She was being offered a rare glimpse into how the seriously rich lived and she was guiltily aware that a person could get used to this. It certainly beat tramping through airports, hunting down bags on carousels and then wending your way on public transport in searing heat, dragging a case behind you and apologizing every five steps because you’d accidentally crashed into someone.
Surrounded by birds of paradise as they approached the cool, marble dream of the hotel foyer, Mia tried to forget the dress-down utilitarian outfit she had chosen to wear. She sternly reminded herself that this was work. She wasn’t on holiday. She wasn’t going to be lounging by the side of a pool, summoning waiters over for cocktails. Indeed, she hadn’t even brought a swimsuit with her.
Max was making sure to stick by her side, conscious of the fact that she wasn’t quite back on her feet yet, and as soon as they got their respective keys he urged her to go upstairs and relax.
‘You can meet me in the bar at six,’ he said. ‘We can grab a drink, an early dinner and go over the schedule for the next few days.’
Mia hesitated. Wherever she looked, she saw glamour. Designer clothes, designer luggage and so many designer sunglasses that she wondered giddily whether she had stepped into a spy movie.
Max fitted in perfectly without even trying. His clothes were positively shabby in comparison, and yet he looked more sophisticated than everyone around them. It was the way he carried himself and that way he had of implying that he just didn’t care what anyone thought. He played by his own rules.
It was his ‘leader of the pack’ aura that turned heads and she saw very many swivelling surreptitiously in his direction.
She headed up, leaving him in the foyer, to discover that her room adjoined his and was connected by a door that was locked but presumably could be unlocked.
It was a magnificent space, with a sitting area, a small open-plan kitchenette and vast glass doors that led out onto a private balcony with spectacular views of the ocean. The bathroom was as big as a dance floor, with a bowl-shaped, free-standing tub and a walk-in shower with so many various knobs that she wondered whether she would be able to make sense of it without a manual.
The pain in her foot had eased sufficiently to allow her comfortably to undress and she took her time with a bath.
Her bag had been brought to her room prior to her entering, and unpacking it was a depressing reminder that, while she had been privately smug at the thought of Max not being properly equipped for anything other than luxury, she had failed to consider that she might be poorly equipped for anything other than outdoor casual.
In a short denim skirt and white tee shirt, which had seemed just the ticket for exploring on her own and eating in cheap local eateries, she now felt horrendously under-dressed. And half hobbling with a crutch under one arm didn’t help matters when it came to her self-confidence as she later found her way to the bar.
It was a big hotel, with a bewildering amount of rooms on the ground floor and several restaurants dotted in various locations. Mia thought that there should have been an option to download satnav when they’d arrived because you needed it in a place as big as this.
It was a relief when she made it to the bar only ten minutes late, and she spotted him immediately. He was working, frowning in front of his laptop, completely oblivious to his surroundings and with a drink of some kind on the table next to him.
How did he do that? she wondered. How did he manage to look so carelessly elegant without even trying? How was it that, in an expensive bar filled with expensive-looking people, he stood out?
She took a deep breath and threaded her way towards him.
She’d hoped that his attention might remain on whatever was on the screen, but no such luck. He turned to watch as she slowly moved towards him.
Mia had been embarrassed at her outfit before, but she was red-faced and flustered by the time she slowly levered herself into the chair next to his.
‘I’m—I’m sorry I’m a bit late,’ she stuttered, feeling the hot burn of self-consciousness in her neck and face. ‘And apologies,’ she continued stiffly, ‘but I’m afraid I didn’t bring the required wardrobe for a place like this…’
Why on earth had she just said that? Why had she drawn attention to what she was wearing? Of course, she knew why. She felt horribly out of place and the words had shot out of her mouth before she’d had time to think them through.
Max looked around him, as though only now noticing the shameless luxury of their surroundings.
Then his navy eyes rested on her thoughtfully.
Mia bristled defensively, bracing herself for something caustic. Would it be too much to remind him that she was a gardener by profession, accustomed to working outdoors? Maybe she could remind him that this was a work situation, so who cared what she wore? Her role wasn’t to look like an ornament.
‘Does that bother you?’ he asked mildly.
‘No, of course not,’ Mia lied unconvincingly.
‘Of course it does. Why wouldn’t it? Women look at other women. It would be strange if you didn’t find it discomforting to think that you might not be blending in.’
Mia heartily wished that she had kept her mouth shut. But she hadn’t, which didn’t mean she intended to indulge any long sermons about the stupidity of peer pressure.
She peered down at the drinks menu and made a deal of deciding what she wanted.
‘A glass of white wine,’ she said when someone materialised to take their order.
He ordered a bottle and rattled off a list of things for them to pick at.
