Page 14 of Taste

“Fuck off. We can’t share.”

I shrugged with what I hoped looked like indifference and said, “Suit yourself. Piss off home in the storm, I honestly don’t give a fuck. Just make sure you’re back in the morning, as I have enough shit to deal with without having to run your department as well.”

“You and me in the same room.” He crossed his arms, mimicking my signature stance, and I felt a sudden pulse of sassiness shoot through my veins.

“Yeah, I know.” I sighed. “It’s like the worst rom com of nightmares and all that, but there will be none of that shit going on. Your virtue will be perfectly intact by tomorrow morning, I can guarantee that.”

“That”—he smiled—“is no guarantee coming from you. We don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to you and me. Alone. In small spaces.”

Fuck, he was doing it again, and I cringed behind my smile. My head was in stress mode, and this truly was the worst suggestion I could’ve made because it had riled him up.

“The room has one bed and a comfortable chair—”

“Only. One. Bed.” He snorted a giggle.

“WhichIwill be sleeping in, laughing at you trying to get comfortable on that chair. I suggest going and trying your charm on the duty housekeeper, who might just find you a grotty old blanket somewhere. I wouldn’t bet on it, though. We’re already one fold-up bed short.”

“Gentlemen.” That was Malik, the night manager who, only an hour into his shift, was carrying a month’s worth of stress on his face, no doubt from having gauged the state of his team and the chaos that would ensue tonight. “Christensen, man, I need you behind the desk. We have some Japanese bank with five room reservations. They’re confirmed and paid for, but they’re not showing in the system. I’m going to need words with that Natalie when I see her tomorrow, because she obviously didn’t enter them properly. We’ve got serious overbooking issues, and I need a full handover.”

“Coming,” I said gruffly, not moving a muscle.

“Now.” Yes, there was a reason Malik was a manager, and a damn good one too. But I wasn’t finished here.

I smiled awkwardly while my mind darted backwards and forwards, my head nodding in agreement with whatever was being demanded of me as Malik beckoned Quinton away and struck up a conversation that I couldn’t hear. He wouldn’t look at me again, and I was stressed, so bloody stressed. The last thing I needed was another huge problem to add to my already overwhelming list.

So, he didn’t want to share a room. Tough. Neither did I. But it wasn’t like I could book an Uber and go home. There was no way I was leaving my responsibilities to others, least of all to him. And if he even tried to bed down anywhere near the restaurant, being reported for violating hotel protocol would be the least of his worries. I wasn’t standing for any of his stupid stunts, however much I needed him to stay.

As I tried to find a way out of this shitty corner I’d landed myself in, I looked over at our doormen, stony-faced and stretched to the core dealing with guests hoping to get to their own homes before the world caved in. There were rumours of the government declaring a state of emergency in the London area overnight, after some collapsed scaffolding and widespread reports of flying debris. The situation was escalating, and I needed to find ways to adapt so we would still be on track for the morning.

I would happily have shared a room, a bed even, with any of my own staff. Even curling up in a bed with Mabel now seemed like a viable option. Mabel, who was currently in the kitchen wearing a pair of rubber gloves, helping Ben clean down the hot plates, and I was suddenly filled with gratitude at the realisation that the staff was pulling every bit of weight to get us through this hellish evening. At this point, I could even have shared a bed with our grumpy executive head chef had it came down to it—well, apart from that his girlfriend would have had my head on a platter before morning for even thinking it.

Thing was, if I was truly honest with myself, I think I liked Mark Quinton. I thought he was a decent bloke, and that was just my professional opinion. He handled things well, had been pleasant enough in the last weeks and not caused any further drama. He’d even backed down on that ridiculous pop-up toilet bar thing he’d been pushing, leaving our lobby toilets in their more than decent peace and quiet.

It was an embarrassing confession, even to make to myself, but Quinton had brought a small sprinkle of excitement to my otherwise steady workflow. His antics made for good gossip, his choice of clothes a constant source of entertainment as I would peek over at him from behind the safety of my reinforced reception desk. I lived for the days he was on a roll, our guests leaving his restaurant with satisfied smiles, well fed and well entertained. I even enjoyed listening in to his over-the-top conversations from my hiding place in the back office. I liked having him around—as long as he wasn’t too close to me, because that thing we had shared had brought up parts of my life I didn’t really want to think about. We’d had a tiny, insignificant connection, an electrical mis-wiring of some sort where we had clicked to the point of my head not being able to let him go.

I was single for a reason. I didn’t need that kind of complication in my life, simply because I wasn’t cut out for it. I wasn’t boyfriend material; nor was I someone who could bring anything of value to someone else’s life. I’d tried it, and it wasn’t for me. I wasn’t good at being anyone’s better half, because there wasn’t anything good left in me.

Yet I’d loved kissing him, a realisation so far-fetched I barely dared to think those thoughts. His lips had fitted perfectly against mine. Not only that but the dynamic we had shared…he had been my cup of tea, in every fucking possible way, and that was more than terrifying. I needed Mark Quinton in my life like a bullet to the head, meaning the faster I could move on from here the better. He smelt like trouble, and the stench was overpowering from where I was standing, having drifted off in my head only to find I was still in the same never-ending nightmare and he was still there.

And those five Japanese bankers looked ready to disembowel me with their briefcases.

“Welcome to the Clouds Hotel Westminster!” Quinton swept out from behind his lectern and bent in an elegant, deep bow. “Gentlemen, while my esteemed colleagues sort out your reservations, may I invite you to visitTaste Me, our dining experience and bar? If I can ask you to follow me for a complimentary glass of our finest sake? Or can I perhaps tempt you with an aged whiskey? We have a gorgeous Scottish malt, matured for thirty years in oak casks. I highly recommend it over ice…”

I don’t know how he did it, but the troop of room-less bankers followed him like sheep, shuffling happily into the restaurant as he turned back to me with a smile. And I was struck with genuine gratitude to the man who’d just bought me a couple of minutes’ grace to deal with this latest disaster, gather myself andbreathe.

“See you later then?” Quinton threw at me, leaving me standing by the entrance, my head in a muddled mess. Another strong gust of wind blew the front doors wide open, ripping that breath right out of me as the sound of breaking glass crashed through the air. Malik and I ran for the doors, shouting for assistance over the radio as another deafening blast of splintering glass shot my heart into my throat. The prospect of finding myself in any bed at all tonight was looking more unlikely by the second. The weather Gods were obviously ramping up and I had a feeling that this storm was going to kick our arses.

MARK

I flicked off the lights and slid the barrier across the opening to the restaurant area before taking one last glance around the bar. Everything was finally quiet except for the howling gusts hitting the window shutters towards the street. I used to love stormy weather. Loved the calmness inside while the weather raged outside, throwing its irrational tantrum of water and wind at the world. Yet this evening, the uneasiness in my chest felt like an invisible tie was tied too tight around my neck.

I gave Malik a final nod for the evening and chatted mindlessly to the night staff while I scribbled down names on lists to create records of where my staff could be found and when to go wake them up, leaving a final note to call me on my mobile at five o’clock sharp. I wrote another backup note for Malik and taped it to his desk before giving him a quick hug and reminding him to come get me if he needed me. We had a full house, every possible space occupied. We also had one more arrival, and we were all praying that whomever Mr Kowalski was, he was just a figment of our imagination.

“Anything happens, anything at all, you call me. Is that clear?” I reiterated to a bemused Malik, who took another sip of his energy drink and dismissed my concerns with a flick of his wrist. Even though officially, the duty manager overnight was entitled to a few hours’ kip, I took my role seriously. This wasn’t a jolly. We were understaffed and overwhelmed. If anything went wrong, I wanted to be called. End of.

I waved cheerily to my new Japanese banker friends, who were still slouched on the chairs in the lobby, finishing off their third bottle of my finest whiskey. They had drunk a terrifying chunk of my profits this evening, but I had swiftly billed that little number to the rooms division for saving their bacon, once again. The banker dudes were now so drunk they probably wouldn’t even notice they were all sharing the Prince Louis Suite, with two extra sofa beds squeezed into the small lounge area. Nor would they complain about the complimentary champagne I had placed next to their beds, or the tray of leftover bacon wraps they were currently working their way through amongst their drunken chatter. In a moment of madness, I’d sold them the promise of a private breakfast that I would have to somehow magic up to their crammed suite for nine am sharp. Their return business was highly unlikely, and the Clouds Hotel would no doubt have a stern letter of complaint sent to our sales department from their place of employment, but right now, I didn’t have the strength to care.

I’d miraculously managed to get extra security on the door, found an emergency glass company to patch up the remains of the two giant windowpanes which had met an untimely end after a close encounter with a flying traffic cone and some kind of advertising hoarding. There had luckily been no major injuries, but Malik and I had mopped water and broken glass for over an hour, my shoes were ruined, and I had a stinging gash in my hand and bloodstains on my trousers. I looked a mess, and so did the remains of the lobby floor.

---