Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(30)

“So, you thought it appropriate to sleep in one of our linen closets?” His mouth slackens in disbelief. “This is not a hotel that permits unrespectable nocturnal activities.”

My brain misfires. Wait, what?

My cheeks heat. “We’re not prostitutes,” I announce loudly to clear up any misconceptions. It’s difficult when I’m wearing a drink-soaked dress and hovering on one heel. Last night I prided myself on such a well-thought-out executed plan.

The crowd hushes as they listen.

“Elly?”

I whip my head around.

Tristan.

I don’t know who is more shocked, him or me.

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline as he takes in the ambush. “What the hell is going on?”

“These ladies were found sleeping in one of our linen closets, sir,” the hotel manager reports. “We apologise deeply for the ruckus. We’re dealing with it. So sorry to disturb you, Mr. Kane.”

The blood drains from my head and pools in my ankles as Tristan stares at me like I have two heads. What the hell is he doing here? Of all the hotels in all the towns, in all the world, he has to walk into mine? I thought I would have to avoid him at work, not all seven London zones. I haven’t seen him since the awkward meeting on my first day.

His gaze drops to my feet, where I’m balancing on one shoe, then back up past my stained dress to my guilty face. Shocked is not a strong enough word for how Tristan looks at me. No word is. His expression needs its own entry in the Oxford dictionary. “Elly? What the hell is going on?”

I fidget with the breast lift tape which seems to have come loose under my arm. “My bag was stolen last night,” I say in a small voice, mortified. “We had no way to get home, so we…ah…” I can’t find a better way to describe it “…borrowed one of the linen closets.”

“Christ,” he splutters. “Sir, charge a hotel room to my card for your inconvenience. Will that appease the situation?”

I shout “No” as the manager says “Yes.”

“Do you know these ladies, Mr. Kane?” the hotel manager asks in disbelief.

“Yes,” Tristan grits out, handing his bank card to the manager. “I’ll take it from here. Are we good?”

“Yes, sir,” the manager replies, recognising his cue to leave.

Tristan eyes spear me, like he is seeing me in a new light. No hairbrush, no toothbrush, no dignity. This is not how I wanted to meet Tristan Kane. Not when I look like the Joker.

“I’ll pay you back,” I swallow. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a member here,” he says dryly. “It’s convenient, being close to the office. I’ve taken my family and friends out for breakfast.”

Oh.

I glance over his shoulder to where a table of people are watching us. There’s an older lady, dear Lord, is that his mum? I don’t have my glasses on so she's a blur. Tristan’s son is sitting on her lap. I recognise Danny Walker, the tech tycoon, and a girl about my age. It must be his sister. The other bloke from the photos, Jack someone, is sitting beside a younger girl.

“My two sisters and my mum,” Tristan explains. “It’s Mum’s birthday.”

“That’s nice,” I choke out. I smile and wave meekly.

Most of them smile back in amusement. The mum looks appalled.

“Lovely to see you again, Tristan,” Megan jumps in.

He smiles at her then turns back to me. “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I can replace my keys and phone. It’s annoying but I’ll live. The only thing that’s hurt is my pride. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” I can’t think of a better explanation.

He rubs his chin. “You could have gone into a police station. They would have driven you home.”

Damn. Do they do that? “I thought it needed to be more serious before the police would help.”

“You could have called me. I would have collected you.” His jaw flexes. “That’s if you haven't blocked my number.”

“Thanks, but I don't think that's in the scope of the CEO’s role.”

Tristan’s not amused.

“Plus, no phone, remember?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose like he has an incoming headache. “You need to go home, Elly,” he says in an accusing tone. “You reek of alcohol, and you only have one functioning shoe. You’re an employee of Madison Legal, this is hardly appropriate behaviour.”

I open my mouth with a comeback, then close it. I’m in no position to take the moral high ground.

He sighs heavily. “I’ll get my driver to take you home.”

“No, it’s fine,” I protest meekly. Actually, that sounds like heaven.

His eyes narrow, daring me to argue.

“That sounds great, thank you.” Faced with his disapproving gaze, I look down in remorse.

He calls his driver, who appears to be outside at his beck and call, as the guy comes through the door at the speed of Superman. “George, take the ladies home, please.”

George looks at us like he’s seen it all before.

“I need to get back to the others,” Tristan says. A ghost of a smile flickers on his face. “Try to behave yourself in whatever quarter-life crisis you seem to be having.”