The Burnout(30)

“I’ll have room service tonight,” I say. “Thanks.”

“Well, Chef Leslie has created a special dish just for you,” she adds proudly. “Plain poached chicken breast, steamed spinach, and crispbread. No butter, of course.”

“Wonderful,” I say sincerely. After scoffing sugar all afternoon, plain chicken and spinach sounds about right.

“And could we tempt you to some ice cream?” Cassidy suggests. “As a one-off treat, maybe?”

My mind flashes back to the whole tub of cookies ’n’ cream I just demolished. I feel a bit sick at the thought. “No thanks,” I say. “No ice cream.”

“Not even one tiny scoop?”

“Not even one tiny scoop,” I say firmly.

“Aren’t you disciplined!” Cassidy exclaims admiringly. “You put us all to shame with your healthy regimen. Oh, hello, Mr. Birchall,” she adds, looking up.

Mr. Birchall? Wait. I know that name. Oh God, please don’t say …

As I follow her gaze, I stiffen in horror. Coming down the stairs into the lobby is the guy who punches vending machines and wants to chainsaw ficus plants and reduces toddlers to tears. Here, in the same hotel. He looks as super-relaxed and approachable as he did before—i.e., not at all.

“Ms. Worth.” Simon comes hurrying into the lobby, looking as harassed as ever. “A thousand apologies. I am mortified. I am distraught.”

“What’s wrong?” I say, taken aback.

“We have still not been able to source your organic kale.” Simon shakes his head dismally. “A supply arrived today but was unfortunately damaged. Chef Leslie has used spinach instead, but I will naturally waive the entire charge on your dinner bill tonight.”

I’m not sure if I want to laugh or tell him, Get a grip! How does he expect to make any money if he keeps giving me free meals?

“You don’t have to give me a free dinner,” I say firmly. “Spinach is fine.”

“I appreciate your kind words, Ms. Worth,” says Simon, lifting his chin nobly. “However, we at the Rilston have certain standards, and we have not lived up to those standards. Your PA was adamant that you had certain specific, tailored requirements. Organic kale. Goji berries. Noni juice.”

“Wow,” says Finn Birchall. “Sounds a bunch of fun.”

He’s standing at the base of the stairs, waiting for Nikolai to move out of his way, his fingers drumming on the banister. What’s it got to do with him, anyway?

“Oh, Ms. Worth doesn’t eat anything fun,” Cassidy assures him. “Not even a biscuit! She’s so virtuous! My friend Bea said you went to the bakery today and all you bought was a mineral water. Nikolai, get out of Mr. Birchall’s way!” she adds to Nikolai, who is hovering uncertainly with a chair. “Just put it down anywhere. Can I help, Mr. Birchall?”

“I have a specific, tailored requirement,” says Finn Birchall. “I don’t know if you can help. It’s for a double whisky on the rocks.”

Is he making a dig at me? I glare at him, and he looks back impassively.

“Of course!” says Cassidy, oblivious to any subtext. “Please take a seat at the bar.”

“I will attend to this myself,” says Simon, practically leaping forward. “I will pour the whisky myself. I hope all is satisfactory with your stay, Mr. Birchall, and please may I apologize yet again that your room was being used for cheese storage when you arrived. These are not the high standards we expect of ourselves at the Rilston.”

I suppress a smile as I glance over at Finn Birchall. Did his face just give the tiniest of amused flickers?

No, I must have imagined it.

“Now, I must introduce you two,” says Cassidy, as Simon hurries off toward the bar. “Sasha Worth, meet Finn Birchall. You’re both using lodges on the beach.”

I blink at her in shock. What?

“You’re the only two guests using them,” Cassidy continues chattily. “Nice for you both to have some company.”

Nice? I feel a growing dismay as I digest this appalling news. I had the place to myself. It was all perfect. And now Mr. Angry has to barge in. I can tell my face is crestfallen—and he doesn’t look exactly thrilled either.

“Shall I put you next door to each other?” Cassidy suggests brightly. “You could be neighbors!”

“No!” I exclaim fervently before I can stop myself.

“No!” Finn Birchall says simultaneously, and our eyes meet as though at least we agree on this.

“If that’s OK,” I add awkwardly. “I think it would be better if …”

“Far better.” He nods.

“I suppose you’ll be doing your yoga and all that,” says Cassidy, as though the reason is dawning on her. “Ms. Worth is here for a wellness break,” she informs Finn Birchall. “She’s our healthiest-ever guest! Only eats salad and does mindful activities all day on the beach!”

Finn Birchall looks totally repulsed. “Sounds tremendous,” he says, barely hiding his contempt.

“It is,” I shoot back. “Very.”

God, this man is obnoxious.

“So maybe it does make sense for you to have some space.…” Cassidy pauses thoughtfully. “I’ll put you in Lodge Eight, then, Mr. Birchall. Right at the other end from Ms. Worth, with six empty lodges in between.”