‘Netta. Hi,’ he said, holding up a bag. ‘Breakfast?’
‘Oh, that’s so nice of you,’ said Netta, her defences momentarily obliterated. ‘You really didn’t have to.’
‘Er, I didn’t, actually. I think this must be how they serve it here. It was hanging on your door handle.’ He smiled tightly, his cheeks creasing just enough to reveal the dimples hiding under the stubble, and thrust the bag towards her.
Netta took it from him and silently acknowledged the small piece of her that had just died of embarrassment. AsifMorrison Maplestone would’ve bought her breakfast. Please.
‘Um, would you like to come in? I’m sorry I’m …’ She gestured vaguely at her face and dressing gown and winced. ‘I slept through my alarm. I meant to shower before you came over.’
Morrison’s chuckle sounded forced. ‘It really doesn’t matter.’
Netta stood aside and let him in, resting her forehead briefly against the door as she closed it, praying for some semblance of composure to bestow itself upon her.
She turned to face him and smiled. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ She wanted him gone, now, but she could be polite. And it wasn’t like he’d say yes, anyway. He probably had a naked supermodel waiting for him in the car. ‘There’s an espresso machine. And …’ She peeked into the bag. ‘Ooh, look—pastries.’
The way Morrison’s fingers twisted around each other revealed his obvious itch for a quick escape. He clearly just wanted out, which was fine with Netta. Quicker the better.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You’re probably just wanting to get the diary and go, aren’t you? Hang on a sec.’ She scurried over to her handbag and fished it out.
His brow crumpled for a nanosecond at the sight of it, his whole body visibly tighter. ‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly, taking the notebook from Netta’s outstretched hand. His own hand trembled just enough for Netta to notice as he shoved the diary into his back pocket.
‘I put it in a zip-lock bag to keep it safe on the flight.’ Netta could feel her nerves picking up momentum and gathering in her throat, ready to either steal her voice completely or roll it into pellets to shoot, rapid fire, at him. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many books I’ve lost to leaky pens or broken water bottles in my handbag! It’s ridiculous—’
‘Thank you for coming all this way to bring it back to me.’
His voice was thick and as he sniffed, Netta hovered out of her body for a moment, thinking Morrison Maplestone might be about to cry in her hotel suite.
Morrison shook his head and exhaled loudly. ‘I know it must seem insane. But, some things … Ah, it’s hard to explain.’
‘You don’t have to explain anything to me,’ Netta said softly. ‘And I promise I haven’t read it.’
He looked at her as if weighing her honesty. His scrutiny was like a laser, peeling back the layers, until she blurted out, ‘Well, Ididopen it, even though it saiddo not readon the front, but it looked like it’d been there forever so I didn’t think there’d be any harm done. As soon as I saw your name on it, I wrapped it back up and that’s how it’s stayed. I haven’t read a word, I swear.’
‘You could’ve sold it,’ he said, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘The vultures would’ve paid a fortune for it. More than I’m paying you to return it, I’d say.’
‘I know,’ said Netta. ‘But that’s not who I am. I know how important privacy is.’
‘Lucky me then. Thank you, Netta.’ His guard was back up now, his voice composed, his expression unreadable.
‘You’re welcome. Thankyoufor the first-class flight and this amazing suite,’ she said, looking around. ‘And for the money, of course. You have no idea how deep a hole it’s digging me out of.’
Morrison nodded and shrugged like she’d thanked him for holding a door open for her.
‘So … was that a no to coffee, then?’ asked Netta. ‘Do you just need to get going? I probably don’t know how to work the machine anyway. It’s a bean one.’
He hesitated and then smiled, lips together, his shoulders dropping a little further from his ears. ‘I can probably work it out.’
Netta’s stomach plummeted. Shit.
He slid his beanie off, revealing his mop of dark hair, and rubbed at the back of his neck. Now that his hat was gone, the full impact of his face was on display and Netta was momentarily winded by it. Dark eyebrows. Deep blue eyes. Defined cheekbones above slightly hollowed cheeks. A strong, darkly stubbled jaw. His nose was straight in that regal kind of way that ancient Greek sculptors seemed to have favoured, and his lips were enough to flood even a nun’s head with indecent thoughts, their corners curving up slightly, making him look as though he might be thinking something naughty. It was the sort of face that made your own lips part and your eyes forget how to blink. Netta guessed looking like that was like having some kind of genetically passed-down superpower.
‘How do you like it?’ he asked.
‘My coffee? Er, strong. With milk. No sugar. Thanks.’
‘Same as mine, then,’ he said. ‘Got it.’
Morrison gave her a cute little salute, but, mutinously, all Netta could see was the way his bicep protruded when he bent his elbow and the tattoo on the outer side of his wrist that she had an alarming urge to taste. She gathered her facial features and arranged them into what she hoped looked like a carefree smile. As though this was all totallyfine.As though her heart rate wasn’t off the charts and she’d actually drawn breath in the last thirty seconds.
