Which could mean only one thing… Laura marched determinedly over to the reception desk, her eyes, with their different colours, sparkling angrily. ‘Could you call Mr O’Reilly’s suite, please, and tell him that Laura is waiting for him downstairs?’ ‘Certainly, madam.’ The receptionist smiled at her before doing exactly that, putting her hand over the receiver after a minute or so’s conversation with Liam. ‘Mr O’Reilly would like you to join him in his suite on the third floor—’ ‘Could you tell Mr O’Reilly that I am waiting for him downstairs in Reception—with or without the champagne!’ Laura was so angry her voice shook slightly, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. How dared he? How dared he assume she would go up to his suite for the agreed drink? Exactly who did he think he was? More to the point, what did he think she was? The receptionist related the message, ending the call a few seconds later before smiling at Laura with vacuous politeness.
