Chapter 2
Two
I rapped a nervous tune on the steering wheel as I drove through the English countryside. I was late. The stupid GPS had sent me the wrong way. I didn't know why I'd listened to it in the first place. I'd lived in this town my whole life, and I already knew where Harrington House was.
Tell Hotels, the driving force behind the conglomerate giant that was Tell Company LTD, had bought Harrington House about a year ago and a few months later, work had begun.
When the call came in about the contract, Mark had said the name ‘Tell’ with great reverence but it was mostly lost on me. I'd heard of Tell Hotels of course, and The Tell Company was a name synonymous with many other kinds of business, but that was about the extent of my knowledge.
For as little as I knew about the company, I knew even less about the head of it—Mr Tell, a man I imagined to be old and ruthless. I wasn't worried about not being read up on him. As far as I knew, he wouldn't be attending the meeting today.
I checked my watch again. 9.15. I had to be there in fifteen minutes and I was still a way out.
Crap . I got my foot on the accelerator and floored it.
I wound expertly along the tight country lanes, rounded a dense woodland, and suddenly, I saw it.
Harrington House. It had been years since I'd seen it and then it had been a ruin, barely on its feet.
Now, though it was clearly still a work in progress, it was very impressive.
Even though I was pushed for time, I slowed a little so I could take in the beauty of it.
The back of another vehicle suddenly loomed before me.
I slammed on the brakes but it was too late.
The collision was so sudden I lost my breath, hitting the steering wheel with a thud.
I looked down at myself in shock. Was I okay?
Limbs still intact? I did a quick limb count and established that yes, I was fine.
I peered reluctantly over my steering wheel to see who I'd hit. As soon as my gaze landed on the car, I knew I was in trouble. A Rolls Royce. I sank back down in my seat. I'd just hit a fucking Rolls Royce with my fat, green van.
I slumped onto the steering wheel. Maybe I should just pretend to be injured? No one would shout at me if there was a chance I might die.
There was a knock at my window. Apparently the driver didn't care if I was possibly dying. With a barely suppressed groan, I wound down my window and looked up at the caveman of a man standing outside my van.
"I am so, so sorry," I said before the veritable giant could start shouting at me.
"Are you alright? Is there much damage?" I opened my door to get out and look, but the man put a hand on my door, preventing me from exiting.
I guessed from the deep grooves around his eyes and along his forehead that he was in his fifties.
His short grey hair was neatly cut and his suit was impeccable.
"It's fine," he answered, his voice gruff, with a thick cockney accent. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay, but your car…” I couldn't actually see the state of his car but I could only imagine it was pretty bad. I wasn't exactly driving a Mini.
"As I said, it's fine." He didn't smile at me exactly, but he was being more decent than I deserved so I didn't hold it against him. If some idiot had rammed into the back of me I probably wouldn't feel like being their best friend either.
"Okay, well here, let me give you my details." I grabbed my phone from my bag but he shook his head again.
“Not necessary." Without another word, he walked away, climbed back into his dented car, and drove off. I sat there in stunned silence. Did he really just wave off my offer to pay for what must be thousands of pounds’ worth of damage?
I shook my head in disbelief. I wondered what it must be like to be able to look at a thousand pound bill and shrug.
My phone beeped, an alarm I'd set last night to make sure I got to the meeting on time.
9.30. I was late. I groaned for the hundredth time that day and put my bruised van into gear.
If I didn't get fired today it would be a fucking miracle.
Apparently, miracles were on my side today, as I managed to make it to Harrington House without further incident. I gave my name to the security guard and after the wrought iron gates swung open, I drove the mile long road to the House itself.
Tall beech trees lined the road, dappling the sunlight, making it dance on my windscreen. My fingers continued to tap their nervous beat on the steering wheel.
The trees began to thin out, the road widened, and I passed a pair of workmen installing an impressive emperor fountain. Tell Hotels had clearly spared no expense.
I rounded the fountain and continued up the rest of the driveway. My mouth fell open as Harrington House came into full view. It was like something out of a Jane Austen novel.
The scaffolding was still in place and everywhere there were workmen trilling about like busy ants. It looked more like a building site than a stately home rich with English history, but beyond the dust I could see what the building promised to be when the renovations were complete.
Wide steps led up to the house where stone columns framed imposing double oak doors. Bright spring sun bounced off the mullion windows, momentarily blinding me.
I marvelled at what it must be like to be the owner of something so grand.
There was a makeshift car park to the left of the property and I pulled in alongside the line of work vans.
I checked my reflection in the drop down mirror a final time, took a deep breath, and tilted my chin up. I'd waited too long for an opportunity like this and I refused to let my nerves screw it up.
I took one final calming breath and hopped out.
I looked around for someone in a suit or just anything other than a hard hat and work boots, but all I could see were the workmen. One group in particular congregated near a truck, holding Styrofoam cups of tea and roll-up cigarettes.
One of them clocked me and nudged the guy next to him, nodding at me. I held the file close to my chest as I walked and plastered a smile on my face, determined not to let their staring intimidate me.
"Excuse me, hi." I smiled. They didn't respond but instead simply ogled me. One seemed particularly fascinated with my legs. "I'm looking for Riley Fitzpatrick. Do you know where I can find him?"
One of the men threw a surly thumb over his shoulder.
I looked behind him for a person but all I could see was a gravel path that led around the right side of the House.
I thanked the man and started the long walk around the property.
'House' felt like such a ridiculous word for this place— 'modest castle' was maybe more appropriate.
To the untrained eye, the gardens were a vast space of natural beauty.
The untrained eye would see the smooth, sloping lawns surrounding Harrington House, or the great stretches of untamed woodland in the distance.
It would appreciate the historic beauty of the stone, rectangular pond that had probably been there for a hundred years or more.
But a schooled eye saw more; it would see the cracks in the pond's stone work.
It would look at the woodland and imagine the trees that would need to be thinned, the invasive plants that would have taken over and poisoned the earth.
My imagination hopped in anticipation but I stamped it down. I was here to take notes for Mark and to liaise. Nothing more. I sighed, envious of Riley and Mark, that this was what they got to do every day.
I flicked through the file again as I walked, searching for the design specs. If Riley Fitzpatrick pulled off what he'd laid out on paper, this place was going to be spectacular when it was finished.
I turned another page, engrossed in the plans, and gasped in surprise as I slammed straight into a slab of muscle. The file flew out of my hands and I fell, tumbling gracelessly to the ground and hitting the gravel with a painful thud.
Great. This was just great.
I took a moment to check my hands. They were scraped from the gravel but weren't bleeding.
"Do you plan on staying down there all day?" a bored sounding man spoke above me. I scowled at the shoes in front of me that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, and struggled to my feet.
"I'm sorry that my checking for broken bones was an inconvenience," I huffed, avoiding looking at the rude man and dusting myself down. My dress appeared to be intact. My dignity, however, was another matter.
"Would you like to try that apology again?"
I glared up at the man, taking in his face for the first time and my pulse picked up a notch.
His skin was smooth, as if it was made from marble.
His cheekbones were high, his lips full and firm.
The only thing marring his beauty was a thin scar running through his left eyebrow.
His hair was dark and thick, smoothed back in that old Hollywood way.
He was clean shaven and his dark grey three piece was tailored perfectly to his muscular body.
He towered over me, his posture effortlessly powerful, but his eyes, oh God those eyes, steel-grey and sharp, as if they could see into my very soul.
"I'm sorry," I said through gritted teeth.
My stubborn side cried out at me to take back the apology and flip him the bird, but instead I pasted a smile on my face.
It had been my fault, I had to apologise.
I expected him to graciously accept my apology but the man merely continued his scornful scrutiny of me, his attitude throwing cold water on my initial attraction to him.
"Is there a reason you weren't looking where you were going?"
I watched his lips move as he spoke, his mouth enunciating each word with a precision that reeked of boarding school.
"I was distracted. You could apologise too, you know. I didn't fall on my own."
"I don't apologise unless it's court ordered.
" His tone was infuriatingly arrogant. I bristled as he looked me over like I was some kind of strange specimen.
“What was it that distracted you? The ill-fitting shoes on your feet or the dull literature you've thrown all over the ground?
" He eyed the file on the ground and then my sister’s too-big heels with distaste. What an arrogant, condescending…
"My shoes fit perfectly, thank you," I lied, "and the literature wasn't dull. It was quite engrossing actually."
"I see. So it's walking and reading at the same time that's the problem is it? Multitasking not your strong suit?" He seemed disinterested—the epitome of aloof. I arched a brow at his insult. I couldn't figure out whether this guy was having fun with me or not.
"For your information, I'm perfectly capable of multitasking, not that that is any of your business, Mr Business Suit, and if you?—"
"Miss?"
"Yes?" I snapped at the newcomer that had interrupted my rant.
"It's you!" I gasped as the man whose car I'd rammed into earlier held my file out to me.
I took it gratefully and dusted it off. "Thank you.
" I smiled, ignoring the rude man completely.
"Again, I'm so sorry about earlier. How damaged is your car?
You really ought to let me pay for it, you know. "
" My car," the other man cut in. I narrowed my eyes at him, really wishing that he would just go away.
"The car is mine. Elliot here," he gestured to the giant of a man, "is my driver, among other things.
So," he said, looking me over again, "who are you and why do you keep getting in my way today? "
Getting in his way? He spoke as if I was doing it on purpose.
Elliot backed away a few steps to what I assumed was his standard pose: present, but uninvolved. I didn't blame him. The man in front of me was nothing if not intimidating.
He arched an impatient eyebrow. I doubted he was a man that ever had to wait for anything, let alone a response to a simple question.
I straightened my spine and put out my hand for him to shake, though I half-hoped he wouldn't take it.
I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to have him touch me.
"Lola O'Connell, I'm here for a meeting with Riley Fitzpatrick," I answered, with a confidence I didn't feel, "and you are?" He took my hand in a firm grip that electrified me so sharply I had to hold in a gasp.
"Alfie Tell." His eyes glinted with a smart satisfaction.
It took a second for his name to sink in and when it did, my heart sank.
Tell. As in Tell Hotels. As in Tell Company LTD. As in the owner of the ground I was standing on.
Had I just driven into, walked into, and then smart-mouthed the boss of all bosses?
Yes. Yes I had.