Christmas In The Boss's Castle

‘We do?’

She sounded surprised. He swiped a key fob next to the elevator and the doors swished open. He gestured with his hand for her to go inside. ‘You don’t want to have hot chocolate with me?’

He made it sound light-hearted. He wanted to try and make amends for his earlier behaviour. But the truth was his curiosity was piqued by Grace.

She gave him a cheeky stare. ‘Only if there are marshmallows and cream. I get the impression you might be a bit of a cheapskate.’

He laughed as she walked into the elevator and for the first time in five years something happened.

It had been so long he almost didn’t recognise it.

His heart gave a little leap.

* * *

Grace wasn’t quite sure what to make of any of this. One minute Mr Film Star looks was firing her in his gravelly Scottish voice, the next minute he was apologising and making her heart completely stop when he touched her cheek.

It was the weirdest feeling. She’d been beyond cold—but the touch of his finger on her cheek had been like a little flame sending pulses around her body.

They stood in silence as the elevator moved silently to the ground floor. Frank caught sight of them as they walked out into the foyer, but Finlay didn’t give them time to talk. He ushered her through to one of the private sitting rooms, speaking to a waitress on the way past.

They sat down on the comfortable black velvet-covered chairs. She ran her hand over the material. ‘Black. Nice,’ she said as she watched his face.

He shook his head. ‘I feel that you might be going to make me pay.’

The strange wariness she’d felt around him had seemed to vanish. She’d seen something up on that roof. Something she’d never seen in another person.

For a few moments it had felt as if she could see right into his soul. His pain. His hurt. His bitterness.

He seemed to be at a point in his life that she couldn’t even begin to understand.

‘Me? Make you pay? Whatever makes you think that?’

He put one elbow on the table and leaned on his hand. He did still look tired, but there was a little sparkle in those blue eyes. When Finlay Armstrong wasn’t being so businesslike and generally miserable, he showed tiny glimmers of a sense of humour.

The good looks were still there. Now she wasn’t so flabbergasted she could see them clearly. In fact, in the bright lights of the hotel his handsome features might even be a bit intimidating.

But there was something about that accent—that Scottish burr—that added something else to the mix. When she’d first heard it—that fierceness—its tone of don’t ever cross me had had her shaking in her shoes. Now, there was a softness. A warmth about the tone.

He held out his arms to the room they were sitting in. ‘I chose black and grey deliberately. I liked the smoothness, sleekness and no-nonsense look of the hotel. White would have been clinical. Any other colour just a distraction that would age quickly. Black and grey are pretty timeless colours.’

‘If you can call them colours.’

The waitress appeared and set down steaming hot chocolates, adorned with marshmallows and cream, and long spoons. The aroma drifted up instantly. After the coldness of outside the instant warmth was comforting.

Finlay spooned some of the cream from his hot chocolate into his mouth and gave a loud sigh. ‘I’m guessing you don’t like my interior design selections.’

Grace smiled and tried to catch some of her marshmallows before they melted. ‘I bet they cost more money than I could earn in ten years.’

He stopped stirring his hot chocolate and looked at her.

She cringed. Did she really mean to say that out loud?

The marshmallows-and-cream assortment was all sticking together inside her mouth. Any minute now she would start choking. She took another quick sip of the hot chocolate in an attempt to melt some of the marshmallows before she needed emergency treatment. Seemed as if she’d brought enough attention to herself already.

‘How would you like to earn some more money?’

Too late. She coughed and spluttered everywhere. Did he really just say that?

As quickly as the words left his mouth and Grace started choking, Finlay Armstrong started to laugh.

He did. The guy actually started laughing. He leaned over and started giving her back a few slaps, trying to stop her choking. He was shaking his head. ‘I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean anything like that. It’s okay, Grace. You don’t need to fake a medical emergency and escape in an ambulance.’

The choking started to subside and Finlay signalled over to one of the waitresses to bring some water. He was still laughing.

Her cheeks were warm. No, her cheeks were red hot. Between choking to death and thinking completely inappropriate thoughts she couldn’t be any more embarrassed if she tried.

Because she had thought inappropriate thoughts—even if it had been for just a millisecond.

She hadn’t had enough time to figure out if she was mortally offended and insulted, or just completely and utterly stunned.

A bartender in a sleek black dress came over with a bottle of water and some glasses with ice. She shot Finlay her best sultry smile as she poured the water for them both. Grace got a look of disdain. Perfect.

The water-pouring seemed to take for ever. She could almost hear some sultry backtrack playing behind them.

Finlay was polite but reserved. The bartender got the briefest of thanks, then he turned his attention back to Grace. It was hard not to grab the glass and gulp the water down. She waited until the water was finally poured, then gave her most equally polite smile and took some eager sips.

She cleared her throat. ‘I didn’t think that, you know,’ she said quickly.

Finlay laughed even harder than before. ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘You did. My bad. The wrong choice of words. I didn’t mean that at all.’

She gulped again. Now they were out in public his conduct seemed a little different. He was laughing but there was more of a formality about him. This was his hotel and right now he was under the microscopic view of all his staff. He had a reputation to uphold. She got that. She did.

And right now his eyes didn’t show any hint of the vulnerability she’d glimpsed upstairs. Now, his eyes seemed like those of a worldly-wise businessman. One that had probably seen and done things she could only ever dream of.

All she knew about Finlay Armstrong was the little he’d told her. But Finlay had the self-assured aura that lots of self-made businessmen had.

The knowledge, the experience, the know-how and the confidence that a lot of the clients she’d met through Maids in Chelsea had. People who had lived entirely different lives from the one she had.

She set down her water and tried to compose herself again. Heat had finally started to permeate into her body. She could feel her fingers and toes.

She finally shook off Finlay’s coat. She’d forgotten it was around her shoulders. That was what the bartender had been staring at.

She tugged at her black shirt, straightening it a little, and put her hand up to her hair, trying to push it back into place.

Finlay was watching her with amusement. ‘Leave it—it’s fine. Let’s talk about something else.’

Grace shifted a little on the velvet chair. What on earth did he want to talk to her about?