Page 7 of Worth Every Risk

I’m still staring at the doorway when I hear another snort from behind me, or perhaps it’s the other half of the one Alec had to stifle earlier.

I spin to face him. “What?”

“Looks like you made a good first impression.”

I exhale a curse. “Was he being serious? Just because I didn’t look him up, doesn’t mean I would put his daughter at risk. Would he get rid of me because I didn’t know who he was?”

“Maybe. Everyone knows who Matt Hawkston is. Like…everyone. Especially people he employs. How… I mean,howdid you not know?”

I shrug. “I’m interested in the kids, not the parents. And when I interviewed for this role I only spoke to Mrs Minter, and she was lovely. I got a really great feel from her. She said she was my point of contact, and that Mr and Mrs Hawkston were always away. I didn’t feel the need to know more than that.”

“Hmm. Curious.” Alec’s lips twist like he wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. “That’s like me saying I only want to know where they do their food shopping.”

I chuckle. “That’s important information, though, right?”

He breaks into a broad smile. “Yup. Crucial.”

Laughter bubbles up and flows out of my mouth like a riot I can’t control. It’s verging on hysterical, and I think Alec knows it, but he’s laughing too, and I am seriously wishing I’d met him first. Then I might not have made a prize fool of myself in front of my boss. Who, I might add, looks even better in a suit. Matt Hawkston is one very,verygood-looking man.

The thought pricks some idle hope I didn’t realise I’d been entertaining, deflating it like a sad balloon; the gorgeous gardener, who I’d already anticipated would be the friend I needed to show me around London, doesn’t exist.

“Oh, God.” I drop my forehead into my palm. “I told him he could narrate audiobooks.”

“That doesn’t sound like the worst thing,” Alec says slowly, as though he’s trying to work out if he believes what he’s saying. He tips his head to one side and adds, “A bit odd, but not the worst.”

I scrunch my eyes closed briefly before looking back at him. “I said he had a voice that could deep-fry a Mars bar.”

Alec’s lip curls. “Yuck. And I say that as a man who tries to accept all food on an equal basis.”

I try to laugh, but can’t summon enough humour to drown out my humiliation. “It was a joke. You know, a Scottish thing. Everyone thinks we eat deep-fried Mars bars, but actually you have to search pretty hard to find one. I meant… I meant he has a smoking hot voice. One that women love to listen to because it turns them on.”

Turns them on? Please, Aries, stop talking.

A large smile breaks over Alec’s face. I think it’s amused, rather than mocking.Thank goodness.“Yeah, I got that. I’m pretty sure Mr Hawkston would’ve understood it too.” He tosses another onion in the air and catches it, then winks at me. “You also called him Superman.”

I let out a groan and bury my head in my hands.How can I come back from this?

By the time Mrs Minter arrives with Lucie, I’m almost beside myself with worry.Should I even unpack my bag? If I’m going to be fired soon, maybe I should save myself the effort.

As Mrs Minter runs me through details about the house, I try to stay focused and listen to her instructions, but I can’t help wondering if I ought to fess up and tell her I’ve already made a dreadful first impression on the boss, so I might not be here long.

I decide to hold my tongue, because Lucie, Mr Hawkston’s daughter, is staring up at me the whole time, peeking out from behind Mrs Minter’s legs, where she’s clinging as though shehopes no one will notice her. She’s a gorgeous, dark haired four-year-old, who has definitely inherited her father’s good looks, but without the grumpy exterior. I can’t wait to get to know her better.

Once Mrs Minter has finished the introductions and explanations, she leads the way upstairs. She’s wearing a simple cream blouse and jeans, which surprises me. I expected the housekeeper to wear a uniform of some sort in a house like this. She must be in her mid fifties, but her figure is as neat as a woman of twenty. She has highlighted blonde hair and a pretty face with even features. Lucie grips her hand, shooting glances back at me and whispering to Mrs Minter, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.

I smile in the hope it’ll make her warm to me, but when I do she hides her face by burrowing it against Mrs Minter’s thigh.

“The lift is this way.” Mrs Minter points down the corridor, her face impassive, as if having a lift inside a private house is normal. I try my hardest to mirror her expression, whilst in my head I’m screaming, ‘Lift? There’s a fucking lift in here?’

I grab my suitcase from where I left it in the entrance hall and drag it along behind Mrs Minter and Lucie. Moments later, the three of us are crammed into the lift.

“Mr Hawkston’s rarely home during the day, even at the weekends,” Mrs Minter says. “He works long hours. He’s a very busy man. The Hawkston Hotel Group has forty hotels in the UK alone.”

“Hotels?” My stomach cinches, like someone just pulled a too-tight belt around it. “He’s Hawkston like the Hotels?”

I feel like a prize idiot. I do trust my gut, and my gut was screaming like a fire engine telling me to take this job. But maybe it’s naïve to make all your decisions that way. My mum taught me to do it. She always said our intuition is the greatest superpower most people don’t know they have. She was a tarotreader and reiki practitioner, so reading people’s energy and letting her intuition guide her readings was her thing. It became like a game for me; letting my intuition choose my clothes for the day, or which book to read, or any number of other things. And it was fun to see how everything panned out.

I never felt really stupid about it until I was confronted by that unforgiving glare that Matt Hawkston sent my way in the kitchen. It has me questioning all sorts of things, and near the top of the list is whether my reading on him in his ripped jeans and tank top was completely off. Was I thrown by his casual appearance, or is there really a kind and caring soul buried deep inside? If we’d first met in the kitchen, him all stiff in his suit and tie, would the possibility even have crossed my mind?

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