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‘I eavesdropped.’ Faith shrugged, then realised the move strained her struggling blouse a little more than was wise in a professional environment. Maybe she should have left the necktie on.
‘Not exactly the key quality I look for in an employee.’ He frowned down at her cleavage with more distaste than she was used to seeing in a man.
‘Really?’ Faith asked. ‘Someone who listens even when they’re not required to and anticipates your needs? I’ve always found that rather useful.’
It was funny, Faith thought, the way you could watch someone re-evaluate you, and see the change in their attitude as a result. When she’d first sat down, she’d known all he saw was boobs and hair. Then she’d offered to help him, and his expression had changed from dismissive to interested. And now...now he was really intrigued.
‘Okay, so, we’ve established I need a tour guide. I also need seven luxury hotel rooms in a central London five-star hotel.’
Thank goodness for airport Wi-Fi.
Logging into her browser from her smartphone, Faith scrolled through to the late booking accommodation site Marco always used, and set her search parameters. ‘For tomorrow?’
Dominic nodded. ‘Staying six nights.’
There weren’t a lot of options, so Faith just presented him with the best one. ‘How about the Greyfriars?’ She turned the screen for him to see the eye-watering price, next to the photo of a hotel suite larger than the flat she’d shared with Antonio in Rome.
A slight widening of the eyes, a tight smile, and Faith knew he was re-evaluating her again. Good. She could be useful to him, and he could be even more useful to her. Time he realised that.
‘The Greyfriars should work.’
Faith tapped a few more buttons on her tiny screen. ‘I’ve reserved the rooms. Do you want to trust me with your credit card information, or call and speak with them directly?’
He raised his eyebrows, even as he pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket. For a moment, Faith thought he might actually hand it over, but then he picked up his phone, too. ‘Give me the number.’
Grabbing her well used red notebook from her bag, Faith scribbled down both the phone number of the hotel and the reservation reference, and pushed the page across to him.
While he spoke with the receptionist, Faith ordered herself a glass of wine, hoping that Dominic would be impressed enough by her efficiency that she wouldn’t have to rely on her last twenty euros for much longer.
So. She’d got the man his hotel rooms; surely he had to offer her the tour guide job now, right? Which meant his next question would be ‘What do you want?’ She needed to formulate an answer—one that didn’t let on exactly how much more she needed his help than he needed hers.
What did she want? For Antonio never to have found out who she really was. For Marco not to have done a bunk. For her parents to be normal middle-class people. Teachers, perhaps. People who fitted in, which her parents certainly did not. She wanted to not have to worry that every camera or phone she saw might be about to send her picture soaring around the realms of social media, ready to be identified as Lady Faith, the Missing Heiress.
She wanted to have never been caught on camera leaving that hotel room, three years ago. That was a big one.
But right now, she’d settle for a ride back to London, a hotel room for the week, meals and drinks included, and maybe a small salary at the end of the job. Enough to tide her over until she found her next gig. It wouldn’t take long; she was good at her job, she enjoyed it, and people liked her. That was important in the events and tourism industry.
‘Thank you for your assistance,’ Dominic said, and put down his phone. Faith looked up with a bright smile. Okay, she didn’t really know who this guy was, or what business he was in, but he could afford seven rooms at the Greyfriars, so he could get her out of Rome without having to call her family, which was the most important thing.
‘Let me tell you a little bit more about what I need,’ he said, and Faith nodded, her best attentive face on. ‘My name is Lord Dominic Beresford, and I run a number of businesses from my family’s estates.’ Faith’s stomach clenched at the name. Of course he looked familiar. She’d probably seen him on the society pages a dozen times when she lived in London, usually next to photos of her mother looking tipsy behind her fake smile, or her father charming another man’s wife. Or even of Faith herself, leaving the current London hotspot on the arm of someone very unsuitable. Lord Beresford, on the other hand, was always immaculately dressed and frowning.
‘I have six American businessmen and -women arriving in London tomorrow morning,’ Dominic went on, oblivious to the way her stomach was rolling. ‘I need you to meet and greet them, plan entertainment for the hours they’re not going to be in meetings, and accompany them on tours, the theatre, whatever you come up with.’ He gave her a sharp look. ‘Can you do it?’
