The Big Dreams Beach Hotel. Michele Gorman

      ‘Yes, but we can’t be together at the party,’ I pointed out. As far as everyone except Digby knew, Chuck was the hotel’s major client and I was his event planner. It was strictly forbidden to bring one’s romantic life into work. If Andi even suspected there was anything between us, she could scupper my Paris assignment. And she definitely would too. That woman had icicles in her heart. No, colder than icicles. Dry ice.

      ‘We’ll get together,’ he promised, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

      ‘Oh, really.’

      ‘Trust me, I’ve got a plan for us.’

      I did trust him.

      Was I in love with Chuck already? I think so. At least I was in the snow-blind kind of mad lusty love that can come at the start of a relationship. It may not have had the depth of love that develops over time, but it had every bit of the intensity.

      ‘He does clean up well,’ Digby said, when he saw Chuck coming through the hotel lobby on the night of the party.

      ‘You look beautiful,’ Chuck whispered so that only I heard him. Andi had let me switch my usual grey uniform for a plain black dress, but I’d wanted to wear a frock to make Chuck think I looked like a princess. Or at least one of the minor royals.

      ‘Where do you keep your phone in that dress?’ he teased.

      I held up my silver and diamante handbag. ‘It’s surprisingly practical. There’s an entire toolbox in here. And the kitchen sink.’

      ‘It’s handy to have the toolbox in case the sink springs a leak.’

      ‘I didn’t see any problems upstairs, but you might want to go up and check before your bosses get here. I’ll be up at seven.’

      The caterers were going full tilt in the kitchen. The bar staff were already in position and the sound system and lights had all gone up around me the night before while I hurled tinsel all over the Christmas trees. I know it wasn’t my party per se, but I couldn’t wait for Chuck to see it.

      The room sparkled with royal blue and silver baubles and ribbons nestled in pine branch garlands wrapped in fairy lights. All the art deco mirrors magnified the effect. Little round tables with fringe-draped lamps, like they had in Prohibition-era speakeasies, dotted the edges of the parquet dance floor. Twelve-foot-tall live Christmas trees, trimmed in blue and silver, of course, stood in three of the corners of the huge room – the fourth was taken up by the DJ. She didn’t have to spin her records till later, though, because against the back wall was a sixteen-piece old-timey jazz orchestra.

      I’d love to be dancing with Chuck to their music. In my mind I was Ginger Rogers. In reality I was probably more Gangnam Style.

      But I needed to push those thoughts aside to focus on my job, because I was a professional. From a purely careerist point of view, the party would be something else to put on my CV… as long as it went well. If it didn’t, then the last month of work would have been for nothing.

      Well, not exactly for nothing, I thought, as I watched Chuck’s face when he came into the room.

      He laughed and shook his head as he took it all in. I’d emailed him about the decorations, but they were so much more lush and blingy in real life. Walking into the room felt like being wrapped in a big sparkly Christmas hug.

      Chuck beamed and nodded in my direction, but he couldn’t come over. His bosses were on either side of him. Then the whole company seemed to enter the room at once –sharply tuxedoed powerful-looking men and young elegant women. Suddenly he wasn’t my Chuck anymore. He was swallowed up by his Wall Street colleagues.

      These were the women Chuck worked with every day! He’d mentioned that the firm hired from the top schools where everyone was super-clever. I imagined a bunch of speccy number-crunchers in corduroys and cardigans. These girls looked like they’d just strutted off the Victoria’s Secret catwalk.

      I hated every bit of them, from the tops of their artfully messy hairdos to the tips of their flawlessly painted toes and all the cleavage in the middle. With so many micro dresses and plunging necklines in the room, my little black dress seemed too prim. And as much as I told myself I was there to do my job, the only thing I wanted was for Chuck to notice me.

      But I couldn’t even see him, let alone be extra-gorgeous so that he’d come over. He was swept off into the melee while I had to run around – well, hobble around, given the four-inch heels that I was definitely not used to – making sure there were enough vol-au-vents and ice cubes for our guests.

      By the time I caught sight of him again, the orchestra was in full flow. The champagne was too. One of Chuck’s bosses was popping open bottles with a sword. Don’t ask me why he was carrying a sword. Judging by the fact that no one seemed alarmed, it must have been his usual party trick.

      Chuck was busy being chummy with a trio of Amazonian underwear models, allegedly his colleagues. I couldn’t exactly barge in on them. For one thing, from all the way down here they’d wonder where the noise was coming from. Besides, what would I say? Sorry to interrupt, but I’d like you to stop being so flirty and beautiful around my … around my what? What was Chuck? Not my boyfriend. Or my lover. He was just my crush.

      I had to stop being stupid and leave the man to enjoy his Christmas party in peace.

      Summoning every ounce of British resolve, for the rest of the night I was as tough as the façade on Buckingham Palace. While everyone else got merry, I did my job. That meant being efficient, solving problems left, right and centre, and definitely not looking for Chuck.

      He slipped up behind me near the end of the night, just as the first notes of ‘Moon River’ floated over us. ‘It was my request. Come with me,’ he said, turning towards the door.

      My façade crumbled. Of course I followed him, into the storeroom across the hall. Even with the door closed we could faintly hear the music.

      ‘May I have this dance?’ He held out his hands.

      ‘What, in here?’

      ‘You’ll have to step over the slide projector when I dip you. Come on. I told you we’d be together.’

      It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but then, what else did I expect when we couldn’t let anyone see us?

      I stepped into his arms and it felt wonderful. Who cared if we weren’t in the ballroom? In front of so many people, we couldn’t have snogged. Or rubbed up against each other like outtakes from Dirty Dancing. And his hand definitely couldn’t have got under my skirt. ‘Are you clocked off for the night now?’ he murmured between kisses.

      ‘Uh-huh. What have you got in mind?’ I was glad he was holding me up. Up against the wall, actually. I was probably too dizzy to stand anyway.

      His next words made me swoon. Swoon, I tell you. ‘God, I want you, Rosie. Not here, it’s too tacky and you don’t deserve anything tacky. I just don’t know if I’d last till we got to my place.’

      The way I was feeling, I wasn’t sure that I would either. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ I said. ‘Stay here. I’ll ring your mobile in a few minutes, okay?’

      A wicked smile bloomed across his face. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘You’ll see.’

      Straightening my dress, I hurried to the lift to get back down to the lobby.

      ‘How’s it going?’ Digby asked when he saw me. ‘Good, I’m guessing. Everyone who’s come down so far is wasted out of their minds. Hey, what are you doing?’

      ‘Nothing.’ I pulled up the room reservations on one of the computers.

      ‘No, seriously, what are you doing?’ He glanced over his shoulder, though we both knew Andi had been gone for hours.

      I blocked one of the singles. Mustn’t be greedy.

      ‘Rosie.’