Christmas on Fifth Avenue (Christmas Escapes #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

EVIE

‘May I see your boarding pass and passport?’ asked the woman at the desk at the entrance to the business-class lounge – yes, BUSINESS class.

‘Absolutely,’ I said, a tad overenthusiastically. I tried to be cool about it but even at the age of twenty-nine and a half … I couldn’t. She gave me a polite smile, her bright red lipstick so immaculate, I did wonder if it might have been high-gloss red paint.

‘And would you mind removing the sunglasses and hat?’ she asked, peering down at my passport photo. So much for my attempt at a disguise. I’d hurriedly bought the hat and glasses after a couple of girls in the security queue had openly laughed at me and I turned as red as an overripe strawberry.

‘Right this way, Miss Green.’ I sighed with gratitude.

Now this was travelling in style, the business-class lounge was huge with big leather armchairs, a free buffet, an open bar and stacks of newspapers and magazines – it was also very busy.

After wandering around like a lost sheep for five minutes, I spotted a big wing-backed chair over in one corner.

It was only when I staked my claim on said chair that I realised the opposite seat was taken, the high, wide design of the chair, hiding its occupant from view.

With his head bowed, he was intent on his phone.

Like me, he wore dark sunglasses and a baseball cap.

I’d hoped to sneak onto my chair without disturbing him, but I banged into the coffee table and sent an empty coffee cup rattling.

He glanced up, clearly startled, his mouth slashing into an unfriendly flat line.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered and for some reason saluted the brim of my cap.

I think it was to remind him we were incognito allies.

For a minute, he stared at me … sometimes you can just tell even behind the dark glasses.

Trying to play it cool, I gave him a nonchalant nod, as if I always travelled this way and I was part of the same gang.

He nodded back and ducked his head again, returning to his phone, his mouth crumpling in quick irritation as he read something.

The great thing about wearing sunglasses is that you can be subtle about checking someone out – okay, I admit it, ogling.

He was very ogle-worthy. The Henley T-shirt he wore stretched across seriously broad shoulders.

A weak spot of mine. What I could see of his hair, a dark chestnut colour, curled around the rim of his navy-blue cap, which had a stylised N and Y embroidered on the front.

His face had a strong masculine jaw and aquiline nose.

Male model? Actor? And the icing on the cake, he had the sexy, bad-boy stubble going on, which was an absolute killer.

Suddenly I realised that it was really obvious I was staring at him. I glanced away and studied my own phone but a few minutes later, I couldn’t help myself.

There was something about the wary stillness of his posture that suggested he was ready for fight or flight at any moment.

It drew my surreptitious gaze again and I studied him anew, watching as his mobile mouth mirrored emotions hidden behind his sunglasses.

Frustration, anger, hurt … all quickly shaped his lips as he scrolled away, intently focused on his phone screen, holding himself stiffly in the centre of the seat so that it shielded him from view.

I knew exactly how horrible social media could be.

I was on the verge of asking him if he was okay when I realised I was projecting.

Projecting my recent online experiences.

The vile comments, the trolls, the criticism, the complete lack of empathy or sympathy.

I could relate to the slight, perplexed frown tugging at his mouth as he read.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, making a quick decision.

‘Mmm,’ he responded, not looking particularly friendly or encouraging. Maybe he didn’t speak English.

‘Er, would you mind,’ I enunciated slowly and loudly, and in case he was deaf as well as foreign, I gestured at my belongings, ‘keeping an eye on my bag.’ For good measure, I actually pointed at my bag and did a walking-away motion with my fingers.

There was a long pause, and I was about to rephrase the question when he responded with:

‘Do I look like I offer babysitting services?’

I started at the blunt question, noting his American accent, but then I spotted the wry twist to his mouth. I gave him a careful up-and-down.

‘Hmm,’ I said with a considering nod. ‘I think you probably do, but only low-level assignments.’

‘Low-level?’ Curiosity pitched in his voice as his mouth notched up another peg towards a reluctant smile.

‘Yes, hand luggage and possibly a well-trained Chihuahua.’

He burst out laughing. ‘A well-trained Chihuahua! Where did that come from?’

I took off my sunglasses and grinned at him. ‘Truthfully…’ I paused. ‘I have no idea.’

He removed his own sunglasses to reveal dancing blue eyes and I felt a surge of triumph that I’d somehow managed to lighten his mood.

‘If you don’t mind,’ I nodded towards my bag again. ‘I’d like to get myself a drink.’

‘Okay, I’ll watch your bag,’ he replied with a nod, suddenly serious before he smiled and added, ‘providing it doesn’t contain a small, well-trained dog.’

I shook my head and glanced around before whispering, ‘I packed it myself, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.’

To my delight, he laughed for a second time.

‘Thank you, that’s really kind. I won’t be long.’

I took a step away and then stopped, remembering the manners ingrained by my mum. ‘Can I get you anything?’

His face sobered for a moment, as if he’d remembered something – it made me wonder if anyone had offered to do anything for him for a while.

‘A drink or something?’ I prompted.

I watched him swallow and push whatever haunted him away.

‘I could use a beer and some chips, thank you.’

‘Chips?’ I asked.

‘Crisps. You know.’

‘Any particular flavour?’ I asked.

‘Cheese and onion,’ he said with a quick grin. ‘Is there any other flavour?’

‘I’m rather partial to sweet chilli, but you only get those if they’re posh crisps.’

‘There are posh crisps?’ His mouth quirked again. ‘Who knew?’

‘You know, the expensive ones,’ I said.

‘I’m not that much of a connoisseur.’ He smiled, reassuring me that I wasn’t making a complete idiot of myself.

‘Back soon,’ I said.

‘I’ll pay close attention to your bag,’ he said, with another smile, producing a very cute dimple in the middle of his cheek, as if someone had poked a finger in there.

It was also as if someone had poked something at my heart and I got a funny fizzing sensation in my chest.

As I turned to go, I managed to knock into the coffee table again – adding a second bruise to my shin – and he jumped up and held out protective hands as if he were ready to catch me. The gesture pierced into my heart like an arrow into wood. No one had looked out for me in a long time.

‘Thanks,’ I said, managing to stay upright and catching the empty cup before it fell.

‘Good save,’ he said in smooth tones.

I walked away a little light-headed. Maybe it was just the human connection but in that moment, it made me feel just a little bit less lost.

I did a quick circuit of the lounge; well, as quick as you can when everything is free. On the surface, in a purely material way, things were looking up. Life had been a bit shit in recent weeks.

I helped myself to a glass of champagne – the proper stuff, not prosecco – before perusing the selection of beer.

I ummed and ahhed over what to pick up for my handsome neighbour.

He’d been nice to me, when so many strangers of late had been unkind.

I knew nothing about beer but as it was free, I grabbed four different bottles.

I could always bring them back. When I explained my predicament to the handy bar man, he kindly lent me a bottle opener.

* * *

‘Here you go.’

Mr Handsome’s eyes widened as he looked up at the beer bottles I held with one hand, the necks precariously sandwiched between my fingers. ‘I didn’t know what to get you.’

I put them down on the table one after another while hanging onto my flute of fizz.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Thank you. I’d have been grateful for anything. That’s … er … very thoughtful.’

‘I thought so,’ I said cheerily, sitting down and toasting him before taking my first sip of champagne, impressed that I’d managed to get it to the table without spilling a drop. I almost jumped at the instant effect of the effervescent fizz on my tongue and the sharp acidity of the bubbles.

‘Oh, and I got you your chips,’ I said proudly, pulling a packet from the pouch pocket of my sweatshirt.

‘Thank you. You’ve spoiled me, except…’ He leaned forward and chose one of the beers, looking at the bottle top and the table edge.

‘Oh, sorry.’ I delved into my back pocket. ‘I borrowed this.’ I handed the bottle-opener over. ‘I need to take it back in a minute.’

‘You’ve thought of everything,’ he said with another one of those smiles that did strange things to my insides.

‘This is the life,’ I said with a happy sigh, taking another sip of the champagne.

My mum would have loved this. My heart did one of those involuntary little pings when I thought of her.

She’d been gone for five years but it was still there, that underlying sadness when I remembered all the things I’d never get to tell her.

Like now. Going to New York. In December.

Staying at The Plaza. It had been our dream.

The thing we’d talked about while snuggled under a blanket together watching Serendipity, Home Alone 2 and Elf, to name but a few of our favourites.

The ‘one day’ that never came but which we talked about more and more as her life faded away, despite both of us knowing that one day was an elusive dream.

‘Mmm,’ said my new friend, taking a healthy slug of his beer straight from the bottle. ‘Thank you again.’

‘No problem, and thank you for looking after my bag.’ I grinned at him. ‘You did an excellent job despite being woefully underqualified.’

‘So, do I get a certificate or something? For work experience?’ He asked, putting his beer bottle down.

‘Oh, yes. Absolutely. Well done.’ I gave him a thumbs up. ‘I could … er … er, WhatsApp it to…’ My voice trailed off. Oh no, did that sound like I was asking for his number?

He gave me a gentle smile, relieving me of my embarrassment. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll manage without.’ He went back to his phone and I eased out a sigh of relief. I really hadn’t been trying to pick him up.

I glanced around the room, still scarcely able to believe that I was really there, eyeing people carefully as if any one of them might snatch this amazing opportunity away from me as quickly as it had been magically bestowed upon me.

When The Plaza’s marketing team contacted me, I’d ignored the email for a week before they emailed again. As a financial journalist for the online magazine Money Weekly, I know all about scams … or rather, I should have done.

To cut a very long story short, I’d fallen for a scam and lost a not inconsiderable sum of money.

So, obviously, when I was offered a second, albeit genuine this time, all-expenses-paid trip to stay at The Plaza Hotel, I was justifiably wary.

Thank goodness the lady in the PR department had been persistent.

And now here I was at Heathrow about to board a plane to New York to spend the next three weeks in the Big Apple staying at the five-star Plaza Hotel, right on Fifth Avenue and next to Central Park.

Sometimes good things happen to people. Even me.