I chuckled. “Later. I need to check on the suite.”
“Then leave me alone.”
“Hey, when are you coming home tonight?”
“It’s Saturday. I won’t close before one.”
“I might wait up,” I said.
“Might?”
I could just picture his sardonic smile.
“See you later, Orson.”
I slipped my phone into my pocket, grinning. Jordy had that effect on me, despite all his moroseness. I’d go to the pub to help him out later, but first things first.
Our special guest deserved special treatment.
I ran upstairs and prepared the top-floor room. I didn’t bother with the others—Sedric had been here and cleaned afterthe last party had left—but the suite needed to be perfect. I opened the window to air the space and fiddled with the towels.
The minibar needed restocking. I would have brought fresh flowers, but it was late October. There wasn’t much blooming outside. Besides, what if Mr. Riley was allergic to pollen? Or dust! Just the thought made me bring out the vacuum and redo the two-seater and the carpet.
At ten to four, I was downstairs, looking around the reception that doubled as a bar and breakfast room. It looked clean but a little empty.
I needed welcome drinks and a fire in the fireplace.
In the kitchen, I found a bucket and filled it with ice. The prosecco I’d had left from a wedding in August wasn’t anything special, but it wasn’t too shabby either. Since I had no idea how many people would be coming, I prepared ten glasses. Last time, Mr. Riley stayed here with three bodyguards.
At a quarter past four, the fire was crackling happily. I wiped the breakfast tables and reorganized the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. They were a bit dusty, but I didn’t have time for a thorough cleanup. After washing the sink, I went to change my shirt.
At five, I opened the prosecco bottle and poured myself a glass.
I was just refilling it when the door opened.
Shit.
I quickly hid the open bottle and half-full glass behind the bar and hurried to the hallway.
It was him.
The Laurel Riley.
His ball cap and sunglasses hid half of his face, but I’d recognize him anywhere. His catlike green eyes were imprinted on my memory, just like the sensual curve of his lips, now pinched tight. His long, wavy hair brushed the shoulders of hisblack jacket. He wore his signature skintight, dark jeans and chunky platform boots, which added at least two inches to his lanky height.
“Mr. Riley, welcome!”
I didn’t see anyone behind him, but he couldn’t have been alone. A crunching of tires came from outside, so maybe his people were just parking.
“Hi,” he muttered, and folded his sunglasses. He looked pale, with dark circles under his oh-so-beautiful eyes. It made me want to hug him, which was silly.
Instead, I backed out of his way. “Come on in. Is your staff parking the car? Let me help you with the suitcase.”
“It’s just me.”
I froze. Just him? “And your security?”
“Just me,” he repeated, sounding annoyed. “One person.”
