“Party?” I questioned, pulling my coat around me to fight off the cold night air.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Cash.”
Mr. Cash? Who the fuck was that?
I guess Helen had mentioned a surprise.
Ollie, having parked the car in record time, appeared beside me, shades on, a tad damp from the rain, looking the part of bodyguard, all mysterious and yummy.
I quelled the sudden rise of a being-fucked-in-the-back-of-a-car fantasy.
Not now!
The doorman led me into the lobby, where another member of staff waited, dressed in a black suit but with a pale pink boutonniere in her lapel.
“Good evening, Mr. Davenport,” she said. “This way, please.”
She took me from the lobby into the restaurant through a floral arch of pink-and-white roses.
The hotel’s décor was immaculate pink-and-white, the floors a coral pink marble gleaming under modern glass light fixtures. There was an expensive sheen to it, not one flaw in sight, but I didn’t like it. Something felt slightly wonky about it, as if the place was trying too hard.
Ollie followed, staying close to my back. For once, I didn’t conjure any dirty thoughts, only feeling a sense of relief about having him here with me.
Helen occupied a table over by the far-left window beside a log fire. She spotted me and got to her feet, beckoning me over.
There was a guy with her. Mr. Cash, apparently, and I kind of recognized him.
“Oh, crap…” I heard Ollie mutter.
I stopped, turning to face him. “What’s the matter?”
His jaw was tightly set, his hands balled into fists.
“Ollie?”
He took a deep breath, moving away from me. “I’ll hang back over there.” He jutted a thumb at the floral arch.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. Something had clearly spooked him.
But he left, taking up position on the other side of the arch.
“Sir?” the staff member who’d brought me here said.
I blinked, directing my attention to her. “Yes?”
What was wrong with Ollie?
“Your party is waiting.” She gestured toward the table.
But he’s… Why is he?—
“Sir?”
“Darling?” Helen called from behind me.
I straightened my spine, clearing my throat, game face slipping on. “Sorry. Is my bodyguard okay to lurk over there?”
The woman smiled. “Of course, sir.”
