Chapter Nineteen
Darcy
Darcy fled from the elevator, through the corridors, past the stunning floral arrangements in the foyer, out through the revolving door of The Plaza and into the December chill, which she felt fully now Myles wasn’t by her side. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She kept walking, past a street vendor, past other people laughing and jovial as they enjoyed their night out. She gave a dollar to a homeless man on a step in a store doorway, she kept her head down as she walked on, and only slowed when she’d gone five blocks and the cold had sobered her up and calmed her down.
She stepped off the sidewalk and flagged down a taxi. The snow had stopped, the magical atmosphere was gone, and she climbed into the warmth, gave her destination and sat back to watch the city lights pass by in a blur. She’d been right not to want to get involved, right to stay away from a relationship that only introduced complications, right to make her career her entire focus.
The taxi wound its way through Manhattan and over to Greenwich Village, where the streets quietened at least a little. She paid the driver, stepped out and trudged up the steps to the entrance of the brownstone, her workplace, her home for now, the place she’d thought could be the next step to building her reputation in the industry.
Was she overreacting to what had happened?
She unlocked the front door and stepped inside to familiarity. The fire in the grate was almost out and she checked the damper was closed before ensuring the computer was off too. She looked at the clock. It was almost eleven. She texted Rupert a thank-you message for taking over this evening. She wouldn’t need him to do it again. From now on, she’d be here, focused, the solid, reliable Darcy who was happy to look after everyone else’s needs. It was easier than looking after her own.
‘Am I interrupting?’ It was Ian. He’d come downstairs so quietly he took Darcy by surprise. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was wondering if I could grab a nightcap. I know it’s late.’
Darcy was back in business mode. Despite the dress and heels, at least she still had the bolero jacket on so it made her feel more professional.
‘You look beautiful,’ he told her and it almost finished her off because it reminded her of what tonight had started out as. It just hadn’t finished that way.
‘Thank you, it’s very kind of you to say so.’
He looked around him. ‘Where’s Myles? You didn’t leave him there did you?’ He laughed but soon realised he’d pretty much hit the nail right on the head.
Darcy confirmed it was a bourbon he wanted, went around to the other side of the bar area and made up the drink. When she caught sight of her reflection in the splashback behind the bottles, she longed to take the earrings out, the reminder of the man she’d hoped would be the start of something different. She should’ve known he was too good to be true. All polished and shiny like a piece of jewellery, he wasn’t quite the same underneath.
‘Myles is talking business,’ she replied simply. ‘I’ve left him to it.’
Her cell phone buzzed and after she’d handed Ian his drink she checked her messages. Sure enough, as she suspected, it was Isabella, desperate to know how the date had gone tonight.
Darcy texted back: ‘There won’t be a second date, put it that way.’
Isabella wanted to know everything but Darcy replied that she was busy working with guests right now so she’d talk to her tomorrow. Isabella knew the deal. She knew her friend’s job wasn’t one she clocked on to at nine and off again at five. Darcy had a suspicion that even if Ian wasn’t here right now, she would’ve said she was busy anyway.
‘What did he do?’ Ian asked when Darcy took out a broom to sweep the floor, an endless task at the Inn.
‘He didn’t do anything.’ She refused to be drawn in to the conversation. In a few short days it would be Christmas Eve, her favourite day of the season. Or at least it usually was, but her enthusiasm this time round waned. She blamed Myles for that too.
‘What did he do?’ His voice softer, Ian repeated the question.
Shaking her head, she relented and told him all about the email, the Cinderella reference, Myles’s anger at the Christmas tree. And it felt better than expected to offload it all on someone else.
‘I must admit I was surprised to see it in his apartment,’ said Ian. And he hesitated before he added, ‘Christmas is a hard time for Myles.’
‘It’s no excuse.’
‘It’s not.’ He shook his head, smiling. ‘I told my niece only the other day, for goodness’ sake, don’t write personal things down. Don’t text someone saying so-and-so is annoying you, don’t email it or post it on social media. It’ll only come back to bite you in the ass!’
His summation made Darcy laugh. ‘Well yes, quite right. This one has bitten Myles very hard on the ass!’
‘You know, Myles doesn’t take dating women lightly.’
Darcy looked at him, trying to judge whether the comment was made flippantly or whether he was attempting to give her an insight into his son’s character.
‘He wouldn’t date simply because he didn’t have anyone else to take to this party. He would’ve asked you because he wanted to get to know you better. Myles rarely gets involved with anyone, so it would surprise me if he was anything less than one hundred per cent genuine where you’re concerned.’
His words were just what a girl wanted to hear. But she’d seen too much collateral damage from relationships and she’d been hurt before by someone’s dishonesty and disrespect. She had no intention of letting it happen again.
‘I think we’re just too different,’ she concluded, leaving Ian and moving over to wipe down the bar counter, refill the pot of straws, clean down the board that had been used to slice a lemon earlier.
Her cell phone pinged again and when she saw Myles’s name at the top she tapped on the message. It said he was on his way back to the Inn.
‘That him?’ Ian didn’t miss much.
‘Can I get you another?’ She noted his empty glass.
‘I’ll make myself scarce. I think you two need to talk.’
Darcy took his glass, ready to deposit in the kitchen. ‘I think we’re done talking. I shouldn’t have got involved with a guest in the first place. It wasn’t professional, it was a mistake. Goodnight, Mr Cunningham.’
And with that she took the glass out to the kitchen and went up to her own apartment. She’d wait until all was quiet once again and she’d check the front door as she always did, ensure the Inn was ready to leave at peace for the night. But other than that, she just wanted to go to bed and forget that tonight had ever happened.