jaw clenched.
Wrong thing to say.
She tried again. ‘Did—did Mr Grainger say why he has cancelled?’
She must have looked totally stricken because his face softened a fraction. ‘I’m afraid the person who rang didn’t offer an explanation. He asked me to apologise, Miss McKinnon. Apparently he’s been trying to ring for some time, but our line has been busy. He hopes you will understand.’
Understand? Of course she didn’t understand. She couldn’t possibly understand. Annie felt so suddenly awful she wondered if she was going to be sick right there in front of everyone. ‘Didn’t he tell you anything? Are you sure he didn’t—explain—?’
The man sighed and shook his head as if he found this situation tiresome.
‘What should I do?’ she asked. ‘Do—do I owe you any money?’
‘No. And you are still very welcome to dine here. The caller is happy to pay for your meal.’
The caller? Nothing made sense. ‘Damien Grainger called, didn’t he?’
‘No, it was Mr Grainger’s uncle.’
His uncle? This was really crazy. Where was Damien? Why hadn’t he rung? Was he sick? Oh, goodness, yes. That had to be the problem. Damien was suddenly, horribly, unavoidably, violently ill. From his sickbed he’d begged this uncle to phone her.
‘Shall I send for a menu?’ the man asked her.
Annie shook her head. Her throat was so choked she couldn’t speak and there was no way she could possibly think about eating. Not in the midst of tragedy. This was the single worst moment in her life.
Grabbing her bag, she managed to stand and then she took a deep breath and began to walk…past the other tables…conscious of the unbearable curiosity of the diners. Holding her head high and her shoulders back, she stared straight ahead, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye.
It wasn’t until she was safely out of the restaurant and behind the closed doors of the lift that she collapsed against the wall and covered her mouth with her hand and tried to hold back the horrible sobs that swelled in her throat and burned her. Was it possible to bear this disappointment, this horrible humiliation?
As the lift cruised downwards, she fumbled in her purse for her phone.
‘Mel,’ she sobbed as soon as there was an answer.
‘Annie, where are you?’
‘I’m in the lift at the Pinnacle.’
‘Why? Are you running away?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, my God, what happened?’
‘Nothing! Where are you?’
‘Just up the road,’ Mel shouted above a blast of loud background music. ‘At The Cactus Flower. It’s in the next block from where you are—on the left.’
‘Stay there, please. I’m coming.’
‘Honey, we won’t move.’
Theo Grainger waited in the foyer of the Pinnacle Hotel and watched the blinking lights in the panel beside the lift indicating its journey downward from the twenty-seventh floor. All too soon, those shiny lift doors would slide open and Annie McKinnon would burst out.
A kind of dread tightened his throat muscles as he anticipated the tears streaming down her face. The kid would be a mess. A heartbroken, disillusioned mess.
He cursed himself for handling the whole situation so badly. His cowardly, fickle nephew had caused enough trouble, but Theo had bungled his part in the evening too.
He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to make such a hash of things. He’d come to the hotel this evening with the best of intentions. He’d planned to meet the young Internet hopeful and to apologise to her on his nephew’s behalf and to explain that the date had been cancelled. To apologise in person—before she headed up to La Piastra.
Theo could pile on the charm when necessary and he’d been confident he could appease Damien’s date and send her on her way with her dignity intact, even if her tender young heart was broken. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to move into damage control after one of his nephew’s pranks.
But somehow Theo hadn’t been prepared for Annie McKinnon.
He hadn’t anticipated the blinding excitement shining in her face. She’d arrived at the Pinnacle looking so incredibly young and innocent, so unspeakably hopeful. So thrilled!
And he certainly hadn’t anticipated her cheer squad of friends.
The girlfriends had been his final stumbling block. One mere male couldn’t be expected to confront three overexcited, chattering females with the bad news that the big deal date was off.
In future, he would make sure that Damien was forced to face up to the consequences of his thoughtless pranks, even if he had to drag the wretch to the scene of his crime by the scruff of his neck.
But tonight the result of Theo’s bungling was that he’d felt a compunction to hang around for the aftermath—to make sure Annie McKinnon wasn’t too terribly heartbroken.
The light beside the lift indicated that it had reached the ground floor and he stood to one side of the foyer with his hands plunged deep in his trouser pockets. There was a clean handkerchief in his right pocket and it would come in handy if he needed to mop her tears before he called a taxi to send her safely homewards.
The doors opened and he held his breath and steeled himself for the sight of Annie’s flushed, tear-ravaged face.
But no.
Annie swept out of the lift with her golden head high, looking pale but dignified, almost haughty. No sign of tears. Her pretty blue eyes were dry and glass-clear and her mouth was composed, almost smiling.
Almost. If Theo hadn’t been watching her very closely, he might have missed the tremor of her chin and the exceedingly careful way she walked, as if she needed all her strength to hold herself together.
Her unexpected courage shook him. He felt a sudden lump in his throat and an absurd urge to applaud her.
And he remained stock-still as she sailed across the foyer. Even as the huge glass doors at the hotel’s entrance parted, he didn’t move. It made absolutely no sense but this devastated young woman seemed more composed than he felt.
She disappeared into the night before he came to his senses. By the time he dashed outside she was already hurrying along the footpath, ducking her way past pedestrians with athletic grace.
He called, ‘Annie!’
But she didn’t hear him and when people turned and stared at him he felt several versions of foolish. What on earth had he thought he was going to do if she’d heard him? Offer her coffee and consolation?
Clearly she needed neither.
He came to a halt in the middle of the footpath. Ahead of him, he saw a flash of pink jeans and white top as Annie turned to her left. Then she hurried up a short flight of steps and vanished inside a bar.
Theo Grainger couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so inadequate.
‘The guy’s a jerk!’
‘An A-grade jerk.’
Mel and Victoria were vehement in their anger.
And never had Annie been happier to see friends.
As the three girls drowned their sorrows in strawberry daiquiris, she found it comforting to listen to their united rant.
‘Annie, your Damien has reached an entirely new, utterly despicable level of jerkdom.’
‘How dare he behave so jerkily to such a lovely, trusting country mouse?’
But