The Christmas Project: A laugh-out-loud romance from bestselling author Maxine Morrey

‘I was…it’s just that…’

Michael raised an eyebrow at me, but remained silent, making no attempt to help me out.

I cleared my throat and smoothed my hair unnecessarily. ‘Do you actually use this room?’ I asked, making a couple of notes.

‘I do.’

That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I just couldn’t picture this man in such a bland space. Everywhere else in this house showed aspects of who he was: his work, his motorbike, the food he liked – mostly because it was all on display. But here there was nothing. Not an inkling of the person who spent his nights there. And then it dawned on me. Maybe that was precisely the aim.

‘OK. You seem to have managed to maintain this one a little better, so that’s helpful.’

‘I’m glad you approve.’

I crossed the room and opened the door to the walk in wardrobe, peering in. Much of it was empty and I had to fight the urge to fling myself down and weep for the space he had for clothes – a space that was only a little smaller than my entire flat.

‘Are you all right?’ The deep voice almost sounded concerned.

‘Hmm? Oh, yes! Absolutely. This really is a beautiful room.’

‘Thank you.’ He turned to leave, clearly feeling that I’d got all I needed. As I followed, I gave it another look. It could be so much more for him. I wasn’t a professional decorator but I loved the subject as a hobby and so it was easy for me to see how this could be transformed into a real oasis of calm for him. Somewhere he could escape the day, the stresses of work – assuming that all electronic devices were banned from the bedroom – as they should be.

‘You know, you could really make that into a gorgeous space for you to – ’

‘I wasn’t aware you were here to comment on my decoration tastes,’ he snapped, pulling the bedroom door closed behind me.

‘No, of course not. I just…’ I met his eyes and saw there was no argument to be made. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, attempting pacification with a smile. ‘It’s just that it’s an interest of mine and it’s hard not to get carried away in a beautiful house like this.’

‘Perhaps you could try a little harder.’

I swallowed and gave him a tighter smile. ‘Of course.’

He nodded sharply. ‘Thank you,’ he said, before standing aside and motioning for me to precede him down the stairs, apparently ensuring that I couldn’t scoot off and peek at his bedroom again. A desire I currently neither had, nor ever planned to have.

‘So, what’s the verdict?’ He indicated the notes I’d made as he’d shown me around the house and the few answers to questions regarding the process that I’d managed to pry out of him.

‘All fine. I’ll make up a plan of attack and email you a copy so that you know exactly what we’re trying to achieve.’

‘You reckon you can transform this place into an oasis of serenity then?’ He raised an eyebrow.

I ignored the sarcasm. ‘Of course. Janey’s been a very good friend to me and I want to help her. If doing this with you makes her happy, then as you said earlier, we’ll get it done.’

‘Right.’

‘The process always works best when several hours can be allocated to it together, rather than little bits here and there. So I would need to try and schedule some blocks of time that work for both of us. Perhaps tomorrow you could look at your diary and see what you have available and let me know? Once I know that, I’ll do my best to work around it for you.’

‘How long does the whole process generally take?’

‘That really depends on the size of the place, how invested the owner is, what time they can give over to it, etc. Some people have a lot more stuff than others, some struggle more on what to discard, and so on. There’s no set time. Every house is different because every client is different. Obviously we have a tighter timescale than I usually work to, bearing in mind you want this done for Christmas.

‘But can you do it?’

‘I’m fairly confident of it, yes. Of course, it depends on how much time you can put aside and how well things work. I will do my absolute best but I don’t want to mislead you. You have to realise that trying to organise a house of this size with this amount of–’

‘Crap?’

‘I was going to say “accumulated items”– ready for guests in just over a month will be quite a challenging target.’ I dropped my file back into my bag.

‘I’ll pay you double.’

I looked up, surprised.

‘I don’t work like that Mr O’Farrell. That would be unfair and, to me at least, incredibly unethical. I don’t categorise my clients by who can pay me the most!’

‘I didn’t mean to suggest that you did. I apologise.’

Oh. So he did actually understand the concept of apologising then? That was a start.

‘I just…Look, I really need you to help me with this, in that timescale. I realise it’s difficult and I will do my utmost to obey whatever you say and get it done.’

‘It’s not about obeying me – ’

‘That’s a shame.’ He cut in, his lips hinting at a smile.

I pointedly ignored the remark.

‘It’s about putting in the effort and believing in what you’re doing.’

‘OK. Look. I get it. I can see the point of all this.’ He waved his hand, encompassing me in the gesture. ‘I have a cleaner in once a week but I’m fully aware I’m not that great at housekeeping, so to speak. I sort of lost my way a bit when…’

I waited. The hardness in his face faded. It was still all sharp planes and glass cutting cheekbones but as his expression softened, he suddenly seemed more approachable, and less …well, less of an arse. He looked back from where he’d been staring at the darkened kitchen window and saw me watching him. Immediately the hardness in his face returned.

‘Carry on,’ I prompted softly, trying to rescue the moment. If I could understand him a little more, it would help my job enormously. Organising a home was incredibly personal, which is why the owner had to be involved. But if I could understand that owner, what was important to them, what had happened to them in their lives, it made the whole process so much easier.

‘Nothing. I just need to get this done for Christmas. It’s my turn to host the family and if someone else gets stuck doing it because I didn’t pull my finger out, then that’s not fair and I wouldn’t feel right even attending. But I’ve already missed far too many. So it’s not an option. I do understand that you have plenty of clients vying for your time, so if you can’t do it then I’ll just get someone else in. I’m sure there are plenty of people who do this kind of thing.’

On second thought, I wasn’t sure anything could make Michael O’Farrell less of an arse. It was clear that was just his demeanour’s natural setting.

‘Yes. There are. I am, however, one of the best. I did you a favour coming tonight, and waiting until you eventually turned up. I’ve spent my entire evening here and am now aware of exactly what needs doing, all of which time will have been entirely wasted should you turn to someone else. And that, frankly, would be incredibly frustrating. I am prepared to take you on as a client of Stone Organisation, and reschedule others whose needs aren’t quite so pressing in order to accommodate you, in order to please Janey. However, it is of course your prerogative to employ whomever you wish. In the circumstances, I would ask that you let me know by ten o’clock tomorrow morning so that we both know where we stand.’

I finished my spiel and turned away, quickly retrieving my coat from one of the overstuffed hooks that lined the wall of the hall.

‘I want you.’

I turned, pausing in the belting of my coat.

‘Pardon?’ I squeaked.

‘I want you.’ He’d descended the stairs too and was now leaning against the banister, his green eyes fixed on me. ‘I don’t want to employ anyone else to do this. Janey recommends Stone Organisation, so that’s who I want. I know that I’m difficult and impatient and impossible to deal with – God knows I’ve been told it enough times over the past few years. I’m also aware that I’ve given you a hard time this evening and you’ve taken it all in your stride and pushed back when you needed to. I need someone prepared to do that. Otherwise I’ll take the piss and never get anything done and it really will be a waste of time.’