Page 21 of Ciaran

I peer at the screen and immediately recognized the problem. Mrs. Drummond isn’t staying with us. The taxi driver must have dropped her off at the wrong address, and she hasn’t bothered to check she’s at the right hotel.

“Well, don’t just stand there gawking, girl. Show me to my room.”

“Is there a problem?”

I turn my head at the sound of Ciaran’s voice. He’s changed out of his cop uniform into an open-necked, white shirt and dark jeans. A fluttering sets off in my abdomen. Every time I see him these days, I react the same way: increased heart rate, clammy palms, stomach awash with butterflies.

“It’s fi?—”

“Who are you?” Mrs. Drummond cuts right across me.

Ciaran holds out his hand. “Ciaran O’Reilly, ma’am. Co-owner of the hotel. What seems to be the issue?”

“I was about to?—”

The woman cuts me off for a second time. “This silly girl can’t find my reservation.”

I stiffen my spine, although I keep my expression professional. There is no reservation. “Ciaran, I’ve got this,” I say, because I damn well do.

“Do you have your reservation number?” Ciaran says. “I’m sure it’s a computer glitch. Millie is very capable.”

Really? If you thought that then you’d back the hell off and let me deal with the situation.

“I’ve already given it to her,” Mrs. Drummond snaps.

“Okay, let me see what I can do.” Ciaran steps around the reception desk. “I’m sure we can get this misunderstanding all straightened out in no time.”

I lift my chin, quietly seething, my gaze slicing through Ciaran. “I was about to explain,” I state, surprising myself with how calm and in control I sound, because my insides are at boiling point. And not because of Mrs. Drummond’s rudeness, but because of Ciaran’s high-handed attitude.

I turn my shoulder to the side, half blocking his view of the client. “Ma’am, you’re not booked in at this hotel. You’re at the Panorama. It’s one block over.”

Mrs. Drummond presses her lips into a firm line. “What on earth are you talking about, young lady?”

“It’s on your email confirmation. The taxi driver has dropped you at the wrong address.”

Mrs. Drummond lifts her cell phone to eye level and squints. An exasperated sigh spills from her lips. “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She snatches up her purse and grabs her suitcase, muttering fire and damnation under her breath. “My apologies, young lady.”

“No problem at all, Mrs. Drummond.” A slice of inspiration hits me as she turns to leave. The woman may be rude, but she reeks of money. “Can I give you one of our business cards? We’d love to have you stay here the next time you’re in town.”

I hold one out to her, and she takes it, slotting it into her jacket pocket. “I think I might just do that.”

As she walks away, a triumphant smile inches across my face.

“Well done,” Ciaran says. “You handled her like a pro.”

I wait until I’m sure Mrs. Drummond is out of earshot, then let my smile fall. “What the hell was that?” I hiss under my breath.

Ciaran takes a step back, his eyes widening. “What was what?”

“I was managing perfectly well until you showed up and weighed in with your size thirteens.”

His head snaps as if I’d slapped him, and his jaw flexes. “I was only trying to help. She was being pretty aggressive, and I?—”

“Hey, Marion,” I interject when my coworker arrives. I don’t need Marion overhearing an argument between us “Right on time.”

We have a brief handover discussion, then I grab my purse and, brushing past Ciaran, I stomp out of the hotel and onto the street below.

“Wait!” he calls out, jogging after me. “I’m sorry. I just thought?—”

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