of directions, one of them being the way she was reacting to this man’s touch. How inappropriate was that? Somehow she managed to focus.
‘I work on the staff here,’ she managed. ‘I signed a confidentiality agreement.’
‘And you’ll keep it? The media will pay for a story like this. If they make you an offer... I’ll meet it.’
‘I said I signed a confidentiality agreement,’ she retorted, flushing. ‘You think I’d break it for money?’
‘I have no idea what you’d do.’ He lifted a corner of the towel so he could see her name, embroidered discreetly under the hotel logo on her uniform. ‘Sunny Raye. What sort of name is that?’
‘Mine.’ She was starting to feel a bit glowery.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be personal.’
‘That’s good. There’s no need to be personal. I’m a cleaner and I need to go back to work.’
The bottle was finished and laid aside. Phoebe’s eyes were closed. Her tiny rosebud mouth was still making involuntary twitches, as if the bottle was still there.
She was beautiful, Sunny thought, but then she’d always been a sucker for a baby. A sucker for being needed?
Of course. Wasn’t that the story of her whole life?
‘I’ll pop her back in the pram,’ she suggested. She wanted to rise but the hand was still on her shoulder. The grip tightened.
Uh-oh. It was pressure.
‘You can’t leave.’
Watch me, she thought. And then she thought of the discreet little disc attached at her waist, like an extra button on her uniform. A security disc.
Even at exclusive hotels—and this was surely the most exclusive in Sydney—incidents happened. Guests drank too much. They were away from home. The normal rules often didn’t seem to apply.
Female staff were taught how to back away fast from situations, but as a last resort there was the disc. Three pushes and she’d have security guards here in moments.
Protecting her from this man?
He wasn’t harassing her for himself, though. He needed her for his baby.
Right, and she had chocolate cherry liqueurs to find and sleep to have and gifts to wrap before she returned here for her Christmas Eve shift tomorrow. Harden up, girl, she told herself. Even use the security disc if you must. You’re a cleaner. This is not your business.
She rose, despite the pressure of his hand. He released her—with real reluctance, it seemed—and stood back.
‘She’s fed and changed, sir,’ she told him, facing him head-on. ‘I’ll pop her back into the pram if you like, but I need to go. Though...’ A sudden pang of conscience made her add, ‘I’ll clean the bathroom before I go.’
‘You just cleaned the bathroom.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said woodenly and he frowned and opened the bathroom door. And recoiled.
‘My giddy aunt...’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said primly. She used his distraction to slip her sleeping bundle back in the pram. The pram was a mess too, filled with forms, baby clutter, a stupid elephant mobile strung across the top. But this wasn’t her concern either. She pulled out the loose stuff and laid it on the floor. Already his swish suite was starting to look as if a bomb had hit it, but this guy should have a few hours’ peace to sort things out. ‘Would you like me to clean?’ she asked primly.
‘Of course.’
‘There will be a charge,’ she said. ‘The stain on the tiles was our responsibility, but extra cleaning for normal hotel use incurs an out-of-hours service fee.’
‘You’re charging me for cleaning?’ He sounded incredulous.
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ She glanced at her watch. She’d been here for almost an hour and it’d go on the hotel’s time sheets. If she wanted to be paid for overtime, she had to report it. And he had to pay.
‘That’s unreasonable.’
She was overtired. She was at the end of a stupidly long shift. She’d had enough.
‘Unreasonable for me to be paid for scrubbing? Really?’ So much for being a shadow. She let her glower have full sway. ‘I know, I’m just a money-hungry grub.’ Grub was the truth. She felt filthy. ‘But your decision shouldn’t be my business. I’ve done what I was sent to do, and more. Ring Housekeeping if you want the bathroom cleaned, and discuss charges with them. My shift is finished.’ And she took a deep breath and strode to the door, prepared to depart with as much dignity as she could muster.
She swung the door open, and Brent was there.
Brent. Assistant hotel manager. Guy on the way up. Obviously here to appease.
He looked at her and grub didn’t begin to describe the look he gave her. Okay, she was filthy. She’d been down on her knees scrubbing. She’d just tended one distressed baby. The wet splotches on her uniform—you try bathing a baby in a bathroom sink—could have been anything. Maybe they were ‘anything’. Maybe she smelled as well. Who knew? Who cared? She was over this.
‘What seems to be the problem, Miss Raye?’ Brent said, silky-smooth, and she thought, I am in so much trouble. Cleaning staff should never, ever be noticed, much less by the assistant manager of the entire hotel.
‘Sir, I was sent up to clean a stain in Mr Grayland’s bathroom.’ She hauled back on her temper, doing her best to make herself sound subservient. Yes, she’d let her anger hold sway for a moment but she needed this job. She needed to retreat fast. ‘I’ve done my best with the tiles but the stain needs Maintenance. I was about to report it, but before I could leave Mr Grayland requested urgent assistance with his baby.’
‘It’s not my baby!’
She ignored the savage growl from behind. She was too busy salvaging her career to care.
‘I’ll talk to you later,’ Brent told her, in the tone used the world over to convey menace to underlings when on the surface all had to be rosy. ‘Wait for me before you leave.’ And he turned to Max and put on his full managerial, ingratiating smile. ‘Now, sir...’
She was free. She’d have to wait in the change room for Brent to tell her what he thought of her but at least she was out of here. She grabbed her trusty mop and bucket and headed for the fire stairs. No elevator was going to be fast enough.
‘Stop her.’
‘Sir?’ Brent sounded confused. Sunny had almost reached the stairs. Almost gone...
‘If you’re here to tell me there’s no babysitting service available, I want this woman to stay,’ Max snapped. ‘And I’m prepared to pay whatever it takes to keep her.’
Brent hadn’t got where he was by being thick. Or slow. He’d got it in one.
