Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 183150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 916(@200wpm)___ 733(@250wpm)___ 611(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 916(@200wpm)___ 733(@250wpm)___ 611(@300wpm)
Chapter 7
I’m wide awake and my alarm hasn’t even gone off yet. On a long, drawn out sigh, I drag myself out of bed and head for the bathroom to take a shower. I’ve got a busy day at Lusso ahead of me so I may as well get started. I’ve not slept for shit, and I’m completely ignoring the reason why.
I’m going to be on my feet all day, traipsing around the complex ensuring everything is just right, so I chuck on some baggy ripped jeans – I can’t bear to throw them away – a white burnt out t-shirt and my flip flops. I scrape my hair into a loose, messy up-do and pray it behaves later when I pin it up for the evening. I doubt I’ll have time to come home and shower, so I get my mini suitcase and load it with everything I’ll need to shower at Lusso later. I retrieve a suit bag and put my knee length, cherry red pencil dress in, smoothing it neatly and quietly hoping it doesn’t crease. Lastly, I grab black suede heels, my black onyx studs and check my work case is loaded with everything I’ll need at Lusso. It’s going to be a ball ache lugging it all on the tube, but I have little other option with my car still being kept captive by a certain hot headed, arrogant male. Kate might well be taking Margo to Yorkshire.
As I walk down the stairs, I see my car keys lying on the door mat. So, the man’s seen sense and freed my car. Does this mean he’s also seen sense and given up pursuing me? Has he got the message? Perhaps he has, because there have been no calls or texts since he steamed out last night. Am I disappointed? I don’t have time to consider this.
‘I’m off,’ I shout through to Kate. ‘My car’s back.’
She pokes her head around the door of her workshop. ‘Great, good luck. I’ll be there later to drink all the expensive champagne.’
‘Oh, yes. See you later.’ I run down the path, halting when I see a cheap mobile phone smashed to pieces in the middle of the pavement. I know where that’s come from. I kick it into the gutter and continue to my car. Oh, it’s good to have her back. I load my things into the boot and jump into the driver seat, only to find myself miles away from the steering wheel.
Laughing, I shift the seat forward so my feet reach the pedals. I start her up and jump out of my skin when the stereo blasts Blur around my car. Christ, is his lack of hearing an indication to his age? I turn it down, faltering when the words of the track register. It’s Country house. I fight the small part of me that wants to laugh at his little joke and remove the disc from the stereo. I don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone so conceited in all my life. I replace the unwanted CD with a Ministry of Sound Chill out Session and head for St Katharine Docks.
When I pull up outside Lusso, I present my face to the camera and the gates open immediately. I park up and see the caterers unloading crockery and glasses as I get my work case from the boot and head into the building. I’ve been here a million times, but I’m still completely stunned by the pure extravagance of the place.
As I walk into the foyer, I see Clive, one of the concierges, playing with the new computer equipment. He’s part of a team who’ll provide a six star hotel-style service, organising anything from grocery shopping and theatre tickets, to helicopter charters and dinner reservations. I cross the marble floor, which has been polished to within an inch of its life, and head towards Clive’s huge, curved concierge desk.
I spot dozens of black vases and hundreds of Italian red roses, placed carefully to the side. At least I won’t have to chase the delivery of those.
‘Good morning, Clive.’ I say, approaching his desk.
He looks up from one of the screens, the panic on his friendly face clear. ‘Ava, I’ve read this manual four times in a week and I’m still clueless. We never had anything like this at The Dorchester.’
‘It can’t be that difficult,’ I soothe the old boy. ‘Have you asked the surveillance team?’
He throws his glasses down on the desk in exasperation, rubbing his eyes. ‘Yes, three times now. They must think I’m daft.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ I assure him. ‘When do they start moving in?’
‘Tomorrow. Are you all set for tonight?’
‘Ask me again this afternoon. I’ll see you in a bit.’
He smiles. ‘Okay, love.’ He turns his attention back to his instruction manual, muttering under his breath.