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Finlay walked over to the counter. ‘What’s the problem?’
Once she started talking she couldn’t stop. She’d been having the time of her life. ‘I’ve bought a huge Christmas tree for the foyer of the hotel, along with another two large trees for the bar and the restaurant.’ Then she held her hand up towards the counter and the serious-faced woman behind it. ‘Well, I haven’t really bought them. I got here and...’
She held up the piece of paper that he’d given her. It had managed to get smudged and the numbers on it were indecipherable. She leaned forward. ‘Please tell them I really do work for the hotel. I’m not on their list and don’t know any of the questions they asked me.’
Finlay’s jaw tightened, but he turned and addressed the woman with impeccable politeness. ‘I’m Finlay Armstrong. I own the company. I can either use the correct pin, or answer any of the security questions you need.’
The woman gave a nod. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to do both on this occasion. And, Mr Armstrong, if you add another member of staff onto the card—you really should let us know.’
Grace wanted to sink through the floor. This shopping trip definitely wasn’t going to plan. She was behind already.
Finlay was finished a few minutes later. ‘If I give you the number, do you think you can remember it again?’
The staff member cleared her throat behind them, ‘Actually, Mr Armstrong, your card has already been flagged today. You might be asked security questions if you use it again.’
Grace gulped. ‘What does that mean?’
Finlay glanced at his watch. ‘How much longer will this take?’
Grace glanced down at the list still in her hands. She wanted to lie and say around five minutes. But London traffic would be starting to get heavy. ‘Probably another couple of hours.’
Finlay rolled his eyes. He stared off into the distance for a second. ‘We need the decorations for the hotel,’ he muttered. ‘Okay, let’s go. The car’s outside.’
The cold air hit her as soon as they came outside and she shivered. ‘Where’s your coat?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘I just got so excited when you gave me the card and told me there was a car outside, I forgot to go and get my coat and gloves.’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t really matter. We’ll be inside for most of the time.’
The car pulled up and he held the door as she slid inside and he climbed in next to her. He was talking on the phone—obviously still doing business.
It wasn’t deliberate. But all her senses seemed on alert. The wool from his black coat had brushed against her hand sending weird vibes everywhere. The aroma of his aftershave was slowly but surely drifting towards her in the warm atmosphere of the car. And even though it was cold outside, she was praying her pink shirt wouldn’t show any unexpected perspiration marks.
It was only early afternoon but the sky already had a dark purple tinge at its edges.
Finlay glanced at his watch. There was a tiny shadow around his jaw line. The hint of a little stubble. Mixed with those unusual blue eyes it was enough to make any warm-blooded female catch her breath.
Part of her heart was going pitter-patter. So many expectations. What if he hated her ideas? What if he couldn’t see how they translated to The Armstrong?
He closed his phone and leaned forward to speak to the driver. ‘How much longer?’
‘Just another ten minutes,’ was the reply.
Grace felt nervous. Jumpy around him. Small talk seemed like the best solution.
‘You mentioned your mum and dad earlier—are you spending time with them this year?’
He frowned. She wondered if he wasn’t going to answer, then he shook his head. ‘No. My parents are still in Scotland. My sister is expecting their first grandchild and will probably be fussed over non-stop.’
The answer was brisk. It was clear Christmas was still an issue for him—even if he was agreeing to decorations for the hotel.
As she went to speak again, her hand brushed against his. He flinched and then grabbed it. ‘Grace, your hands are freezing.’ He started rubbing his hands over hers. She was taken aback. After the frown it was a friendlier gesture than she might have expected.
His warming actions brought the aroma of the rose and lavender hand cream she’d used earlier drifting up between them. She hadn’t even thought about how cold her hands were.
The car pulled up outside one of London’s oldest and most distinguished department stores, Fortnum and Mason. Grace was so excited she didn’t wait for the driver to come around and open the door—she was out in a flash. She waved at Finlay. ‘Come on, slowcoach. Let’s get started. We need Christmas wreaths and garlands.’
