybe if I search by that, the computer will return the correct record.

“For goodness’ sake, girl,” Mrs. Drummond responds, unzipping her purse. “You’ll want me to do your job for you next. I do hope your incompetence isn’t an example of what I can expect during the rest of my stay. My personal assistant made this reservation weeks ago.”

I swallow. My tongue dampens my lips as Mrs. Drummond removes her cell phone. She taps on it and shoves the screen in my face. “There,” she snaps. “And be quick about it.”

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