Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sofia
He’d barely said a word to me for the last nine hours.
We’d travelled to Paddington by cab to take the Heathrow Express to the airport. When he first saw me, he’d asked for his tickets. I’d taken it as a good sign. Things were going to warm up between us and we’d have a productive working relationship.
But no. He’d managed to stay silent almost our entire trip, his head buried in his phone, or The Economist or The Financial Times. I was surprised he didn’t have eye strain.
As we arrived at the hotel check-in desk, I turned to ask him for his passport, only to find him already holding it out for me.
I pulled my mouth into a sarcastic smile.
“Thank you,” I said and turned to check us both in.
Andrew kept tap, tap, tapping on his phone.
No doubt he was up to level three hundred now on Clash of Clans.
There was no way he was doing anything useful on that phone.
When the receptionist saw Andrew’s passport, she shifted gears entirely.
“Good to have you back with us, Mr. Blake, sir,” she said, lifting up on tiptoes to make sure he heard from behind me.
He turned and nodded in her direction. Within seconds, an older gentleman had arrived at Andrew’s side.
“Mr. Blake. Delighted to have you stay with us again. Can I accompany you to your room?” He glanced at me. “Your rooms.”
“Thank you, Mr. Parker,” Andrew replied, sliding the phone into his pocket.
Andrew hadn’t lost the use of his tongue then. Apparently it was just me he didn’t talk to.
“Miss Rossi,” Mr. Parker said as he led us to the elevators, “is it your first stay with us?”
My first stay at the New York Mandarin Oriental? No sirree, I like to come as often as possible, whack down my American Express Platinum card and reeelax. “It is,” I replied. “New York is home, so I don’t usually need a hotel.”
“A native,” he said, grinning. “Well, welcome. We hope you enjoy your stay with us. I’m the hotel manager. If you need anything, just ask for me.” He handed me his business card.
I’d not stayed in hotels very often, but I was wise enough to know that hotel managers didn’t escort every guest to their room.
Natalie couldn’t have known about the Andrew Manual.
She would have told me. Thank goodness Andrew had a birthday before we travelled to New York and Joanna had found it.
It had really helped me make travel arrangements.
It told me that Andrew only flew British Airways first class and listed his hotel preferences.
That’s how I’d ended up sipping a glass of champagne and watching The Hangover in my own personal “suite” thirty thousand feet up.
And it’s how we’d ended up here. I couldn’t wait to tell my mom, but I wasn’t going to get to see her until just before we flew back tomorrow afternoon.
I knew I had to focus until after I’d seen Bob Goode.
Then we could catch up for a couple of hours.
“I’ve taken the liberty of upgrading you to your usual Presidential Suite,” Mr. Parker said. “And Miss Rossi, we hope you’ll be comfortable next door in the Oriental Suite.”
Shit, Andrew had clearly changed his preferences slightly since Joanna left. The manual didn’t say anything about the Presidential Suite. I should have thought to ask before I booked.
Wait, what did he say? Next door? To my boss?
“Oh, I’m happy with the original room I booked—”
Mr. Parker raised his hand to stop my objection. “We insist. It’s always a delight to have Mr. Blake to stay, and it’s nice to welcome home a native New Yorker.”
We exited the elevator to find just two doors in front of us. Were our two suites taking up the entire floor? That was crazy. This hotel was huge.
“Your bags are already in your rooms. Mr. Blake, we have George unpacking for you. You know that he is available to you twenty-four hours a day. Can I arrange for some food to be sent up? George can prepare your drinks.”
Who was George? Apparently, some kind of multi-tasking Superman who knew Andrew’s likes and dislikes a hell of a lot better than I did.
“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Parker. You and your team always make me feel at home and I’m grateful.” He shook the manager’s hand. Mr. Parker opened the Presidential Suite door and Andrew disappeared behind it.
Mr. Parker turned to me. “We can arrange butler service for you too, if you’d like?”
I tried not to laugh. “Thank you, but I quite like to unpack myself.”
“Can I show you around your room?”
“Honestly, I just want to get into the shower and turn on some American TV. I’ve missed it.”
Mr. Parker smiled and gave a little bow. “Very well. I’m at your beck and call. Enjoy your stay, Miss Rossi.”
I slipped into my suite and closed the door behind me. I might be home, but this wasn’t the New York I’d come to know and love for almost thirty years.
After a shower so long and so hot I was surprised I didn’t shrivel up into a dehydrated version of myself, I called my mom.
She delivered a brief lecture on how I should have made it across town to see her this evening despite an eight-hour flight and the obligations of the job paying me to be here.
I wasn’t sure if I’d have enough time after the meeting to see her, but I promised to make it up to her somehow. Then I dried my hair.
I should have been exhausted, but what I wanted to do was hear some American voices and drink a Manhattan in Manhattan.
I was in New York. Back home. And that gave me more energy than I knew what to do with.
I applied a dash of makeup, slipped on a casual shift dress, and headed down to the bar. There were a thousand places I’d been to in this city, but I’d never made it to the hotel bar in the Mandarin Oriental.
I wanted to try it.
And I wanted to see if James was there, too.