CHAPTER 13
Leo
I arrive early at St Pancras, planning on taking time to myself before meeting George and his team in Paris.
I make the decision to be totally and utterly professional moving forwards.
No sarcasm, no emotional outbursts, no comments.
Just calm, helpful and polite. I remind myself, ‘You can do this.’
However, the queue is so long, I head straight to collect the tickets Cece ordered and go through security, praising myself internally for always being early. Checking-in, the smartly dressed woman behind the desk gives me a kind look, a knowing smile lighting up her face.
‘Bonjour, Miss James, I am delighted to share that you have been upgraded to Premier class.’
I look at her wide-eyed. ‘I have?’
‘Indeed, and you will be able to use our Premier lounge should you wish. Breakfast will be served aboard but please enjoy some refreshments before departure. Enjoy your journey!’
She points me to the Premier fast-track queue. ‘Au revoir!’
Surely Cece didn’t splurge to send me to Paris? I text Rosa a photo of my ticket with ‘???’
She replies with a selfie of her and Cassian on their usual morning walk, sporting a thumbs up and big grin.
Rosa Riley:
Told you you’re a lucky bitch. Good old Cece!
Anything else from George?
Leo James:
No.
Rosa Riley:
He was definitely flirting with you.
Leo James:
Trust me, he was not.
Rosa Riley:
Well you’ve got two weeks together now . . .
You’re hot. He’s hot. I’m calling it.
Leo James:
It’s too early in the morning for this, shh.
Rosa Riley:
Safe travels! Love you!!
Leo James:
xxx
I walk into the Premier lounge, relishing the extra time and peace.
I had planned to catch up on my book; I’m already excited to see how Brett Tanner is going to make it up to Autumn.
We’ve reached the third act break-up, so predictable, and he’s messed up.
He won’t admit that he has feelings for her; his cold, lonely heart has been neglected for so long that he just can’t bring himself to let her in.
Autumn, an open book, can’t understand and believes he’s just not that into her.
Miscommunication tropes aren’t my favourite, but I’m invested now.
I need to know his grand gesture, the final act that wins her back and proves he loves her.
I settle down with a soothing mint tea and get out my Kindle, placing it on the table in front of me while I pour.
The book title page flashes up and I’m grateful I’m not reading a paperback; the cover features a huge, muscled, topless cowboy (Brett), hat pulled low over his eyes, face stern as he clutches a buxom cowgirl (Autumn) to his chest, breasts spilling out of her top, head thrown back in laughter.
‘Red Hot Ranch?’ a deep voice says quietly near my ear and I jump, almost spilling the tea.
‘Looks . . . interesting.’ I look around to see George leaning over me, hiding a slight smile on his serious face.
He really is beautiful, as much as I hate to admit it.
Dark waves, un-styled, fall almost to his high cheekbones as he bends down, but that sharp jawline adds a masculine edge to his pretty features.
Now I see him up close properly, I’d kill for his thick eyelashes, softening his smoky, dark eyes.
‘Mr Hampden, apologies.’ I rush to shut my Kindle, reaching down to shove it in my bag.
I glance back up and he’s still looking straight at me, eyes almost playful.
I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks and take a breath to steady myself.
‘I thought I was meeting you in Paris?’ I ask politely, trying my best to mask my nerves.
‘Mr Hampden?’ He frowns, straightening himself.
‘It’s George. Please. And no. Same train.
I just wanted to come over and check that you were all sorted.
Happy with the new seat? Apologies if it was presumptuous, I just thought you might like to have space to work, some food.
’ It’s the most I’ve ever heard him speak.
‘And apologies for disturbing your . . .’ He lifts his eyebrows, the hint of a smile returning to his full lips.
‘Reading. Please don’t stop on my account. ’
‘You’re not disturbing me at all, Mr Hampden. Please do sit.’ I try to regain control of the situation but something sticks in my brain. Did he just say that he upgraded my seat? Why?
‘George.’ He pulls out the chair opposite and takes a seat, eyes still on me. To anyone looking over, his face is passive, almost bored, but his eyes give away a hint of amusement. ‘Please call me George.’
‘Of course, George.’ His eyes flicker to my lips as I say his name, just for a second. ‘Thank you, I really appreciate you upgrading me. Very kind, but of course unnecessary.’
‘Well, I guess you are part of the team for a few weeks and we can’t have you feeling left out.
’ He points over to a small group sitting in the corner.
I instantly recognize Gordon’s pinched face, mouth turned down in a frown as he reads the paper, ignoring George’s wave.
The other three I recognize from previous tournaments.
From before, when I actually watched George play.
I think I remember them being his coach, trainer and physiotherapist. They wave back politely, not unfriendly as such, but seemingly amused by my presence.
‘Where are you staying?’ he asks suddenly, my attention snapping back to him. ‘Cece wouldn’t tell me. Must be god-awful if he’s embarrassed to say?’
‘Please don’t worry, Mr Ham—’ He cuts me off with a look. ‘George, sorry. Please don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’
‘I like my team to be comfortable. You’re on the team.’ He sits up quickly, his face serious, but I can sense his amusement. ‘In fact, I’d like to place my first request, please.’
Wow, OK. This is good. This is progress. ‘Of course, how can I assist?’
‘I’d like you to book one room at the Ritz Paris for two weeks, starting today. Whatever they have left is fine, just get what you can.’
I mask my confusion. I thought he and the team were sorted. ‘Certainly, under your name?’
‘Under Leo James. Please.’
‘Mr Hampden. George!’ I correct myself. ‘It really is unnecessary. I’ll be fine. I believe Cece has asked Felicity to organize an apartment and she’ll email me when we arrive. Please don’t worry; I’ll be there as early or late as you need me, regardless of how far away I’m staying.’
‘That’s not the point.’ He looks irritated. ‘Please try for a room at the Ritz. Let me know how you get on.’
The call comes through; they’re ready for us to board the train.
‘Certainly, George. I’ll update you as soon as we reach Paris. Do you have a car sorted to the hotel?’
‘We were just going to grab a cab?’
Does he know he’s famous? ‘May I sort one? It will make for a much smoother arrival.’
He nods and heads back to the team to grab his luggage. I gather up my things from the table and turn to pick up my suitcase, but he’s there again, holding it for me.
‘After you, Miss James.’ He nods towards the escalators.
His face is still hard, but I catch that hint of a smile again as I say over my shoulder, walking away, ‘Thank you, and please, just Leo.’
——
I mean to catch up on emails or Red Hot Ranch or do anything other than think of George Hampden and the bizarre interactions this morning.
But I can’t, so I spend the majority of the journey confused, unable to reconcile this George with the one who dismissed me so rudely last year, delaying my promotion. The one who ignored my messages.
As we near Paris, I email a contact at the Ritz, asking if they have anything left at all.
But it’s Roland-Garros season and she shares that only a few of their signature suites are left, starting at more than 5,000 euros a night.
I sigh, slightly relieved to have my own space, but it soon morphs into disappointment.
A stay at the Ritz Paris has always been a dream, a bucket-list item since I was a little girl visiting for the first time and saw the sparkling facade and ginormous trees at Christmas, presiding over the Place Vend?me like the Grande Dame she is.
I receive Felicity’s email as we pull into Paris and bring up the address on Google Maps of the apartment Cece booked for me.
It’s literally next to the Gare du Nord, down a small dead end, a few streets away from the main station concourse.
He must have told Felicity to book the cheapest thing possible, when I know for a fact that he stayed in the George V the last time he visited. Absolute bastard.
My mood irrevocably ruined for the day, I look at my phone to see the driver’s details have arrived for the car I booked George.
I’m in a different carriage from him and his team, so I text him.
Leo James:
Your car will be waiting outside the main entrance. Registration, car and driver details below.
George Hampden:
You’re not joining us?
Leo James:
The Ritz Paris was unfortunately fully booked. My original accommodation is within walking distance of the station, so I will find my own way, thank you.
I don’t receive a reply, so disembark and walk towards the entrance, bracing myself for what’s to come.
The Google reviews give the apartment one and a half stars.
I click on some images to reveal a tiny bedsit, worn wallpaper peeling off the walls and a minute bathroom with rusted shower.
The comments do nothing to lighten my mood, with one complaining of noise from the street below, most stating to ‘STAY AWAY AT ALL COSTS’ and one from last week: ‘I definitely saw multiple bedbugs. AVOID.’
I’m there for two weeks. The situation I’m in suddenly hits me and I feel my face heating with frustration. He cannot be serious? I flick through the photos again; the place doesn’t look sanitary enough for a prison cell, let alone fit for a work trip.
I step outside, taking deep breaths to calm my anger, needing to leave the crowds of tourists milling around, when my gaze is immediately drawn to a tall figure, leaning against a lamp post, eyes darting across the various passengers leaving the station.
‘George!’ Why is he here? ‘I’m sorry, is there an issue with the car?’
‘No, nothing. I wanted to make sure you got off OK.’ He looks at me strangely, concern creasing his brow. I’m clearly pissed off and can’t hide it. ‘What’s happened?’ He looks around as if to find someone to blame.
I close my eyes, raising the heel of my palm to my forehead.
‘I’m fine. Apologies, George, I just feel a little overwhelmed.
’ Tears of frustration prick my eyes, threatening to fall.
‘The trip was so last-minute and, well, the apartment I’m staying in is, well, it’s fine.
I’ll survive.’ I look for a tissue in my bag, mortified that I’m close to crying in front of a member, in front of George Hampden.
I don’t cry, but this whole thing is too much.
‘Show me it, please.’ His deep voice is commanding but gentle.
‘Really, don’t worry. The car will be waiting to depart. I’ll deal with it.’
‘Show me.’
I pull up the Google listing and watch his face slowly take it in. He looks back at me, eyebrows raised, then exhales, before laughing out loud.
He’s laughing at me? Arsehole.
I snatch my phone back and turn to walk away, but he’s quicker, gently grabbing my arm before I can take a step.
‘Leo, I’m sorry but you’re not staying in that shithole.
My suite has two bedrooms and I’d feel much happier if you were to take one rather than endure this.
’ He takes my bags and starts walking towards the Mercedes Viano on the corner before I can reply.
‘Come on. We’ll figure it out. I’ll barely be there anyway,’ he calls back.
I stand rooted to the spot, shocked. He beckons me over, waiting by the car door. ‘George, I really can’t accept this . . .’ I start to move towards him.
He interrupts. ‘Get in the car, Leo.’
‘But, George . . .’
‘Leo, get in the car. Please.’
The command in his voice hits me straight at my core, surprising me. It’s hard but I remind myself that he is the enemy here.
He offers his hand to help me step up and I take it without thinking, still in a daze.
Enemy, Leo. He is the enemy!
His grip is firm and I note how his hand engulfs my own.
It’s huge, warm and calloused. I feel a blush start as I duck into the car, coming face to face with Gordon and the team.
George follows me in, shutting the door behind him, and addresses the elephant in the room, his face stern, all playfulness gone.
‘Leo is staying with us. Her accommodation wasn’t suitable. She is part of the team now and you will treat her as such. Any questions?’
They all smile and shake their heads, except Gordon who is staring at me, eyes gleaming in the darkness of the car, like a shark circling his next meal.
I look away abruptly, out the window.
What the fuck is happening?