“Crossing my fingers obviously didn’t work,” I muttered.
Grace snorted. “It could be worse.”
“Is it always like this?”
“Not always, but often enough,” she said, wrinkling her nose when she spotted a thong. “You collect the bottles, I’ll do the cups, and then we’ll take care of the rest.”
I grabbed a bin bag and made a start, scanning the apartment for clues as to who Ethan really was. So far, all I knew about him was that he was six years younger than Henry and that he loved parties. But that couldn’t be all. A gleaming black piano stood in the corner of the living room, but I couldn’t tell whether it was decorative or regularly played. And there were several game consoles under the TV.
A sudden sound came from the bedroom. I froze as the door swung open and Ethan Darlington came into the living room, half naked.
“Morning,” he said, his voice raspy. He was wearing only a black pair of boxers, which accentuated more than they concealed. I blushed. Ethan could easily have been one of the underwear models I sometimes saw plastered across the bright ads at Piccadilly Circus.
“It’s after twelve,” Grace said.
Ethan squinted at her tiredly. “I didn’t ask, but thanks.”
He made his way to the kitchen, which we’d already cleared of rubbish, and turned on the coffee machine. Ethan winced as it came to life, as though a nail were being driven into his head.
“Fucking hangover,” he muttered to himself.
Maybe it was all the bare skin, or perhaps it was because Ethan, with his black hair and blue eyes, looked like a younger version of Henry, but my brain short-circuited for a moment. It was the only explanation I had for my next words. “Maybe you should drink less.”
That caught Ethan’s attention. He had ignored me so far, but now he turned to me. His gaze was alarmingly sharp for someone who had just complained of a headache. “Who are you?”
“Kate.”
Ethan studied me closely. “Oh, wait. I know you. You’re the woman from the photos. You must be quite something in bed if Henry’s willing to go to McDonald’s for you. But hey, I’m glad he’s finally found someone to fuck.”
My face flushed hot. The mere thought of sleeping with Henry sent electric heat shooting through me. “Your brother and I are just friends.”
Ethan placed a cup under the coffee machine. “Ah, I see. So you’re one of his charity projects. He’s always had quite the hero complex.”
“Better than an arsehole complex,” Grace whispered beside me, but Ethan heard. His face darkened. He crossed the room silently, coming to a stop directly in front of her. Grace was just a few centimetres taller than me, and Ethan towered above her, but she didn’t seem intimidated.
“What did you say?” he asked in a tone that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Grace was unfazed. She lifted her chin defiantly and returned his gaze without flinching. “You heard me, Beelzebub.”
Ethan didn’t seem taken aback by the nickname, as if it wasn’t the first time Grace had used it.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire you for that.”
“Easy. You can’t. I work for the hotel, not for you.”
Ethan snorted. “That’s a lot of ego for someone who cleans up my trash.”
“I’d rather clean up trash than be trash.”
“In that case...” Ethan grabbed the bin bag from Grace’s hand and turned it upside down, sending the cups she’d just collected clattering to the floor.
I held my breath.
Grace clenched her hands into fists as Ethan gave her a smug grin. For a few seconds, they stared each other down, locked in a silent battle of wills, until Ethan finally turned and went back into his bedroom. Grace didn’t move until the door shut behind him, and only then did she exhale sharply and drop to her knees to clean up the mess a second time.
I went to help. “What an arsehole.”
“You can say that again,” Grace replied, and held open the bin bag for me. “Ethan’s just the tip of the iceberg. These people are all the same. They think they’re at the centre of their tiny little universe. It’s best you don’t get too caught up in it.”
