CHAPTER NINETEEN
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EMMA
We didn’t leave the hotel through the normal entrance. We were escorted out of the building through what looked like the staff quarters. Ralph and Hugh stood close to us. Before we reached the parking lot, a flash of light blinded me. I looked up and saw a middle-aged man with a camera photographing us like a tourist. I heard James swear and a member of his staff ran towards the paparazzo. I didn’t see what happened after, as we were made to get inside the car.
“How did they know we were here?” James growled, his fists clenched in anger.
“To be honest, everyone knows that you’re in Scotland. It was only a matter of minutes before they knew which hotel. We were promised security by the hotel manager, but we’ll find another hotel soon,” Hugh said.
I’d never heard Hugh’s voice before. It was a deep baritone, like an opera singer.
Ralph was on his mobile, talking rapidly.
With my heart still pumping, I blurted, “You could stay with me. I’m sure Amanda wouldn’t mind. It’s not five stars, but it’s clean.”
I regretted it as soon as it slipped out of my mouth. Why would he stay in our small two-bedroom flat, which was smaller than the suite we had just left at the Hilton? The whole idea seemed ridiculous.
James stared, his face impassive, his eyes burning into mine as if searching for the punchline.
“Are you serious?” he ventured.
I nodded, even more embarrassed.
James averted his gaze to the window, brushing back his messy hair. His face was still a mask of worried thoughts.
Yep, I’d said the wrong thing. Stupid, stupid Emma. When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut?
He finally looked at me and said, “It’s not a bad idea.”
“There’s no need to make such a drastic decision. We will find another place, and we’ll make sure of the security beforehand,” Ralph piped in.
“We’ve been trying to find a place secure enough so my private life doesn’t get violated, and every day it does. It doesn’t matter how much the managers promise. It always happens. There’s always a slimy photographer lurking in the shadows waiting for their prey, and they don’t hesitate to pounce.”
“But James—” Hugh began.
“No, it is only for one night. So we’ll have to make them believe that we’re in a hotel, and in reality I’ll be staying with Amanda and Emma. They’ll never expect it.”
His eyes drifted to me, piercing blue complementing his winning smile.
“Now, let’s go shopping,” he suggested.
There was me, the fearsome checkout girl, saving the prince in distress from the evil paparazzi.
The rest of the drive was peacefully quiet. All of us marvelled at the old buildings and cobblestones of the Royal Mile. Tourists scattered, floating through the crowded streets, buried under layers of clothing that guarded them from the frosty wind. I expected to arrive at a shopping centre, but we got further and further from the retail area. Eventually we arrived at an old Victorian building.
Ralph opened the door on my side while Hugh stood on James’s side.
“Where are we?” I asked, confused, looking for any advertising or business logo. I couldn’t find anything.
“This is like a secret estate agency. Helen, my assistant, arranged a meeting with a salesman so we could have a look at a few properties. I hope you don’t mind,” James said.
“I thought we were going shopping?”
As soon as I asked, I regretted it. For someone like James, shopping didn’t mean buying clothes, which he probably didn’t even try to do. It meant houses. Cringing at how stupid I’d sounded, I smiled.
“A secret estate agency? Sounds like the black market for houses. Should we not meet this person in a dark alley and ask them if they can sort us out with, you know… a two bedroom?”
The sentence sounded funnier in my head.
“There’s nothing illegal about it. It’s more like a secret club, exclusive,” James offered.
I thought about it, but it still didn’t make sense.
“A secret club for homes? It sounds—”
“Awesome?” James interrupted.
“I was thinking more like stupid. It’s not like you’re James Bond.”
He nodded, his hands tucked inside his jeans pockets. “Trust me. That’s my mission in life,” he said.
“To become James Bond or get the part?”
“Both,” he replied, not looking in my direction while he strode towards the front door of what he called the secret house club.
The place gave the impression of a haunted mansion as the door swung open as we went in. To be honest, I’d expected the place to feel eerie, dark, and old. But it was the complete opposite. The walls were painted in light shades of blues and greens. The furniture, even though it looked old fashioned, was restored. Each piece was unique. Vases of freshly cut flowers decorated the rooms. Pictures of houses, or palaces that you could only imagine, hung from the walls.
An immaculately dressed woman in her midforties came into the room. She extended her perfectly manicured hand and smiled at James, but not before her eyes lingered over his body.
“You must be Mr McNair. I’m Nancy Spencer. I have to be honest, I was expecting your assistant only. I didn’t think you would be here to see the properties.”
She giggled, holding her hand against her chest.
I quickly glanced at James to see if he noticed her flirting.
“No, my assistant is in London, so it will be me seeing the houses. I hope that isn’t an inconvenience?”
“No, not at all,” she said, and licked her lips. “Please come to my office. We have three exclusive properties I have set aside. I’m positive you will like them.”
Once we arrived in her office—it was as big as Amanda’s living room—she pointed at the two chairs in front of her desk and offered us a drink. Three folders lay on top of the desk. Within seconds of James flicking through the pages, he’d decided.
He handed me the folder, and as soon as I opened it, I choked. The place was exquisite.
“Should we go and see it?” he asked.
Seeing houses seemed like the most boring idea in the world, but if I could spend only a few seconds with him shovelling cow shit, I would. This was a small price to pay. I smiled and nodded.
“I promise we’ll do something you want to do once we’re done,” he said.
I suggested, “I’m working tomorrow, so… how about something normal? A takeaway and DVD?”
I cringed at the idea, but this whole situation was a bit overwhelming and I needed to come back to earth. I mean, I knew he had money—he was famous after all—but I wasn’t, and the sooner I got back to my routine, the better.
“Sounds like a plan,” he whispered in my ear as we walked to the car.