Page 63 of Sleep

“I think I loved you from…” And he kissed me again, right in the middle of a sentence. “…the first time I saw you. Those orange trousers you wore. The way you walked. Then you fed me and smiled at me, and I went home and felt like I was floating. Then wanked like a teenager, thinking about you.”

We stood there for the longest time, him holding me while I clung to his shirt. Thank God I hadn’t done my face yet because I would have completely ruined his tie. It was light blue, and I loved it on him, a perfect contrast against his darker hair, a complement to his pale skin, those sweet-tasting lips, blue, blue eyes…

I’d blindsided myself, completely and utterly so, say those three little words. But he’d said them back, in a roundabout way. If I was surprising, he floored me. Every single time.

His office phone snatched the moment away, and he walked backwards, past me and into the office, his hairy legs on display, coffee in his hand.

I snapped myself back into functioning mode and snatched that plate of fruit I’d prepared for him, slid in and quietly placed it on the table out of view, in case his webcam was on. He looked deep in concentration, trying to listen to whatever was being said, so I left him to it, closed the door gently and returned to trying to make this day count.

It had already counted, the butterflies in my stomach reminded me. I felt like a princess in a fairy tale, happy and light, nothing to bring me down as I rummaged through another hastily packed tote bag, finding a floaty blouse and cardigan, another long skirt, nylon stay-ups.

Heels. I’d remembered heels.

I needed to bring more things over if I was going to be doing this staying-around thing, hanging out with my…I didn’t dare to say the words. My mouth had made far too many slips lately. Still, I had a smile on my face as I dressed and sorted out my face, pulled a brush through my hair.

A day like this I craved a wig, the flow of long locks over my shoulders. I owned some sensational hairpieces. Being friends with people in the know had done me many favours, and several of my favourite outfits were hand-me-downs from friends. Pieces I’d admired and complimented that had discreetly come my way. I loved that a lot of my clothes had memories. Good vibes. Karma. I needed plenty of that today.

Grabbing my coat, I felt for the keycard the concierge had handed me last night—another thing Jonny had done for me. Told the concierge that if I turned up, I was to be given a key. I was also to be asked to hand over my car keys so that my car could be parked where it belonged: in Mr Templar’s space because Mr Templar didn’t own a car.

I liked the concierge, another man who thrived on gossip. I bet he had some tales to tell, but those could wait for another day.

I walked through the front entrance to the Clouds Hotel like I owned the place, keeping my head held high and my eyes focused on simply getting from A to B. And hopefully back again in one piece without losing my nerve.

“Mabel.”

Oh, shit. Stewart. Head doorman. Not to be messed with. Had probably never broken an official rule in his life, despite my sneaky suspicion that he wasn’t all he seemed. But yes. I’d been rumbled. I wasn’t supposed to use the main entrance, but seeing as I didn’t have my work ID on me, I couldn’t actually get through the staff entrance.

Anyway. Details. I wouldn’t be long.

“Stewart. Apologies, but I’m just popping in to hand in my resignation. Will only be a minute.”

“Mabel,” he almost pleaded, reaching out to gently grab my arm. “Mabel, are you okay?”

Well, I suppose someone was going to ask, but I’d kind of hoped to get a bit further than the lobby before they did. I wasn’t going to not be okay. That was not an option. Was I okay right now? Probably not.

“I will be, Stewart. And I will miss this place. Honestly, I will. But there comes a time…”

I had a whole speech prepared, but not one for Stewart, even though I liked him. Cue my narrating alter ego, spewing taglines in my head. An older man, with a kind smile, silver in his hair. Far too old. Also…not into men.

A friendly face.

I hadn’t expected one. Not after my last little showstopper of a stunt here.

“Go on then,” he said, giving me a little shove, like I needed one. I was in full jump mode, free-falling into the future, and there was no fucking parachute in sight.

I’d always tried not to swear at work, and my internal narrator followed my lead, but I was so nervous I was spewing explicit bile under my breath as I entered the place that had been my home for years, and place of many fond memories and some not-so-fond ones.

We’d built this up from nothing, Mark and me. Turned a basic plain space into greatness. Long nights of the two of us crunching numbers and drawing up designs, moulding ideas into concepts, then pulling them off.

I’d never been as proud of myself as I’d been working here. Also never more ashamed. Because here I was, standing in the middle of a full breakfast service, having to move out of the way as Tabitha shoved past me with a glare.

“We’re two waiters short, Mabs. Two. I can’t run this place on air. Where the hell have you been?”

Before I could figure out how to respond to that, Mark appeared right in front of me in a suit, teamed with a soiled apron and a tray of dirties in his arms, and stared hard at me. My head was filling up with terrifying scenarios, all involving crockery and myself bleeding. Probably him as well.

I stared back in defiance. We were better than this. Both of us.

“Come,” he said, holding his arm out towards the back office.

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