Page 11 of The Making of Jonty Bloom
“Have you done something different with your…”Oh God.He didn’t have any hair. “…chef’s jacket? Buttoned it a different way?” Was that even possible?
“What do you want?”
“Extra guest for breakfast.”
“Breakfast is finished.”
“I know, but the guy’s booked into one of the top floor suites. He’ll probably only want an egg or something. You can do wonders with an egg. He’s in a horrible temper. Please.”
Wayne scowled and clattered a pan so hard on the range that Jonty, Xander and Martin all jumped. Martin also let out a muffledeep. Jonty suspected he was not going to stay in the job for long.
“He might be a hotel inspector,” Jonty whispered.
Wayne rolled his eyes. “If I believed you, this would be the fifth since I started work here.”
“But he might be. He’s grumpy. Picking fault all the time. He looks like a hotel inspector. Suit. Tie. Bit of silver in his dark hair. Long eyelashes. Amazing eyes. Sharp—” Much too much. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
Wayne glared.
“Is that a yes? Great. Thanks.” Jonty fled to the dining room before Wayne could disagree.
Gregor had shown the guy to a table by the window. Jonty shot Gregor a smile, only for Gregor to beckon him as he was about to return to the front desk.
“You tell Wayne what he want.” Gregor showed him his pad. “I not do it,” he whispered. “He sharpen knives yesterday. You better at dodging.”
Jonty sagged. “Fine.”
Gregor ripped the top sheet off the pad and handed it to Jonty who read the order and winced. Back in the kitchen, Jonty pushed the dangerous piece of paper across the stainless-steel counter.
“Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon, please,” he said and waited for Wayne to explode.
“Fucking hell. That’s not just an egg.”
“Plus hash browns and fried mushrooms.”
Wayne grabbed the fridge door and yanked it open so hard the shelves rattled.
“And grilled tomatoes and toast. Brown and white.”
Wayne started to swear.
“And three rashers of crisp smoky bacon. Crisp enough to break in half, please.”
“Is that it?”
“And black coffee. Yes. Thanks. Sorry. You’re a star. Really.” Jonty backed out of the kitchen.
Mr Nice Arse was helping himself to cereal from the side table. He’d taken off his suit jacket and Jonty had a perfect view of a trim waist, narrow hips and tight bum. Even if hewasgay, and the jury of one was still deliberating, he was out of Jonty’s league, even for a quick fuck or blowjob in a toilet. Probably. Not that Jonty had ever done that.
Mr Trouble turned and caught Jonty staring at him.Fuck it.Jonty walked back to reception with his cheeks burning.
Sally-Anne sat behind the desk tapping at the keyboard, making a clattering sound because her nails were so long.
“Have the Madisons checked out?” he asked.
“No.”
He sighed. It was probably too much to ask for that to have happened in the short time since he’d left them.
