Page 8 of Manhattan Kiss

I don’t fall over, but I glance down and see coffee all over my white shirt.

I’m wearing someone’s morning pick-me-up.

Suddenly, I’m aware of a person standing over me. The same person who rammed into me.

I look up, waiting for the barrage of apologies I’m about to receive.

Instead, a very tall man in a dark suit blocks out the sun. “You need to look where you’re going,” he growls.

I don’t know if it’s his piercing blue eyes, his British accent, or the fact he’s so rude that shocks me most.

I scowl, but I don’t reply. I’m too taken aback that anyone could be so obnoxious…and have such blue, blue eyes. He’s like a cat. Or a character in the romantasy novel I’m currently reading. His hair is glossy black and his jaw razor sharp, and even though he looks like he wants to kill me, I can’t help but wondering how any man got so good-looking.

My distraction at the handsome man in front of me is quickly replaced with panic.

My shirt is covered in coffee.

“What?” I ask, fumbling for my phone to check the time. Can I go home and try and rinse out this coffee and still make it on time?

It’s six minutes to nine. There’s no way I can get there and back. I’ve been splatted against the hotel wall. I’m ten steps away from the staff entrance. And anyway, I don’t even have a spare shirt when I get home. I’m due to pick up the rest of my uniform at the hotel today.

Shit, shit, shit.

How could this have happened?

When I look back up, the stranger is gone.

They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression. I hope that doesn’t turn out to be true in my case. I don’t want Avril and Poppy to think they made a mistake in hiring me and decide to terminate my employment. I can’t go back to Chilternshire with my tail between my legs after three days.

I pull some tissues out of my bag and try to mop up the worst of the coffee spill. I’m lucky not to have been burned. My shirt is soaked right through.

Is this a sign? Are the gods trying to keep me away from the hotel? Is the universe telling me I should never have set foot in New York?

I look up to the sky and try to take a steadying breath. On my third attempt, I actually feel a little calmer.

The universe is going to have to fuck right off because I’m here for three months—unless I get fired for looking like I crawled through a ditch to get to work.

At least my black jacket escaped relatively unscathed. Just a few drops caught the lapel, and I easily dab it dry.

I blow out a sigh and button up my jacket. When it’s closed, the stain doesn’t show. I can just feel the dampness against my skin. But I’ll have to put up with it until I can arrange to change.

This is fine, I tell myself. It could have been worse. Maybe this coffee spill was sent from the heavens to distract me from my nerves. Yes, that’s the explanation I’m going to go with.

I pull my shoulders back and head to the staff entrance. Inside, there’s a woman dressed in navy trousers and a white shirt, who’s clearly been waiting for me.

“I’m Rhonda. I take it you’re Aurora?”

I smile and hold out my hand. “Yes, very nice to meet you.”

She lets out a half chuckle and takes my hand. “You’re British. Avril said you were. I’m going to take you to see her and Poppy.”

Without waiting for a response from me, she turns and walks briskly down a long dark corridor.

“Laundry’s down there.” She points as we pass an opening to another corridor. “And so is the staff room.”

I’m terrible at directions and finding my way about. Honestly, it took me years to understand how The Rookery was laid out. I’ve brought a notebook with me, and when my shift is over, I’m planning to spend ten minutes drawing myself a map of the inside of the hotel. I figure if I do ten minutes every day, by the end of the week, I should have something I can use. It all depends how complicated the layout is.

“Are we in the basement?” I ask, as I have to run a couple of paces to keep up with Rhonda.