was Damien?
Perhaps she should have given him her mobile phone number, but she’d been playing it cautious until she met him. Now she was tempted to ring Mel and Victoria just for a little friendly reassurance, but she resisted the urge.
She didn’t want to look at her watch. Oh, well, perhaps a quick glimpse. Oh, God. Damien was twenty-five minutes late.
Maybe this was a guy thing. Damien was establishing the upper hand, making her wait. And wait…
Around her, people’s meals were arriving. The food was served on enormous white plates. Someone was having linguini drizzled with a pale green sauce and it looked divine.
Roberto came back and asked her if there was anything else he could bring her. Some bruschetta, perhaps? She shook her head, but she realised that other diners were casting curious glances her way. Again.
Oh, Damien. I know you probably can’t help it, but this is so disappointing.
How much longer would she have to wait?
When the waiter left, Annie fingered her cute new clutch handbag and reconsidered using her phone to have a quick chat with the girls. But as she flicked the clasp she saw the man who guarded the front of the restaurant walking towards her. What now? Was he going to ask her to order some food or leave?
‘Miss McKinnon?’ he said as he approached.
‘Yes?’ Her stomach lurched. How did he know her name?
‘We’ve received a phone call—a message from Mr Grainger.’
‘Yes?’ she said again and her heart jolted painfully.
‘He’s had to cancel this evening’s engagement.’
Cancel?
Whoosh! Slam! Annie felt as if she’d been tipped through the window and was falling to the pavement twenty-seven floors below.
Damien couldn’t cancel. Not like this. ‘No,’ she squeaked. ‘That’s not possible. There must be a mistake.’
The man in black’s 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
