Chapter 4
Alicia
Alicia pulled off her wig and sunglasses and watched the porter walk away from her lodge.
He was cute. Actually, he was more than cute.
He was gorgeous: loomingly tall with shoulders as expansive as the mountain range she could see through her lodge window, and eyes the azure of the sky that swirled around the summits.
His stubble – the same colour as his dark brown hair – was rugged like Scots heather.
It was odd that he’d returned the tip. Was that a Scottish thing?
Or could it be because there was a strange dynamic when they were talking?
And not talking. Had Alicia imagined it, or was there chemistry there?
Something powerful. God, she couldn’t go down that path.
This trip was about resetting her life, not creating more problems. There would be no getting into anything with, or even thinking about, someone she didn’t know she could trust. The porter would have to be enjoyed without touching. Anything else was too dangerous.
Such a goddamn shame because the electricity when their hands brushed…
Ten minutes later, Alicia finished exploring her lodge and was wriggling into her jacket to take a walk around the grounds of the hotel when something made her do a double take.
The porter. He was unlocking the door of the lodge opposite her own – except there were no guests with him and he had no luggage.
That was odd. Hotel staff didn’t live in the same quarters as guests.
She watched the door for a short time in case he came back out, but nothing happened.
Ah, well, he could be fixing something inside.
Then a blinding flashback hit Alicia. The porter looking over his shoulder at reception.
His not having a key for the room. Placing the tip on the table.
Could it be the norm at this hotel to refuse tips?
Possibly. They might pay the staff a generous wage and tell them to turn down gratuities from guests.
Unlikely. And he wasn’t exactly dressed like a hotel porter.
There had been no badge on his waistcoat and his shirt and pants were, upon reflection, too casual a cut to belong to a hotel uniform, especially a hotel like this one.
Sure, at reception and on the path up here, when she was distracted with messages from Sunni, he had fit her idea of a porter, but now her attention was focused, he was more like a smartly dressed guest.
This was her doing. She had turned to him and decided he was the porter. At no point had anyone said this man will take your bags for you. Alicia had assumed. Damn! How embarrassing.
But wait, if he wasn’t an employee, why was he pretending to be one? Ice sluiced through Alicia’s blood. Who was that guy? What just happened?
Confrontation was not in Alicia’s playbook, but two things gave her confidence in this scenario.
One was the simmering sense of injustice that Chad had planted inside her, and the other was her wig and sunglasses.
She swiped them from the table and threw them on, securing the wig with her beanie.
It was a poorly maintained piece she’d been allowed to take home from a set, but it suited her purpose of arriving here unrecognised.
Alicia strode across to the lodge the porter had entered and rapped on the door.
It crossed her mind that if he were press or a blogger she would be playing right into his hands.
But until two days ago even she hadn’t known she was coming here and she’d checked in under a false name.
So, what the hell was an ordinary guest doing pretending to be a hotel porter?
He could be watching her through a pair of binoculars.
Suddenly the so-called porter wasn’t so hot after all.
Except when he came to the door, he definitely was still hot. And when he smiled at her and his blue eyes sparkled like the winter sun, the ice caps inside Alicia melted a little.
‘Hey,’ he said, still wearing his ‘porter’ outfit, but now obviously just a smartly dressed man.
One capable of selecting sharply-cut clothes that perfectly accentuated his broad frame.
What an idiot she’d been. But choice tailoring aside, he was still in the wrong and Alicia was done with men doing what they liked with no consideration for how it made women feel. She would tell him exactly this.
‘Listen,’ the man spoke before she had a chance, ‘I think there’s been a wee bit of confusion. I was going to come over and clear a few things up.’
‘Oh, you were, were you?’
‘Aye, I was.’
‘Go ahead.’ She crossed her arms. Who was this confrontational, version of herself? She had no idea but she’d stand her ground.
‘I wanted to apologise.’ The man’s eyes flickered with uncertainty at Alicia’s slight aggressiveness. ‘I may have misled you into thinking that I was a hotel porter when I’m not.’
‘You sure did mislead me. Where do you get off doing that?’
‘Yep. I’m sorry. I don’t get off on it at all. In the lobby you assumed and I should have said something to disabuse you of the fact, but there wasn’t a moment where I could correct you without alarming you.’
‘I see.’ Alicia pursed her lips, tightly. He had at least apologised and she should do the same for assuming he was a hotel employee. But she didn’t feel like letting him off the hook that easily and found herself saying combatively, ‘I could report you to the hotel, you know.’
‘I guess you could. Feel free. I’m not sure what good it’ll do you. I was only trying to help. And I’ve been coming to this hotel since I was a kid, so the staff can vouch that I’m not a total weirdo.’
‘Oh, of course not!’ Alicia blurted. ‘Because it’s perfectly ordinary to go on vacation and masquerade as a hotel employee.’
The man visibly tensed. It appeared he was not about to take Alicia’s mouthiness lying down.
‘And is it perfectly ordinary to wear sunglasses when it’s zero degrees and overcast?’
Alicia’s mouth dropped open. The game was up already.
He knew who she was and that she was trying to disguise her identity.
Soon there would be photos of her at this hotel online.
Why had she assumed that coming to Scotland would mean she could walk around unknown, like it was a giant cosy village where everyone knew everyone but nothing about the rest of the planet?
But the man didn’t say anything more about her identity which gave Alicia confidence to respond.
‘That’s kind of rude,’ she retorted. ‘You have no idea why I’m wearing sunglasses. I could have a black eye or be recovering from surgery.’
‘Okay, fair enough, you could be. I’m sorry.’
‘I mean, I’m not, but…’
His mouth lifted into amusement. Alicia frowned. She didn’t need this.
‘So, we’re both weirdos then?’ he said, clearly trying to soften the atmosphere.
Alicia was not for softening. ‘Speak for yourself,’ she said.
‘Look.’ The man pulled the conversation into a lower gear.
‘Let’s start again. In the interests of full transparency, my name is Jamie Butler and I’m not a porter.
I work for a whisky company. I used to come to this hotel when I was young, which is why I could easily show you to your room.
The staff are always busy so I was trying to do them a favour.
I was about to bring you a bottle by way of an apology.
In fact, wait there.’ Jamie disappeared into the lodge for a moment, then reappeared holding out a bottle of Scotch, his face entreating.
Kind eyes. He truly was a beautiful-looking man, this Jamie Butler.
Without taking it, Alicia examined the bottle Jamie proffered.
It was a familiar brand she was sure she’d seen Connor drinking – Butler’s – and he was claiming to work for the company.
She glanced up at him again. Those eyes.
They talked to her. But Chad had eyes like that too – a face that spoke a thousand words – and he was a nasty piece of work.
‘I’m sorry for any embarrassment. But this is full disclosure, okay?’ Jamie’s Scottish brogue was rich with some sort of elixir that made it difficult to do anything but forgive. How many women had forgiven him based on that accent?
‘Okay, thanks.’ Alicia took the whisky. ‘I appreciate your clearing things up. I guess I owe you an apology for making a giant assumption that you were a porter. It was very noble of you to bring my bags, but I’m sure a real porter would have been along any moment.’
Jamie raised his palms. ‘Really, you have nothing to apologise for. I shouldn’t have misled you. Possibly it was easier than embarrassing you. Which it looks like I did, anyway.’
That he didn’t want to embarrass her was also noble. Alicia examined again the bottle: thirty-year-old sherry-matured Scotch whisky.
‘This is quality Scotch,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ And for some reason, as she said these words, she lifted her sunglasses up to her forehead. Jamie’s full disclosure had given her confidence to make her own. Whatever came after this, she would live with.
But as he locked onto her gaze, there was no dawning of light.
No, Oh! I used to watch you in that sitcom when I was younger or You’re Chad Bradbury’s girlfriend, aren’t you?
Rather, he said, with a sparkle that Alicia sensed was borne of mutual attraction rather than her celebrity, ‘I don’t drink bad whisky. And neither should you.’
And neither should you? What in the world could she say to that? Alicia’s sentience ground to a halt and she managed a small nod of gratitude to this disarmingly alluring Scotsman. She was turning towards her lodge when a thought hit her and she swung back.
‘I’m Alicia, by the way.’ His reaction to her name would be telling.
‘That’s a bonnie name. And nice to meet you, Alicia.’ Jamie smiled and leaned on the door frame as if he’d built this lodge and lived here all his life. ‘Hopefully see you about the place.’
Oh, what was the use? Alicia gave up fighting and managed a cautious smile despite a wider one dying to jump onto her lips. Apart from being cute, Jamie Butler almost certainly had no idea who she was and the combination of those two things made her feel as free as the mountain air.