Sarah Morgan - The Twelve Nights of Christmas

‘Since when have you been responsible for dealing with the trash?’

‘Oh, I like to be helpful. Versatile, that’s me—’ Evie pinned a rigid grin on her face, refusing to admit that she was carrying her home around. Like a snail, she thought, as she followed the girl through the glass door and into the plush, privileged warmth of a different life. Maybe there was a number plate that spelled out DISASTER. She could stick it on her back to warn people she was coming.

Hiding her bag in the basement behind some large pipes, Evie took refuge in the peaceful elegance of the Penthouse suite. She felt so utterly miserable that, for the first time since her aborted wedding and humiliating demotion, she was relieved that she wasn’t on Reception, having to smile and be cheerful. She didn’t want to meet and greet. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and not emerge until her life had improved.

The warm, spacious luxury of the top floor suite made her feel instantly calmer and Evie looked around her wistfully. Two deep white sofas faced each other across a priceless rug and flames flickered in the fireplace. Huge floor to ceiling windows gave views over Hyde Park and the elegant buildings of Knightsbridge.

Someone had put a large fir tree next to the grand piano and boxes of decorations were neatly stacked, ready for Evie to create a perfect Christmas.

A perfect Christmas for someone else.

‘Imagine spending Christmas somewhere like this,’ she murmured, talking to herself as she explored the Penthouse suite. ‘Talk about how the other half live.’

Feeling incredibly down, Evie set to work decorating the tree, trying not to think about the times she’d done the same thing with her grandfather. Last year they’d shared a wonderful Christmas. She’d baked Christmas cake and Christmas puddings and roasted a turkey just for the two of them. They’d eaten leftovers for weeks. Turkey curry, turkey soup, turkey sandwiches—

Only a few weeks later, her grandfather had suffered a mini stroke and she’d had no choice but to agree to let him go into the home where his friends were. They’d sold his cottage to pay the exorbitant fees and now she was miles away in a city where no one spoke to anyone except to ask directions.

And she had nowhere to sleep tonight. The thought terrified her and for a moment she considered confessing to Tina and asking if she had any free rooms. Imagining the response she’d get, a hysterical laugh bubbled up from the cauldron of panic that was simmering inside her. Tina would simply remind her that one night in the cheapest room in this hotel was more than her monthly salary.

Merry Christmas, Evie.

She worked without a break, twisting lights through the branches of the enormous tree, hanging glittering silver baubles and filling vases with elaborate displays of holly. Then she started to clean the Penthouse. She was only halfway through when the door opened and Carlos, the hotel manager, strode in.

Evie was immediately on the defensive, horribly aware that she was alone with him and that her mobile phone was in her coat pocket at the other end of the room.

She’d avoided him since the day he’d tried to kiss her and she stood warily, her mind scrambling through her options. They were pitifully few. He ran the hotel and held her future in the palm of his hand. Unfortunately, he’d made it clear that he wanted to hold other bits of her in the palm of his hand, too.

His hair shone greasily under the lights and Evie shuddered, bracing herself for criticism.

Was he looking for an excuse to fire her?

‘It looks perfect. Incredibly Christmassy. Just what I wanted for Rio.’ Something about his smile made her uneasy.

‘You’re sure you like it?’

‘Absolutely.’ His eyes trailed over her body. ‘You’re wet.’

Evie stood rigid, wondering why the only man to pay her any attention had to be a total creep.

‘It’s snowing. I had to wait for a bus.’

‘I don’t want my staff catching pneumonia. Take a hot shower.’

She felt herself blush. ‘I can’t afford the time. I still have loads to do and my shift ends in thirty minutes.’

‘You’re on again first thing tomorrow morning.’ Carlos frowned. ‘Stay here tonight. That way, you can start work straight away. I want everything perfect.’

He was giving her permission to stay in the hotel?

Unable to believe her luck, Evie almost sobbed with relief. ‘That would be helpful,’ she said casually. ‘Do we have a spare room?’

‘No, we’re full. But you can stay here. In the Penthouse.’

Evie looked at him stupidly. ‘Here?’

‘Why not? Rio isn’t arriving until tomorrow afternoon. Your shift ends at midnight and begins again at seven in the morning. It makes perfect sense for you to stay here. Sleep on top of the bed if it bothers you. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.’

Evie stared at him, her instincts on full alert. ‘You’re suggesting that I stay in the Penthouse ?’

‘Why not? It isn’t doing anyone any harm and I owe you a favour.’ He hesitated. ‘Evie, I apologise if I came on a little strong a few weeks ago. I misread the signals.’

She hadn’t given him any signals. ‘I’d rather forget that.’ Evie, feeling horribly awkward, was nevertheless relieved by his surprise apology. Perhaps he wasn’t trying to find reasons to fire her. ‘How is your finger?’

‘Healing.’ Carlos flexed his bandaged finger and gave a rueful smile. ‘Seriously, Evie. Stay here tonight. It’s in the interests of the hotel—you’ll get more work done if you’re here on the premises.’

What he said made sense.

So why was she hesitating? She’d have somewhere warm to stay and she could start searching for another place tomorrow. ‘All right. Thanks. If you’re sure.’

‘Do you have any dry clothes?’

Evie thought of the bag of belongings she’d left in the basement. ‘I have a…a bag downstairs.’

‘I’ll arrange for someone to collect it. Where did you leave it?’

Flanked by his security team, Rio Zaccarelli left his private jet under the cover of darkness and slid into the waiting car.

‘No press—that’s good.’ Antonio, his senior bodyguard, scanned the area. ‘No one knows you’re coming. Do you want us to call ahead and warn the hotel? They’re expecting you in the afternoon, not at four in the morning.’

‘No.’ Rio lounged in the back of the car, his eyes hooded as he contemplated the surprise that would no doubt accompany his unexpected arrival. ‘I don’t want to announce myself.’

Knowing never to question the boss, Antonio simply slammed the car door shut and slid in next to the driver. ‘Shouldn’t take us long to get there at this hour. No traffic. I suppose it’s because it’s Christmas. Lots of people have already stopped work.’

Rio didn’t reply.

A cold feeling spread across his skin. A feeling that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature and the swirling snowflakes outside the car. He looked out of the window, keeping his expression blank.

Christmas.

Twenty years had passed and yet he still hated this time of year.

If he had his way, Christmas would be scrubbed from the calendar.

Blocking out the endless twinkling lights and Christmas decorations adorning the dark streets, Rio was for once grateful for the endless demands of his BlackBerry.

Anna, the ballerina, had sent him fourteen messages, each one more desperate than the last.

He read the first three, saw the word ‘commitment’ and deleted the rest without reading them. Christmas, commitment—why was it that his least favourite words all began with C?

The car pulled up outside the hotel and Rio sat for a moment, surveying the elegant architecture. It was the most expensive few acres of real estate in the world.