It was finished. It was finally finished. Grime and sweat had ruined her pink shirt and black skirt. She’d swapped back from the stilettos to her lower shoes and spotted a hole in her black tights. Her hair had ended up tied in a ponytail on top of her head as it kept getting in the way. She must look a complete state.

      Emma gave a sigh as she looked up at the giant tree. ‘If you’d told me this was what you had in mind when you asked for a hand…’

      Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘As if you would have said no.’

      Ashleigh was leaning against the nearby wall with her arms folded. ‘I think it looks spectacular. It was worth it.’

      Grace couldn’t stop pacing. ‘Do you think so? What about those lights over there? Should I move them?’ She pressed her hands to her chest. ‘What about the colour scheme? Is it too much?’

      The girls exchanged amused glances.

      But Grace couldn’t stop with her pacing. ‘I’ll need to go and get him. I’ll need to make sure that he’s happy with it.’

      Sophie walked over and put her arm around Grace’s shoulder. ‘Well, whoever he is, he’d be crazy if he didn’t like this.’

      Ashleigh stepped forward. ‘I hope you’ve been paid for this, Grace. I’d hate to think this guy was taking advantage of your good nature.’

      Emma folded her arms across her chest. ‘Who is he, exactly? You haven’t exactly been forthcoming.’

      Grace hesitated. She wasn’t even quite sure what to say. She tried to slip the question by giving Emma a big hug. ‘Thank you for coming today. You’re not even a Maid in Chelsea any more. Should I start calling you by your fancy title?’

      But Emma was far too smart for that. She returned the hug then pulled back. ‘I’m going to ask Jack if he knows anything about Finlay Armstrong.’

      Grace shook her head—probably much too quickly. ‘I don’t think he will.’ She turned and looked at the finished decorations again. ‘I can’t thank you girls enough. I owe you all, big time.’

      ‘I think that’s our cue to leave, girls,’ said Ashleigh. ‘Come on. Let’s get cleaned up. I’m buying the drinks.’

      They all gave Grace a hug and left by the main entrance of the hotel while she went to retrieve her jacket from behind the reception desk.

      Should she wait? The hotel reception was quiet. She wasn’t even sure of the time. She’d asked the staff to dim the main lights a little to give the full effect of the tree.

      Her stomach gave a flip-flop. He’d asked her to do this. He’d asked her. Surely he’d want to see that she was finished?

      She walked slowly towards his office door, listening out to see if he was still on his conference call. She couldn’t hear anything and the office door was ajar.

      She gave the door a gentle knock, sticking her head around it. Finlay was staring out of the window into the dark night. His office had a view of the surrounding area—not like the penthouse, of course, but still enough to give a taste and feel of the wealth of Chelsea. It was a wonder they didn’t ask for credentials before they let you off the Tube around here.

      He looked lost in his thoughts. She lifted her hand and knocked on the door again—this time a little more loudly.

      He jumped. ‘Grace.’ He stood up; his actions seemed automatic. He started to walk around the desk and then stopped, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

      ‘What on earth have you done with your hair?’

      She’d forgotten. She’d forgotten her hair currently resembled someone from a nineteen-eighties pop video.

      She glanced down at her shirt too. Random streaks of dirt.

      It wasn’t really the professional look she’d been aiming for.

      She gave her head a shake. ‘I’ve been busy. This stuff doesn’t put itself up.’ Nerves and excitement were starting to get the better of her. ‘Come and see. Come and see that you like it.’

      He raised his eyebrows, the hint of a smile still present. ‘You’re already telling me I like it?’

      ‘Only if you have exceptionally good taste,’ she shot back.

      He had no idea how much her stomach was in knots. This was the guy who hated Christmas. This was the guy that had pulled down a single strand of lights she’d put in his room.

      This was a guy that was trying to take steps away from his past Christmas memories. If she’d got this wrong…

      She stepped in front of him. ‘It might be better if you close your eyes.’

      ‘Nervous, Grace?’ He was teasing her.

      ‘Not at all.’ She made a grab for his hand. ‘Close your eyes and I’ll take you outside. I’ll tell you when you can open them.’

      For a moment she thought he might refuse. She wasn’t quite sure how long she could keep up the bravado. She stuck her hands on her hips. ‘Hurry up, or I’ll make you pay me overtime.’

      He laughed, shook his head, took her hand and closed his eyes.

      His hand in hers.

      She hadn’t really contemplated this. She hadn’t really planned it. His warm hand encompassed hers. Was her hand even clean?

      The heat from his hand seemed to travel up her arm. It seemed to spread across her chest. She shouldn’t be feeling this. She shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like…

      ‘Are we going?’

      ‘Of course.’ She gave his hand a tug and started walking—too quickly to begin with, then slowing her steps to a more suitable pace.

      Magda at Reception raised her eyebrows as they walked past. Grace couldn’t think straight for one second. This was it. This was where he would get the full effect. The effect that every customer walking into The Armstrong would get from now on.

      She spun him around to position him exactly where she wanted him. Far enough away from the traditional revolving door at the entrance way to stop him getting a draught, but still with enough distance between him and the display.

      She tapped his shoulder. ‘Okay. Open your eyes.’