Christmas in the Boss's Castle

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?

His hands ran up and down the outside of the latte glass. ‘I’d like you to take on another role within the hotel.’

She sat up a bit more. Her curiosity was definitely piqued. ‘What do you mean?’

He held out his hands around the room. ‘You mentioned the lack of Christmas decorations and I think you might be right. Rob Speirs, my manager, mentioned there’s been a few complaints. He thinks it could be affecting business. It might be time to have a rethink.’

She tilted her head to the side. ‘You want me to bring up the stuff from the basement?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I don’t want any of the old decorations. I want new. I want you to look around and think of a theme for the hotel, something that gives the Christmas message while keeping the upmarket look that I like for the hotel.’

Grace’s mouth fell open. ‘What?’

He started a little. ‘And obviously I’ll pay you. A designer fee, plus a company credit card to cover all the costs and delivery of what you choose.’

Grace was having trouble believing this. He’d pulled the few decorations she’d put up in the penthouse down with his bare hands. He’d called them tacky. Now, he wanted her to decorate the whole hotel?

She couldn’t help the nervous laugh that sneaked out. ‘Finlay, do you know what date it is?’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘The sixteenth? The seventeenth of December? Sorry, I’ve crossed so many time zones lately I can’t keep track.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing most of the other hotels decided on their Christmas schemes months ago—and ordered all their decorations. They’ve had their decorations up since the middle of November.’

Finlay shook his head. ‘That’s too early. Even the first day of December seems too soon.’

Grace leaned across the table towards him. ‘I’m not sure that what you have in mind and what I have in mind will be the same thing.’

‘What do you mean?’

She sighed and tried to find appropriate words. ‘Less than half an hour ago you told me you hated Christmas and everything about it. What’s changed your mind?’

The hesitation was written all over his face. Just as she’d done a few seconds earlier, he was trying to find the right words. She could almost see them forming on his lips. She held her breath. Then, just when he looked as if he might answer, he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

Now she definitely couldn’t breathe. She pressed her lips together to stop herself from filling the silence.

When Finlay looked up again, it wasn’t the polished businessman she’d been sitting opposite for the last twenty minutes. This was Finlay, the guy on the roof who’d lost his wife and seemed to lose himself in the process. What little oxygen supplies she had left sucked themselves out into the atmosphere in a sharp burst at the unhidden pain in his eyes.

‘It’s time.’ His voice cracked a little and his shoulders sagged as if the weight that had been pressing him down had just done its last, awful deed.

She couldn’t help herself. She didn’t care about appropriateness. She didn’t care about talk. Grace had always had a big heart. She always acted on instinct. She slid her hand across the glass-topped table and put it over his.

It didn’t matter that the word no had been forming on her lips. It didn’t matter that she felt completely out of her depth and had no qualifications for the position he wanted to give her. She squeezed his hand and looked him straight in the eye, praying that her tears wouldn’t pool again.

He gave himself a shake and straightened up. ‘And it’s a business decision.’ He pulled his hand back.

She gave him a cautious smile. ‘If you’re sure—and it’s a business decision,’ she threw in, even though she didn’t believe it, ‘the answer is yes.’

He leaned back against the chair, his shoulders straightening a little.

‘I have to warn you,’ she continued, ‘that the picture you see in your head might not match the picture I have in mine.’

She glanced across the room and gave him a bigger smile. ‘I can absolutely promise you that no matter how sleek, no matter how modern you think they are—there will be no black Christmas trees in The Armstrong hotel.’