AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter1
Lauren
“I’ve got to go. I don’t want to be late.” I slam my locker, leaving Amberley, my co-worker, in the staffroom, and hurry down the corridor towards the main reception as two women from housekeeping whip past, their voices low but abuzz with excitement. Turning, I stare at their retreating backs, perplexed by the stir our boss's presence has caused. It’s all anyone has spoken about this week. HowTheCain Carson-Ivory is visiting the hotel and staying to oversee its opening for the next few months. I’ve worked at the hotel for a month, and he is a hot topic. Luckily, I wasn’t here when Carson-Ivory Hotels and Resorts took over, but I remember there was a similar energy when I started and how my colleagues gushed about working for Cain Carson-Ivory. I’d never heard of the man. I don’t understand the hype, and meeting him is low on my list of priorities. If the gossip mill is true, then he is as rich as he is harsh. Many of the employees were let go. Some chose to leave, not wanting to work for a larger chain company, and one or two employees were frog-marched out of the main doors due to discrepancies that we mere front desk employees aren’t allowed to know about.
The hotel was shut whilst it was redesigned with state-of-the-art technology, along with a new spa and swimming facilities. A team of designers had transformed the suites into luxury accommodation. It is the glittering crown of London’s hospitality sector, boasting Michelin restaurants and a guest list that mocks the BAFTAs. It’s the sweet shop of A-listers where my friend Amberley is concerned.
We hit it off on my first day, both fairly new to the hotel and eager to impress. I may not know of the owner, but landing a job at such a prestigious hotel demands nothing but the best. I’m a devoted member of staff and have adjusted to catering for London's elite, but Felicity, my line manager, is quite frankly a bitch in heels. If she can find anything, even the smallest detail, she is standing in wait, ruler in hand, ready to write us up and demean us. The woman is a drain on my sanity—haughty, rude and, unfortunately, my boss. I know my feelings about the woman are widely shared throughout the hotel.
As I approach the doors that bring me to the conference rooms and reception, I stare down at my pencil skirt and smooth it out, making sure I look presentable, conscious not to draw her attention my way, when the ornate wood bursts apart, smacking me full pelt in the face. The nauseating crack splinters throughout the corridor and resides in my teeth.
I cry out and stagger back until I knock into the wall, sliding down as I fall to my knees with a painful thud. “Fuck,” I whine. Pain swells, seeping outwards and dragging against my nerve endings. It throbs until my head feels like it’s ready to crack. My eyes pulse and each painful sensation has my stomach unravelling and threatening to spill from my lips. The ground sways, mocking my very gravity as I clumsily drop forward, clutching at my stomach. Being on all fours only sends more blood rushing to the one place that truly does hurt, my forehead. On a soft shake, I kneel up, touching the sore spot under my fringe. “Double fuck,” I whimper at the egg-sized bump forming. It feels too big, tight, and achy underneath the light brush of my hair. “Oh god.” Shakily I pull my fingers away, checking for blood. I expect my fingers to be laced with it, but my hands are clean. Sagging into the wall, I suck in slow but deep breaths to ease the nausea crippling me.
Hands tilt my chin. Another swipes my fringe as I blink in neatly suited legs and shiny expensive shoes. “Double fuck for sure,” a deep voice sympathises. My eyes pull up to find concerned brown eyes, kind eyes. But he doesn’t have my attention for long. No, it’s the bristling man behind with an arrogant stance, looking down at me with disregard, that has my attention. He is ridiculously tall—or maybe he seems so because I’m plastered to the floor in an unattractive heap—with long legs and a wide chest that is inflating with increasing annoyance. His jaw is smooth but darkened. His lips are stretched into a grimace as he stares down a beautifully portioned nose and bolts me to the marble floor with a look lost in pity and irritation. The cool marble seeps into my bottom and cools my clammy palms. “Are you okay? Do you feel sick or lightheaded?” brown eyes asks, tilting my head as he inspects the growing bump. I frown, biting my lip, trying to take mental stock of my injury. My fingers find that same bump, my skin tightening uncomfortably. “It’s some egg,” he comments. I grumble and chance a look at the disinterested-looking man with his hands stuffed impatiently in his trousers, working his jaw as his blueish-grey eyes bore into mine with complete disregard. He sways, blotting in and out of focus in a kaleidoscopic twist. The light detail in the marble flooring swirls and ebbs as serene as open water, and both men bob along with it, inflicting me with a sense of seasickness.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to stand, “I keep forgetting it’s a swing door.” I chuckle, but it turns sour. “I feel a bit sick,” I murmur, clutching at my stomach. I frown worriedly, because everything in my line of sight has lost all sensory control.
“You might be concussed.” Gentle hands keep me steady. I lean into the wall and close my eyes, trying to dispel the horrible sensation swirling in my stomach. “You’re pretty pale,” he comments.
“That seems an unfortunate genetic, as so are her legs,” arrogant ass drawls. My eyes spring apart as quickly as the door did. I may be concussed, but I’m sure I heard him right. My mouth drops open, and my eyes narrow.
“Excuse me!” I snap. How dare he. Who the hell does this guy think he is? I push off from the wall on a little wobble and stick my finger in his face. “There is nothing more unattractive than an egotistical man putting a woman down. Especially after he just knocked her over, you prick!” I shout. “You didn’t even say sor—” I don’t finish my sentence as a stomach full of vomit shoots out of my mouth and decorates his trousers and shoes. Slapping a hand across my mouth, I gulp loudly as I cough and wheeze amidst the strain of being violently sick, but it only bursts free from the flimsy prison of my fingers. I heave again, and he steps back just in time to miss another spray.
Amberley swans through and takes in the scene with a look of horror on her face as he, the moody one, leans down and breathes roughly, “You’re fired!”
What? No!
I shake my head in disbelief—fingertips pressed to my parted lips.
His only response is to mockingly nod a ‘yes.’ His eyes spark. He’s enjoying this.
“Cain, just take a breather. Have Justine send something,” brown eyes placates. But the moment won’t leave. It’s here, in technicolour and ridiculing me in an expensive suit.
Cain? I stare at the man who just fired me. Cain Carson-Ivory. He sneers, and I blink furiously to dispel the hot tears rushing to the surface.
“Fired?” I whisper, my voice cracking. “But I just started. I love this job. Ineedthis job,” I say to brown eyes as Cain, my boss, the owner, storms out, crashing through the same set of doors that caused this debacle. The loud bang has me flinching. I step to follow my boss, an apology hanging heavy on my tongue, but brown eyes cuffs my arm and holds me back. I twist around, blinking numbly, as I try to form words to express my regret. He wrinkles his nose, and I cover my mouth. “Sorry.” My eyes fill quickly, the tears dripping down my cheeks in big fat hot blobs.
“You need a hospital. Come on.”
I need a time machine. I want the world to swallow up the last few minutes and dispose of them somewhere undetected. Away from my boss.
“But my job.” I puked on my boss. This is terrible. I lost my job. Panic surfaces and sinks its claws right into my heart, squeezing it at an unnaturally fast pace. I try to gain control of my breathing, try to breathe just a little deeper, but the claws unsheathe extraordinarily long nails that pierce and remind me that no amount of controlled breathing is going to make this any better. “I can’t lose my job. I just can’t.” I used all my savings to secure my flat and furnish it. I left my hometown with two suitcases and a ton of heartache—not heartache, I conclude, humiliation and worry. I have no intention of returning home so soon. He’d never allow it.
My poky flat may be a far cry from the life I was led to believe would be mine, but I will take second-hand homeware over a deceitful partner any day. Or his corrupt father.
“Don’t fret. I will sort it.” He rubs my back as more tears run after the last lot.
“You will?” I whip my head up, but the motion sends me dizzy. “Oh god, I feel sick again.”
“Sure thing.” Brown eyes shrugs, unfazed by my boss’s temperament. “You really need to be checked over,” he imparts sympathetically.
“Lauren. Are you okay?” Amberley rushes over and rubs my arm. “What happened?”
I lift my fringe. “Double fuck.” She gapes.
“Yeah, double fucks all around.” Brown eyes chuckles. “I’m Perry,” he introduces himself, then resumes checking my pupils as he walks me back through the staff quarters and out into the private car park. I bite my lip to stop crying, and I throw my friend a panicked look, but she is too busy gawping at Perry.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Amberley says, as her eyes flash to the sports car we are headed to.
