Trouble on Her Doorstep. Nina Harrington

it. I need a high-class venue and nothing else will do.’

      Lottie was just about to reply when the telephone rang on the wall behind them and the theme song for The Teddy Bears’ Picnic chimed out. She scowled at Dee, who shrugged as though she had not been responsible for changing the ring tone. Again.

      ‘Lottie’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms,’ Lottie answered in her best professional voice, and then she reached out and grabbed Dee by the sleeve, tugging hard to make sure that she had her full attention. ‘Good morning to you, too, Sean. Why yes, you are in luck, she is right here. I’ll just get Dee for you.’

      Lottie opened her mouth wide, baring her very white teeth, and held out the telephone towards Dee, who took it from her as Lottie picked up a menu and fanned her face. The message was only too clear: hot.

      Dee looked at the caller ID on the phone for second longer than necessary and lifted her chin before speaking.

      Time to get this game of charades started the way she wanted.

      ‘Good morning, Flynn’s Phantasmagorian Emporium of Tea. Dee speaking.’

      There was a definite pause on the other end of the phone before a deep male voice replied. Excellent. She had put him off his stride and victory was hers.

      Shame that when he replied that deep voice was resonant, disgracefully measured, slow and confident. It seemed to vibrate inside her skull so that each syllable was stressed and important.

      ‘That’s quite a name. I am impressed. Good morning to you, Miss Flynn.’

      The way he pronounced the end of her name was quite delicious. ‘I have just made it up, and that’s the idea. And how are you feeling this morning, eh? I hope that there is no bruising or delayed mental trauma from your exciting trip to the tea rooms yesterday evening. I wouldn’t like to be responsible for any lasting damage.’

      She almost caught the sound of a low chuckle before he choked it. ‘Not at all,’ Sean replied in a voice that was as smooth as the hot chocolate sauce Lottie made to pour over her cream-filled profiteroles.

      ‘Excellent news.’ Dee smiled and winked at Lottie, who was leaning against her shoulder so that she could hear every word. ‘So, does that mean you have found me a superb replacement venue that will meet my every exacting need?’

      ‘Before I answer that, I have a question for you. Are you free to join me for a breakfast meeting this morning?’

      Dee held out the phone and glanced at Lottie, who rolled her eyes with a cheeky grin, stifled a laugh and headed off into the kitchen, leaving Dee to stare at the innocent handset as though it were toxic.

      ‘Breakfast? Ah, thank you, but the bakery opens at six-thirty, so Lottie and I have already had our breakfast.’

      ‘Ah,’ he replied in a low voice. ‘Misunderstanding. I didn’t mean eating breakfast together, delightful as that would be. But it would be useful to have an early morning meeting to go through your list of exhibitors and put a detailed profile together, so that my team can work on the details with the venue you decide on. Pastries and coffee on the house.’

      Dee squeezed her eyes tightly shut with embarrassment and mentally kicked the chair.

      Sean Beresford had not only made her toss and turn most of the night, worrying about whether the event was going to happen, but apparently those blue-grey eyes had snuck in and robbed her of the one thing that was going to get her through the next two weeks: the ability to think straight.

      Of course, a breakfast meeting wasn’t about bacon butties and wake-up brews of tea that would stain your teeth. She knew that. Even if she had never been to one in person.

      How did he do it? How did he discombobulate her with a few words? Make her feel that she was totally out of her depth in a world that she did not understand?

      It was as though he could see through the surface barriers she had built up and see straight through to the awkward teenager in the hot-weather cotton clothes on her first day in a London high school. In November.

      She had known from the first second she had stepped inside that narrow off-grey school corridor that she was never going to fit in and that she was going to have to start her life from scratch all over again. She was always going to be the outsider. The nobody. The second best. The girl who had to fight to be taken seriously in anything she did.

      But how did Sean see that? Did she have a sign painted in the air above her head?

      This had never happened to her before with any man. Ever. Normally she just laughed it off and things usually turned out okay in the end.

      Usually.

      Dee inhaled a deep breath then exhaled slowly. Very slowly.

      Focus. She needed to focus on what was needed. That was it. Concentrate on the job. Her entire reputation and future in the tea-selling business was dependent on it. She couldn’t let a flash boy in a suit distract her, no matter how much she needed him to make her dream become a reality.

      Dee looked out of the tea-room window onto the busy high street; the first sign of pale winter sunshine filtered through the half-frosted glass. The sleet had stopped in the night and the forecast was for a much brighter day.

      Suddenly the urge to feel fresh air on her face and a cool breeze in her hair spiralled through her brain. She quickly glanced at the wall clock above the counter. It was just after nine. Swallowing down her concerns, Dee raised the phone to her mouth.

      ‘I can be available for a briefing meeting. But pastries and coffee? That’s blasphemy. Do I need to bring my own emergency supply of tea?’

      ‘Better than that. Following our meeting, I have set up appointments for you at three Beresford hotels this morning. And they all serve tea.’

      Dee caught her breath in the back of her throat. Three hotels? Wow. But then her brain caught up with what he was saying. He had set up appointments for her. Not them.

      Oh no. She was not going to let him get away with that trick.

      ‘Ah no, that won’t work. You see, I still don’t feel that the Beresford management team is fully committed to fixing the problem they have created. It would be so reassuring if one of the directors of the company would act as my personal guide to each of the three venues. In person. Don’t you agree, Sean? Now, where shall I meet you?’