‘Hi, good afternoon. Could I just leave this for Oliver Drummond?’ Hayley draped the jacket over the desk and watched the receptionist’s friendly smile turn into misunderstanding. ‘He left it in a restaurant last night and I’m just returning it.’
The receptionist didn’t look like she wanted to take ownership of the jacket or do anything about it. ‘I’m afraid Mr Drummond is out right now.’
‘That’s fine. I don’t need to see him. I’m just dropping off the jacket,’ Hayley said. She pushed the item a little nearer the receptionist.
The woman nodded and then picked up the telephone. ‘I’ll just give his PA a call.’
‘That’s OK, I don’t need to see anyone, honestly. I’m just doing a favour for my brother.’
‘Clara? I have someone here for Mr Drummond.’ The receptionist paused for a moment. ‘With an item of clothing.’ She then looked at Angel. ‘And a child.’
What on earth was going on? Why couldn’t she just leave the jacket and be on her way? She should have just said the jacket was for Dean and let him sort it out. She was stuck now, waiting for a personal assistant who probably had a heap of important computer stuff to get on with.
‘Thank you,’ the receptionist said into the phone before replacing the receiver. ‘Clara will be right down. Would you care to take a seat?’
Hayley let out a frustrated noise and moved towards a selection of dark-grey, leather sofas that looked like they’d been manufactured out ofJurassic Worldmodels.
‘Your face is all red and blotchy,’ Angel remarked as they sat down. She started to finish her hot dog.
Hayley put her fingers to her cheeks, feeling the heat there. An errand for Dean was going to make her look like a stalker. One of those obsessive types that wanted to drink the victim’s pee or roll in their bed sheets to be close to them. Actually, the rolling in the bed sheets held a certain appeal.
The only saving grace was Oliver Drummond was out. He neednever know she was here. She could be any anonymous woman with a child bringing back a jacket he’d mislaid.
The entrance doors opened, an icy breeze whipping through into the reception and, along with it, the man whose jacket she had on her lap. There he was. The rich guy she’d helped escape down an alley. Oliver Drummond. He was unbuttoning a black, woollen coat as he entered, revealing a well-fitting, charcoal-coloured suit. Highly polished leather shoes were on his feet, but her eyes quickly moved upwards, over the width of his chest, his brown-blonde hair spiked and scattered with snowflakes and those unmistakeable eyes.
‘That’s him!’ Angel stage-whispered, hot dog bun specks falling from her mouth.
Hayley swallowed, watching him make his way across the floor, another man at his side, engrossed in conversation. She needed to stop looking at him. If he turned his head, even one inch, he would see her. And then it happened. He looked to the bank of sofas where they were sitting and their eyes connected. She felt the look deep in her belly and hated herself for it having any effect at all. Drooling over Channing Tatum was one thing; this, especially when the business pin-up was only metres away, was another. Just as quickly as their eyes had met, he turned back to his companion, still walking to the elevators at the end of the room. He’d dismissed her. Looked and then looked away. He really was the fickle philanderer she’d first pegged him as. Unwanted disappointment struck.
‘Did you know Oliver Drummond is one of the richest men in America?’
‘I’ve told you lots of times before, Angel, money isn’t everything,’ Hayley snapped. She was annoyed at herself. How fickle she was!
‘I know. Uncle Dean says he’s nearly always miserable,’ Angel followed up.
‘Yes, well, right now I know how he feels.’ What was she doing with this damn jacket? She should have strode across the reception area and thrown it at him. Then he might have remembered her. Not that she was bothered that he hadn’t.
Hayley got to her feet the second she realised a woman wearing a black business suit that was a little too small for her, a coral statement necklace at her décolletage, was heading past Oliver Drummond and his companion towards them. A poker straight expression was on her face.
‘Hello,’ Hayley greeted, gathering the jacket in her hands. ‘I’m sorry about all this. I just?—’
‘Hello. I’m Angel.’
Hayley watched as Angel held her hand out to the woman, a beam of a smile on her face.
The woman reached out, took Angel’s hand in hers and shook it. ‘Hello, I’m Clara, Mr Drummond’s personal assistant.’
‘Wow,’ Angel said, as if she’d just announced she was the first female Pope.
Hayley pushed the jacket towards Clara. ‘I think the receptionist got the wrong end of the stick. I don’t want to see Mr Drummond. I just… my brother works here, and Oliver… I mean Mr Meanie… Drummond, sorry, Mr Drummond, he left this jacket in a Chinese restaurant last night.’ She shook her head at the scenario. ‘He forgot it this morning… Dean, my brother and… he asked me to drop it in.’
‘Chinese food again, huh?’ Clara remarked, folding the jacket over her arm. ‘One day, he’s going to turn into a deep-fried noodle.’ She smiled at Angel, who grinned, all eyes and teeth. At least one of them was functioning like a normal human being.
‘Right, well, we’ll be going. Come on, Angel,’ Hayley said, grabbing her daughter by the sleeve of her coat.
‘Did you know that as well as being one of America’s richestmen, Mr Drummond is also one of the world’s most eligible bachelors?’ Angel piped up.
Hayley wanted the ground to swallow her up. For someone who was so intelligent, Angel had no idea what might not be appropriate in polite conversation.
