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Andwait.
I glance at my watch, irritation practically seeping into my bloodstream. 5.45 p.m. He’s late. This doesn’t bode well for the project.
I’m about five seconds away from pulling my phone out and trawling through my emails to find some contact details for this Finn Hawthorne — and proof that Cynthiadidactually schedule this appointment — when a voice catches my attention.
It’s loud, deep, and distinctly American.
“Amber? Amber Wyatt from Zensi Designs?”
I glance over my shoulder. There’s a man striding toward me. He’s tall — easily six feet four atleast— and even in my heels, I can tell he’ll be head and shoulders over me. He’s shed the blazer, opting to hang it loosely from one arm. In his other hand he’s holding a paper cup with a coffee shop logo pasted across the front wrapper.
Realisation dawns on me.
Oh no.
God, please no.
He grins at me as he steps underneath the portico and offers me his coffee-free hand. “Finn Hawthorne from The August Room. Sorry I’m late, but it’s lovely to meet you.”
2
FINN
My designer is lookingat me like she smells something awful.
Her ski slope nose is scrunched, and her eyebrows are knitted together in obvious displeasure. My hand, still outstretched between us, wavers slightly.
“YouareAmber?” I clarify, wondering if I’ve just given a random woman the scare of her life. “From Zensi Designs? You work with Cynthia?”
It takes her another beat or two, but her features eventually smooth and she offers me a small, strained smile. “Yes.” She reaches for my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Hawthorne.”
Despite the pleasantries, her tone is clipped and cold, and she drops my hand like I’ve burned her. She gives a not-so-subtle glance at her watch and then gestures to the door. “Shall we?”
“Apologies again for the delay,” I say as I sidestep her and stick the key in the door. “I got turned around trying to find this place. It’s my first time in London and all these streets look exactly the same.” I glance behind me and flash her a smile.
It isn’t returned.
Her face is like thunder and my smile falters slightly. Surely this can’t be because I was a few minutes late?
The door clicks open, providing a welcome distraction, and I step over the threshold into the building that is either going to make or break my career. We step into a large foyer with high ceilings, slightly chipped hardwood flooring, and peeling wallpaper. The electricity isn’t working yet — haven’t gotten around to getting that sorted yet — but the room is filled with enough natural light that the absence of a lamp or two isn’t really noticeable.
It’s easy to imagine this foyer filled with people, laughter, and music. I picture a reception desk against the back wall and comfortable armchairs slotted into each corner. Maybe we can even turn a few of the window areas into reading nooks for our daytime guests.
The door closes behind me and theclick clickof Amber’s heels as she strides across the floor interrupts my thoughts. I hear her sharp intake of breath and glance over at her. For the first time in the brief few minutes we’ve known each other, her irritated expression truly clears.
She looks excited. Happy even. I prefer this look on her. Her eyes are wide and shining, and her lips curve upward into a genuine smile.
“It’s beautiful,” she says. Her voice is barely above a whisper, and I’m not sure she even intended to say that aloud.
I jump at the chance to try to mend the rocky start we’ve gotten off to. “It really is,” I say. “We were lucky to spot it on the market when we did.”
Her smile immediately drops at the sound of my voice, lips thinning into a displeased line. “Right. Well, let’s get started so we can both get back to our homes before it gets too late.”
I wince, recognising the thinly veiled jab for what it is. Still, I’m determined to keep some semblance of polite conversation going, even if she seems desperate to avoid it. “I’m in a hotel actually. Not exactly home, but it’ll do.”
She makes a non-committal humming noise as she digs through her bag and pulls out a tablet. “Let’s take it floor by floor, room by room. I’ll be taking photos and videos as we go. Cynthia has already shared your overall vision for the London location of The August Room,but let me know if there’s anything extra you’d like to add to my notes as we walk around.”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond before she begins snapping photos of the foyer. If her commitment to disliking me wasn’t so disarming, I might be impressed with her work ethic. She’s meticulous as she goes, cataloguing every inch of the foyer and pausing every few seconds to jot down some notes. As she throws herself into her work, I can see her start to relax.
