“See it?” she says.
I lean closer, my head just inches from hers. There is a small sign stuck to the wall. When the Muses Strike, by M. Muller, it reads. December 2022. It is just like the cards you see next to artworks in a museum.
“She was thrilled,” Izzy says. “Honoured, she said. She’s going to stay in ‘her room’ at the hotel every year from now on.”
“So we have to keep that mess there?”
“It’s art!” she says.
A message pops up on the top of her screen. Sameera says . . . Will you just angry-shag him in a spare hotel room already? it reads.
She turns the screen black and steps away from me instantly. “Umm,” she says.
I sit down, directing my attention firmly towards the computer, but my heart is pounding. Who does this Sameera think Izzy should angry-shag? I don’t know of anyone at the hotel Izzy is angry with other than . . . me.
“I assume you saw that,” Izzy says, sorting socks with too much enthusiasm—one goes flying over the edge of the desk onto the lobby rug. “The message.”
“Yes,” I say, scrolling through the hotel’s inbox, and then scrolling back up through the unread emails again, because I don’t think I absorbed a single subject line.
“It’s not . . . My friend Grigg’s wife is just super inappropriate. I’m not going to shag anyone. Definitely not in an angry way. Having sex when you’re angry is never a good idea. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“I didn’t ask,” I point out, keeping my voice as dry as possible. I will my heart rate to slow. The message probably referred to someone from outside the hotel. Just because it mentioned a hotel room doesn’t necessarily mean it was about one of Izzy’s colleagues.
“Morning, Izzy. Lucas.”
Louis Keele. I offer him a polite smile and then return my gaze firmly to my inbox. Izzy can deal with him. He wants Izzy anyway. I type out a few emails to possible ring owners just as the rest of the builders traipse in, trailing wet mud across the lobby floor behind Louis. I reach for the phone to call housekeeping, but Dinah appears, as if conjured by inconsiderateness, and scowls after them, mop already in hand.
I like Dinah. She never goes the extra mile—she goes just far enough, and I have a lot of respect for that.
“I wanted to give you a heads-up,” Louis says.
I glance up again. Louis is not a large man, or a particularly impressive one, but he is just the sort of guy who would put me on edge if I weren’t there already. He’s self-assured and has a warm charm that makes conversation easy. In other words, he is very unlike me.
“Mr. Townsend, the sweet guy with the tremor? As I left my room, I heard him muttering about this ‘miserable place’ and how this will be ‘some Christmas.’？” Louis pulls a sympathetic face. He is always a lot nicer when Izzy is around. “Sorry, I just thought you’d want prior warning . . .”
We all turn as Mr. Townsend appears. He is visibly upset, his head bowed, his movements jerky. I look away—I suspect Mr. Townsend would rather not have everybody in the lobby staring at him—and see Louis’s phone, which rests between his hands on the desk. There’s a photo of the lobby up on his screen. I frown.
“Oh, God,” Izzy mutters, stepping around the desk. “Thank you, Louis. I really appreciate that. Mr. Townsend? How are you today?”
“She’s good,” Louis says, watching Izzy soothe Mr. Townsend. He leans on the desk and starts to toss the socks in front of him into a pile. This will annoy Izzy, so I leave him to it. “A natural.” He side-eyes me. “Cute, too.”
The bad temper brewing in my chest begins to pick up momentum.
“I’m thinking of investing, you know,” Louis says before I can answer. “In Forest Manor.”
“Oh. That’s great news.” Perhaps that’s why he’s taking photographs. I should be pleased that he’s considering investing, but I can’t help wondering what he would do to this hotel if he had a say in how it’s run.
“Mm. I think it has potential,” he says, still watching Izzy as she leads Mr. Townsend into an armchair, head ducked, listening. “My dad loves buildings like this, old places, you know, with history.”
“It’s a very special hotel,” I say stiffly. I can’t help noticing that Louis seems more interested in looking down Izzy’s shirt than contemplating his future investment.
“Yeah, absolutely. The building has tons of development potential. Hmm. Great figure, too, hasn’t she?” he adds, tilting his head to the side.