Chapter 19
Hot. Hotter. Ethan Darlington. What Does the Coveted Bachelor’s Dream Woman Look Like? We Know!
Shout Magazine headline
Kate
“We have to be as discreet as possible when we clean the rooms so we don’t disturb the guests.
They deposit their keys at reception when they leave the hotel, and as soon as that happens, we get a notification,” Grace explained, showing me her tablet.
“If you have time to clean the room, you press the green button. And we also get notified when the guests go down to the restaurant.”
“So you only clean the rooms when there’s no one in them?”
“We try, but it doesn’t always work out that way, of course,” Grace answered.
“When you click on the room number, you can see who’s staying there.
Remember their names, because it’s company policy that we greet every guest personally when we run into them.
And under the name, you’ll see a list of special requests, if there are any.
Most of them are relatively normal—they might have a preference for a particular colour of bed linen, for example—but sometimes we get some pretty weird stuff.
We once had a guest who wanted a different colour of lightbulb every day.
On Wednesdays, he wanted purple; yellow on Thursdays; and red on Fridays. ”
“And you do it?” I asked, amazed.
“Of course,” Grace said with amusement, and pressed a button on the tablet to dim the display.
“We do everything for our guests. They spend a lot of money to stay here. If I’m honest, with prices like that, you’re not just paying for the room.
You’re paying for the service, for integrity, for privacy.
We get a lot of celebrities and politicians here.
Don’t share their special requests with anyone. That includes friends.”
It was an easy promise to make, because I had no friends. The only person I’d talked to in the last few weeks was Mary from lost and found.
After Grace had explained how the tablet worked, we started cleaning.
Every day, each room at The Darlington was cleaned as thoroughly as if a new guest were arriving.
We aired the room, straightened the curtains, emptied the bins, made up the bed, replaced the towels, vacuumed, restocked the minibar and the toiletries in the bathroom, cleaned the mirrors, and polished the surfaces until they gleamed.
Each room took at least half an hour, maybe longer, but The Darlington prioritised quality over speed.
With every room we cleaned, it became clearer to me that Henry really hadn’t been lying when he’d said I was staying in the least glamorous room in the hotel.
The rooms I cleaned with Grace were all quite a lot bigger and even more luxurious.
A few even had fireplaces. But no two rooms were the same; each was uniquely furnished and decorated.
In some rooms, shades of pink and purple dominated, while others featured accents of blue, orange, or green.
We even cleaned a suite with a separate living and dining area.
Grace and I talked nonstop as we worked.
She raved about the hotel’s indoor pool and about the rooftop bar where a summer party for employees was held every year.
But she also talked about how the mood had shifted since the first allegations against Richard Darlington had become public at the beginning of the year.
Hardly anyone at the hotel believed he was innocent.
There’d been enough conversations among staff since then, with female employees sharing stories of uncomfortable encounters with Henry’s dad.
Grace had fortunately never experienced harassment herself, but the knowledge that Richard was capable of it, coupled with the bad press, still affected her.
There’d been several resignations in the past few months—staff left both in solidarity with the victims and because they feared that being associated with the hotel could harm their careers.
Even if the court declared Richard innocent, the allegations and the memory of them would linger.
They were a permanent stain on The Darlington’s otherwise spotless reputation.
Grace’s work schedule eventually led us to the hotel’s private penthouses on the top floor.
“Keep your fingers crossed,” Grace said after we’d finished with Henry’s apartment.
It had felt strange to be there, as if I were invading his privacy, especially when we’d cleaned his bedroom.
Grace had assured me it was OK, but I’d felt an overwhelming urge to ask Henry for permission to be there.
We now stood before the door of another apartment.
Since Logan didn’t live at the hotel and Grace didn’t have Richard and Amanda Darlington’s apartment on her rota today, this had to be Ethan’s suite.
“What for?” I asked.
“That it’s not total mayhem in there.”
Grace unlocked the door with the golden ID card that gave her access to every room on the private floor.
The stench of alcohol and the acrid smell of weed hit me as soon as the door opened.
I wrinkled my nose. I hated the smell—Randell and my mum had smoked weed together sometimes.
In comparison to some of the other stuff they’d taken, joints were harmless, but in general, it had been enough to turn me against drugs completely.
The bitter, slightly rotten smell brought back a lot of unpleasant memories.
The state of Ethan’s apartment was worlds apart from Henry’s, which had been immaculate.
It looked like there’d been a rave here over the weekend.
Nothing seemed to be where it belonged. There were cups and bottles everywhere, crockery-laden trolleys in the middle of the room, and several pizza boxes lying around.
Glow sticks were scattered across the floor, and I even came across a shoe and a pair of boxer shorts someone had obviously lost on the way to the bedroom.
“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.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t in any real danger of that happening.
I’d never be a part of this world. Stay with me, Henry had said, but sooner or later, he’d lose interest in me and disappear from my life again.
That was just how it went. People like him didn’t associate with people like me.
I belonged to the dregs of society and he to the absolute elite.
He was letting me peek behind the gilded curtain for now, but it was probably only a matter of time before he realised how little I belonged here and pulled the golden curtain shut before my face.