Page 7 of Hidden in Memories
The answer comes immediately.
Are you threatening me?
Charlotte considers; then her fingers fly across the screen.
You can interpret it however you like. I will see you tomorrow.
She is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. She looks up. She isn’t expecting anyone. With a sigh she puts down her phone and gets up. Outside the door is the tall man from reception, the one who was so rude earlier.
She doesn’t have time for him at the moment, and she is still angry about his behavior.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” begins the man, who, according to the name badge on his chest, is called Paul. “I just wanted to ... apologize for what happened this afternoon.”
Charlotte raises her eyebrows. So now it suits him to apologize.
“I didn’t mean to lose my temper,” he adds.
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you were so rude to me in front of all the other guests.”
In spite of the dim lighting, she can see that he isn’t happy. He is surrounded by an aura of frustration. She doesn’t believe he’s sorry at all—one of his colleagues has probably persuaded him to come and apologize because the way he acted was unforgivable.
“I really am sorry,” he says stiffly. His expression is challenging, as if he is trying to force her to accept his apology.
“I heard what you said.” If he thinks that a few empty phrases are going to fix things, then he’s wrong. With such poor self-control, he shouldn’t be allowed to keep his job.
Inherhotel he would be out on his ear immediately.
The silence between them is oppressive.
“Was there anything else?” Charlotte says, keen to bring the conversation to an end. She wants to close the door; she has to prepare for tomorrow’s press conference. She suddenly spots the fabric bag of dirty laundry she has put out, ready for housekeeping to collect.
She reaches for the bag and holds it out to Paul.
“Could you take my laundry, as you’re here anyway?”
He looks vaguely offended. “That’s not my job.”
Charlotte’s irritation flares up again. “You work here, don’t you?”
Paul takes a step closer, opening and closing his fists as if he is about to lose control again. “Be careful,” he says quietly.
Charlotte stares at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Even though she is determined not to show weakness, she steps back. Her suite is at the far end of the corridor, no one else can see what is going on.
“I don’t have time for this,” she says, grabbing the handle to pull the door shut.
Paul sticks his foot in the way, preventing her from closing it.
“You think you can treat people however you like, just because you’ve got money. But you can’t tell me what to do.”
Charlotte swallows. His face is only inches away from hers. He is tall and strong, with a thick neck. His shirt collar looks too tight.
“If you don’t leave immediately, I will be speaking to your boss,” she says, straightening her shoulders. She wants to sound powerful, make him back off.
