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Authors: Tilly Bagshawe
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the Cadogan. His room was the cheapest the hotel had to offer and was little more than five hundred square feet, but it had still cost him every penny of his remaining savings. Literally every penny. As of tomorrow morning, he had no idea how he was going to eat.
Still, it had been worth it. In the past two weeks he’d gotten to know the hotel’s inner workings every bit as intimately as Julia Brett-Sadler, the Cadogan’s bossy, schoolmarmish manager. He knew about the morale problems in the kitchen and the Michelin-starred, megalomaniac chef who made his staff’s lives hell. He knew about the barman who regularly slipped free drinks to girls he was sleeping with. He knew about the maître d’s two-hundred-pounds-a-day coke habit.
If he was going to have any kind of a shot with Anton Tisch—a guy who wouldn’t even give his own kid a break,apparently—Lucas knew he would have to be more informed and more impressive than everybody else. Of course, he first had to swing himself an appointment with the guy, something that so far was proving depressingly difficult.
Battling his way through the commuters at Westminster station, he finally emerged into the drizzle of the street. Storm clouds hung low in the sky like a thick, heavy blanket, blocking out so much light that it almost felt like night. Not even the gold-faced splendor of Big Ben or the intricately carved towers of the Palace of Westminster could lift the atmosphere of dreary depression lingering in the air. Clicking open his umbrella with a curse, Lucas made his way along the now-familiar route by the river, toward the Adelphi building where the Tischen Corporation had its offices.
“You ’ere again, mate?” The doorman seemed less than thrilled to see him. “Don’t give up easy, do you?”
“No,” said Lucas, pushing past him into the lobby. “I don’t. I’m here to see Mr. Tisch.” He smiled firmly at the Asian girl at the reception desk, who glowered back at him.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked wearily. It was the third time she’d been through this charade this week, and the novelty was wearing thin.
“Yes,” lied Lucas. “He’s expecting me.”
The girl gave him a look that made it clear she knew he was bullshitting, but that at this point she really didn’t care.
“Sixteenth floor,” she sighed, handing him a visitor’s pass. “Once you’re up there, you’re Rita’s problem.”
Luckily for Lucas, Rita was much more amenable to his particular blend of Latin charm than the Thai harridan downstairs. Somewhere in the no-man’s-land between middle-aged and elderly, her sensible tweed suit and Miss Moneypenny manner hid a mischievous streak that Lucas was quick to pick up on. He guessed it had been a long time since any good-looking young man had bothered to flirt with Rita. And it seemed he was right.No sooner had he started to banter with her than the floodgates opened.
“Darling.” Striding over to her desk, grinning from ear to ear, he kissed her hand while she laughingly attempted to get rid of another caller.
“Mr. Ruiz!” Switching off her headset, she pulled her hand away and tried to look stern.
“I know what you’re going to say,” said Lucas. “We must stop meeting like this. People are going to start talking. But you know, all you have to do is let me see him. Just for five minutes. Then I’ll be out of your hair forever.”
“I’ve told you,” said the secretary, blushing like a giddy schoolgirl, “it really isn’t up to me. Mr. Tisch’s diary is booked up months in advance. I can’t just squeeze people in willy-nilly. However charming they might be. I’d lose my job.”
“Ah, lovely Rita, surely not?” said Lucas. He’d perched on the corner of her desk now, close enough for her to smell his cologne. Really, he could be most distracting when he wanted to…“No man in his right mind would let you go. Won’t you at least let him know I’m here?”
“Well…” she said, her
Still, it had been worth it. In the past two weeks he’d gotten to know the hotel’s inner workings every bit as intimately as Julia Brett-Sadler, the Cadogan’s bossy, schoolmarmish manager. He knew about the morale problems in the kitchen and the Michelin-starred, megalomaniac chef who made his staff’s lives hell. He knew about the barman who regularly slipped free drinks to girls he was sleeping with. He knew about the maître d’s two-hundred-pounds-a-day coke habit.
If he was going to have any kind of a shot with Anton Tisch—a guy who wouldn’t even give his own kid a break,apparently—Lucas knew he would have to be more informed and more impressive than everybody else. Of course, he first had to swing himself an appointment with the guy, something that so far was proving depressingly difficult.
Battling his way through the commuters at Westminster station, he finally emerged into the drizzle of the street. Storm clouds hung low in the sky like a thick, heavy blanket, blocking out so much light that it almost felt like night. Not even the gold-faced splendor of Big Ben or the intricately carved towers of the Palace of Westminster could lift the atmosphere of dreary depression lingering in the air. Clicking open his umbrella with a curse, Lucas made his way along the now-familiar route by the river, toward the Adelphi building where the Tischen Corporation had its offices.
“You ’ere again, mate?” The doorman seemed less than thrilled to see him. “Don’t give up easy, do you?”
“No,” said Lucas, pushing past him into the lobby. “I don’t. I’m here to see Mr. Tisch.” He smiled firmly at the Asian girl at the reception desk, who glowered back at him.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked wearily. It was the third time she’d been through this charade this week, and the novelty was wearing thin.
“Yes,” lied Lucas. “He’s expecting me.”
The girl gave him a look that made it clear she knew he was bullshitting, but that at this point she really didn’t care.
“Sixteenth floor,” she sighed, handing him a visitor’s pass. “Once you’re up there, you’re Rita’s problem.”
Luckily for Lucas, Rita was much more amenable to his particular blend of Latin charm than the Thai harridan downstairs. Somewhere in the no-man’s-land between middle-aged and elderly, her sensible tweed suit and Miss Moneypenny manner hid a mischievous streak that Lucas was quick to pick up on. He guessed it had been a long time since any good-looking young man had bothered to flirt with Rita. And it seemed he was right.No sooner had he started to banter with her than the floodgates opened.
“Darling.” Striding over to her desk, grinning from ear to ear, he kissed her hand while she laughingly attempted to get rid of another caller.
“Mr. Ruiz!” Switching off her headset, she pulled her hand away and tried to look stern.
“I know what you’re going to say,” said Lucas. “We must stop meeting like this. People are going to start talking. But you know, all you have to do is let me see him. Just for five minutes. Then I’ll be out of your hair forever.”
“I’ve told you,” said the secretary, blushing like a giddy schoolgirl, “it really isn’t up to me. Mr. Tisch’s diary is booked up months in advance. I can’t just squeeze people in willy-nilly. However charming they might be. I’d lose my job.”
“Ah, lovely Rita, surely not?” said Lucas. He’d perched on the corner of her desk now, close enough for her to smell his cologne. Really, he could be most distracting when he wanted to…“No man in his right mind would let you go. Won’t you at least let him know I’m here?”
“Well…” she said, her
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