Free Two Christmases by Anne Brooke Page B

telephone firefighting, but it paid the bills and it was the only reason I’d met Jake at all.
    The boss wasn’t happy when I got in. As Robert was, as always, the only other person in the office apart from me, that didn’t bode well for the day.
    “You’re late,” he mouthed in the middle of his telephone call.
    “Sorry,” I mouthed back. I sat down at my desk and tried to get on with the job.
    All in all, I wasn’t that bad at it. I might not have been much to look at, but for some reason I could sweet-talk people over the telephone into giving the business a chance. If only I could sweet-talk Marty into leaving us alone. Jake and I, we meant something. Didn’t we? I’d met him in March, when one of our regular clients had come up against some last-minute difficulties with the equipment they needed to run a management event, and I’d been dispatched with the company van carrying several boxes of wine glasses and thirty burgundy tapered catering candles to sort them out.
    The chef at the Holston Hotel wasn’t the laid-back sort—were any of them?—and so before I knew it, I was being shepherded into the dining area, a tea towel was thrust into my hands, and I was wiping glasses and laying them onto creamy white tablecloths like a pro while the rest of the staff ran around in an atmosphere of barely contained panic. Or almost like a pro anyway. Thank God someone else turned up to arrange the candles. I was never any good with fire.
    As it was, I’d only just finished sorting it out when the first of the guests started arriving, all management, out and ready to party. Couldn’t say I blamed them. A day’s worth of high-maintenance team building would be a day’s worth too long for me. I clocked Jake at once, appreciating his long lithe body and that swept-back hair. Eyes to sink into as well, I remember thinking, if I ever got close enough. I allowed myself the privilege of a few more glances on my way out and, to my surprise, at the last of them his eyes caught mine and he gave me a slight but unmissable smile. The heat flared in my skin and my heart beat faster. I didn’t pursue it though, not in front of a roomful of strangers and when attempting to look professional in front of a client. Robert would have killed me otherwise.
    At the door though, my luck proved to be in. One of the waiters came racing toward me, his bow-tie askew and his hair looking like it would need a good comb before the evening was out.
    “Danny? Danny Brigson?”
    “Yeah? That’s me. What’s up?”
    “Chef says we’re still short of staff. Would you mind giving the barman a hand with the drinks? We’ve got two parties in tonight. We’ll pay you.”
    I nodded. Frankly I could do with the cash and, even then, the chance to see a little more of Jake had brought the smile to my face.
    I worked like a dog that evening. The crowd were eager to celebrate, and the empty glasses kept on coming back. And back. Every now and again, I saw Jake and, once, our hands touched when I refreshed his wine. A good Pinot Noir, which made me smile. He didn’t strike me as a Chardonnay man.
    It was way past midnight when he finally gave me the eye. God knew I’d been making what I wanted obvious enough—serving him first when I could, even though that was a real no-no in the secret Barman’s Code. Anyway, at a quarter past midnight, I looked across at my fellow barman, a bloke called Arnie who seemed like he’d been around the block a few times. And some.
    “Is it okay if I…?”
    He grinned. “Sure. It’s easing off now. I think I can cope. Besides, it looks as if you’ve got business to attend to.”
    I smiled back. “Yeah, if I’m lucky, but for God’s sake, keep it quiet.”
    “My lips are sealed. Not my bag, but live and let live, eh?”
    I made my way out of the bar, only needing to glance back once to make sure Jake was following. I wondered how long it would take him to talk to me and what he might do or say, whether I would