Page 6 of Resisting Mr Black

My mouth gapes as I watch him follow Harry out front. Just when I think he’s gone and I can have a moments reprieve to make sense of what the fuck is happening, his pace slows, and he glances back over his shoulder at me. The cocky smirk returns to his lips at my confused expression. “Hey, brown eyes. Get the senior members of staff rounded up. I want to meet them in the manager’s office in two minutes.”

Cocky git.

“That’s impossible,” I snap.

He frowns and comes to an abrupt halt, turning to face me. “That’s an order.”

I fix him a stern look, determined not to back down. “Then you need to reassess it. We’ve a wedding taking place right now; we can’t afford to pull anyone from their duties. There are guests that need attending to, food that needs cooking, drinks that need serving. The whole thing will grind to a halt. We haven’t got time.”

“Then you need to make time.”

I exhale a short, sharp laugh in disbelief. He might be in charge, but he has no idea about running a hotel. “Are you serious?”

“Deathly. Now, go and do as I’ve asked, brown eyes.”

His dark gaze sweeps over me from head to toe then he turns and heads out the door.

I stare, dumbfounded, and watch his exquisite behind disappear as my brain struggles to process the information.

“Fucking hell,” Lucy gasps in disbelief. “George is going to have a heart attack.”

Fuck George. I think I am too.

Three

The old manager’s office is located on the third and very top floor of the sprawling manor house. In the three years I’ve worked here, the third floor has been mainly used for storage purposes for bed linen and cleaning equipment and the manager’s office hasn’t been used for years, not since the late owner frequented the hotel. George prefers to use the office at the back of reception as it allows him to “keep his finger on the pulse” of the day-to-day running of the place.

I send Lucy to round up Olly and the others as instructed by Mr Arrogant, choosing to break the news to George myself. He’s pedantic, but he’s got a good heart and I fear Lucy’s blunt approach might finish him off. Not that my own is any better.

“I just don’t understand,” he witters for the tenth time in sixty seconds as we reach the very top of the wooden staircase and the door to the third floor. “I’ve received no communication about a transfer of ownership whatsoever. No letter. No email. Imean, who is he?” His cheeks are flushed and tiny beads of perspiration glisten across the top of his head as he pushes open the door to the top floor.

The musty smell of damp, stale air hits the back of my throat as I follow George along the corridor to the office. God knows how long it’s been since anyone’s been up here. It’s not exactly inviting.

“This is highly inconvenient,” George murmurs, wiping a hand across his brow. “To tie up staff today, when we have a wedding on.”

“I did try to tell him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He doesn’t seem the type who’s used to being told no very often,” I say. In fact, I get the distinct impression the guy is used to getting whatever he wants whenever he wants it.

Mismatching chairs have been crammed into a semi-circle facing the old, battered wooden desk to the left of the office and everyone else is already seated when we arrive. Olly, Tina, the cleaning team manager, and Rob, the head chef, are looking as anxious as I feel as I enter the office. Out of my peripheral vision, I see him propped against the desk as I cross the room and take the empty chair beside Lucy, purposefully avoiding looking his way.

Her wide eyes stare at me with pleading. “Who is the Italian Stallion and who put him in charge?” she whispers out the corner of her mouth.

I roll my eyes. She’s not going to be much use in helping me keep my sensible head on.

“How lovely to meet you. Let me introduce myself, I’m George Middleton, the assistant manager. I’ve been here for five years,” George simpers, holding out a hand for the guy to shake.

His lovely bottom is perched on the edge of the desk and his long legs are stretched out in front of him, his right foot crossed over his left.

He looks at George’s outstretched hand and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Great. Could you close the door, please?”

George’s shoulders sag in defeat at the snub. He retracts his hand and closes the door, flopping down into a chair and straightening his tie.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

“I’m here to introduce myself,” the guy announces with confident ease as his dark eyes scan the room, checking he’s got everyone’s undivided attention. He likes this, I can tell. The power and control. He enjoys being the centre of attention with all eyes on him and I have a feeling that’s what he’s used to, from women anyhow. “I’m Art Black, the new owner of the hotel. I’ll tell you a little about me then we’ll go around the room and you can tell me a little about yourselves, as I’d like to get to know you better.” His dark eyes hover on me momentarily and I shift in my seat, uncomfortable again. “I’ve inherited the place from my late uncle, James Black. I don’t have loads of experience in the hospitality industry, but I do own a chain of successful gyms.”

Is that all he’s divulging?I can’t help but feel a little short-changed.

“Go Fitness!” Olly suddenly announces from the other side of the line of chairs. He wags a finger in recognition. “I’m a member of the local gym, and I thought I recognised you from the photo in reception.”

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