The Christmas Project: A laugh-out-loud romance from bestselling author Maxine Morrey
The Christmas Project: A laugh-out-loud romance from bestselling author Maxine Morrey
Maxine Morrey
‘One of my favourite Christmas reads. Maxine Morrey writes the most gorgeous heroes. – Jules Wake, author of Covent Garden in the Snow’A delightful wintery tale full to the brim with drama, passion and heartwarming cheer.’ – Gem~BeeCould happy ever after be waiting underneath the mistletoe?Professional organiser Kate has had her share of demanding clients. But Michael O’Farrell is the most obnoxious man she’s ever met. He may be gorgeous, but if he wasn’t her best friend’s brother Kate wouldn’t have waited on his doorstep for five minutes, let alone an hour!But, underneath Michael’s icy exterior, Kate’s surprised to find a man who needs to declutter his heart as well as his home. And while she’s happier fixing messy desks than broken hearts, Kate can’t help making Michael her secret Christmas project.After all, at Christmas, anything can happen!What reviewers are saying about Maxine Morrey‘Absolutely adorable, made me cry, made me laugh and made me want a gorgeous green eyed Irishman!’ – Lori (Goodreads)‘A sweet and funny Christmas tale’ – For the Love of Books‘Enjoyable and heart-warming. It's just right for a cosy night in, curled up with a vanilla coffee and candle-light.’ – Jane (Netgalley)‘This book is pack full of giggles and tears. A fantastic festive winter warmer.’ – Natasha (Netgalley)
Christmas in the city has never been more magical!
Professional organiser Kate Stone has never – NEVER – been tempted to hit a client over the head with a snow shovel, but Michael O’Farrell is the most obnoxious – and heart-stoppingly gorgeous – man she has ever met. If he weren’t her best friend’s brother, she would not have waited on his doorstep in the freezing cold for five minutes, let alone an hour.
Kate knows, however, that her job isn’t just about tidying up, sometimes she needs to be part therapist too, and Michael clearly needs her help to declutter his heart as well as his home.
But with the festive season just around the corner there isn’t much time to get Michael’s house ready for the O’Farrell family celebrations, but everyone knows that at Christmas anything can happen...
The Christmas Project
Maxine Morrey
HQ
The Christmas Project
© 2016 Maxine Morrey
by HQ, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
ISBN: 9781474057394
Version: 2018-01-24
MAXINE MORREY
has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember and wrote her first (very short) book for school when she was ten. Coming in first, she won a handful of book tokens – best prize ever at the time!
As time went by, she continued to write, but ‘normal’ work often got in the way. Finally, she decided to go for it, and wrote. Really wrote. And after a while she had a bunch of articles, and a non-fiction book to her name.
But her first love is novels, and, in August 2015, Maxine got the call to say that she had won Carina UK’s ‘Write Christmas’ competition, with her romantic comedy, ‘Winter’s Fairytale’
Maxine lives on the south coast of England, and when not wrangling with words, can be found tackling her To Be Read pile, sewing, listening to podcasts, and walking.
Her website is: www.scribblermaxi.co.uk (http://www.scribblermaxi.co.uk)
You can also find her on Twitter @Scribbler_Maxi
On Facebook www.facebook.com/MaxineMorreyAuthor (http://www.facebook.com/MaxineMorreyAuthor)
On Instagram @Scribbler_Maxi
On Pinterest @ScribblerMaxi
Acknowledgements (#u27559d27-b1b9-578b-adff-c37b57b9653b)
I would like to thank the team at Carina UK/HQ, especially my amazing Editor, Victoria Oundjian, without whose incredible support and continued belief in me, this book may never have come to be.
I’d also like to say an enormous thank you to the very wonderful Emma Dellow for her friendship, kindness and support. All of it has meant so very much to me, especially this year, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I value you. Big, big hugs.
Another huge thank you goes to all the absolutely incredible book bloggers whom I met through their support of my Carina debut last November. You are all such fabulous people and your support is valued so much. I was very much in at the deep end last year and you all were so kind and helpful and supportive, and I am incredibly thankful for that. You’re all complete superstars.
And finally, I’d like to thank James – for everything.
Dedication (#u27559d27-b1b9-578b-adff-c37b57b9653b)
To Mum and Dad
Thank you for introducing me to the joy of words and reading from such a young age. Even though I know now how precious little time you had to call your own as you both worked so very hard, library trips and encouragement in my reading was never in short supply. Thank you.
Contents
Cover (#ud82e9055-3459-5e5c-bf0a-33529e686e37)
Blurb (#u04578ed5-93ab-507f-9744-86d9e26f4b0e)
Title Page (#u7f25c9ad-374a-50fc-a9d3-6fd7f72ab4a3)
Copyright (#u65b2f4c9-fc2d-58be-8f9e-76128ba73e78)
Author Bio (#ud1fa69b1-d6ed-553e-9cc2-b8919ce20fee)
Acknowledgements (#u2410c9cf-03ee-559c-b0dc-6ca0f192ae86)
Dedication (#u320cac9b-184b-5e99-aa8f-bdfb3b29aada)
Chapter One (#u5cf1b1c9-7685-541a-8c90-f14bae592d35)
Chapter Two (#u3879789d-ffd3-5acd-937e-8005b4bfbaaa)
Chapter Three (#u02b890a3-0dc6-5295-9024-9c75870c5e69)
Chapter Four (#u69067ad3-5d9c-512f-bd82-2816c4400534)
Chapter Five (#ud7a799c6-691c-5036-8ae4-971c88b5db7f)
Chapter Six (#uf473aef1-aa30-56e0-aa0d-c801d08d307a)
Chapter Seven (#u6ceb4edc-920c-5737-a9b8-05a4518690a5)
Chapter Eight (#u94bfe594-1d01-5915-994a-50e075ca8458)
Chapter Nine (#u200daf26-a0d5-55bf-a63f-1786593b275c)
Chapter Ten (#u5319ba65-e267-5cc4-a746-0b79200f5865)
Chapter Eleven (#u109780d7-4516-55a4-b4be-d9a7281f7cca)
Chapter Twelve (#ue3a0275e-f617-53da-922d-c7d23c786866)
Chapter Thirteen (#u62acefa5-d4d8-53d1-84c7-7ca03203b5c8)
Chapter Fourteen (#u8e6c9bb7-e2d4-57ae-8880-bb94b9c208b1)
Chapter Fifteen (#u9ae4ca4c-45c9-5dc8-96d8-2fb7133b3d1a)
Chapter Sixteen (#u046c7e97-33d2-5c51-98af-0e8db7ae0fe0)
Chapter Seventeen (#ud52e99b2-1b49-56f2-b59d-2aad0b26831f)
Chapter Eighteen (#uc51d4aee-bdaf-5147-b5c1-a7ca6aac7bd4)
Chapter Nineteen (#uef97ce53-7834-5aeb-852d-0477cda2f1fd)
Chapter Twenty (#u21e8daa7-f933-56c0-be53-f32e9c484b4a)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u5e60cf8d-6d23-54af-840b-8f42b88c237c)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#ud464a071-e606-56b7-ab28-4e47ffc28961)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#ub0ad1e84-7263-5fa0-afc0-fe800fa37eb0)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#uf56c5e8e-1b86-5a91-a614-b586f1f35c18)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u06974b52-f5d6-557d-9925-4e9d57d2bd8a)
Excerpt (#u90348eeb-c233-55bc-bcae-77c7d130864b)
Chapter One (#u27559d27-b1b9-578b-adff-c37b57b9653b)
I peered down at my feet and wondered exactly how many toes I’d have left when I finally got home this evening. It was totally possible to get frostbite in North London, right? The snow that had been threatening all afternoon had finally begun to fall about half an hour ago, right around the same time I’d lost all feeling in every single one of my extremities. It had already started settling and the heavy flakes now falling looked set to continue all night. And yet, here I was, huddled under an umbrella that was doing very little for the bottom half of my body, still waiting.
Had I known I was going to be stood outside, freezing my backside off whilst waiting for a client who was, at this point – I checked my watch – exactly fifty-seven minutes late, I would have worn my fur-lined boots rather than the gorgeous four-inch heeled Mary Janes that currently adorned my feet. Still, on the upside, I was at least fully colour-coordinated: My nose now matched my scarlet shoes and lipstick, and my hands and feet were likely a fetching shade of blue to tone perfectly with my tailored navy wool coat. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked the screen again - no new messages or missed calls. I’d give it precisely three more minutes and then I was off.
I gave another glance up to the house. In contrast to many others I’d passed down this avenue, there was no clue here that we were in the midst of the countdown to Christmas. No tree twinkled with fairy lights in the beautiful bay window, no decorations or cards lined the windowsill. Outside, in the tiny bit of garden that was left from making it into a parking space, instead of illuminated reindeer and snowmen, the border was filled with blackened, soggy annuals left over from the summer. The other houses looked warm and welcoming. This one appeared cold and impersonal.
I stamped my feet, trying to kick-start the circulation, all the while hoping not to break off any icicled digits. Next door, a late model 4X4 pulled up and two designer-clad children tumbled out the back doors, laughing as they charged up the path. From the driver’s seat emerged one of the yummy mummies the area was well-known for. I surreptitiously admired her crocheted beanie as she busied herself unloading the car. She wore it with the assured style of Kate Moss, and looked fabulous. I knew from experience the moment I put one on my head it magically transformed into a tea cosy. Bit unfair.
The deep, throaty rumble of a powerful motorbike caught my attention. As I looked up, the cyclops-like headlight flashed across me as it turned into the driveway on which I was standing, coming to a stop almost beside me. With a final throttle blip, the engine fell silent. The rider kicked out its stand and then swung a long leg over to dismount before turning to me. A hand lifted and flicked the visor up. Vivid green eyes looked out as the figure towered about me.
‘Can I help you?’ The tone was deep, Irish accented, and less than friendly.
‘Are you Mr O’Farrell?’
‘That would depend on who’s asking.’
‘Hello Michael,’ Yummy Mummy called, several designer shopping bags looped over each arm. She flashed Motorbike Boy a stunning smile that showed impossibly white, perfectly straight teeth.
‘Evening Tamara.’
It was impossible to tell if he was smiling as he hadn’t yet removed his crash helmet. But I took a wild guess at no, judging by those eyes.
‘Good day?’ she pursued. Her gaze flicked briefly over me before returning to focus on her neighbour.
He gave a non-committal shrug that made his leathers creak. ‘You know how it is.’
She tilted her head and pulled a sympathetic face, oozing empathy and understanding.
Yeah, right, I thought, doubting very much that she had a clue what it was ‘like’, at all.
‘Well, if you ever need anything, you know where I am.’
Mentally, I raised my eyebrows so high they barely connected with my face. Physically I kept my face impassive. I saw the man glance at me, briefly, before he replied. I studied my feet for a moment as I considered the possibility that my ‘impassive’ face may need some work.
‘I do, thanks.’
She gave him another full-wattage smile before moving gracefully up the steps and in through the large black painted front door.
The man turned his attention back to me and tilted his head in question, apparently still awaiting a reply to his enquiry.
‘My name is Kate Stone.’ The name didn’t seem to spark any recognition. ‘You had an appointment with me for six o’clock this evening.’
He lifted his arm and wiggled his wrist a little until a watch face peeked out enough from his sleeve to see the time.
‘It’s gone seven.’
‘Yes. It is.’
‘So why are you still here?’
This is exactly why I hate doing favours for friends. My business was in demand and had a waiting list. Without trying to sound smug, I didn’t need this. Ordinarily there was no way I would have waited so long for a client to show. Add that to the fact that there was no explanation or even attempt at apology for his lateness, and my patience was being severely tested. But Janey had begged me to come and help her brother, even paying for the initial consultation herself. I’d rearranged other clients and missed my yoga class tonight because, according to him, six o’clock was the only time he could possibly make it this week. Or not apparently.
‘I suppose you’d better come in before you freeze to death.’
‘Thanks. I’d hate to inconvenience you by croaking on your doorstep,’ I mumbled.
‘Sorry?’ He spun round, the bottom of his boot grating on the step.
Whoops.
I shook my head innocently, grateful for the muffling properties of the crash helmet he still wore.
Mr O’Farrell made his way around the junk that consumed his porch, opened the door and strode in, leaving it to me to see myself in and close the door behind me. As I did, he pulled off the crash helmet and sat it on a cluttered phone table that stood in the hallway. He was, of course, ridiculously good-looking once the protective head gear was removed. Perhaps that went some way to explaining the high opinion he clearly had of himself. Mind you, his hair, black as coal, definitely needed a good cut, and the stubble on his face was way beyond ‘designer’ but not a beard either. Maybe he felt he didn’t need to bother with attention to personal grooming when women like his neighbour were already throwing suggestive invitations his way. Well, Yummy Mummy next door might find ‘mean and moody’ attractive, but to me, Michael O’Farrell, was merely abrasive and rude, no matter how tall, dark and gorgeous the wrapping was.
Sitting heavily on a bench seat in the hall, my new client yanked off his boots. My gaze, however, was roaming around the areas of the house that I could see from the hallway. This was most definitely not going to be a five-minute job. Unfortunately. Because if first impressions were anything to go by, I was keen to spend the least amount of time possible with my new client.
‘You didn’t answer me earlier.’ The soft Irish accent did nothing to hide the abruptness of his manner.
I frowned.
‘Why you’re actually here? I left Janey a message to tell you that I was running late and wouldn’t be able to make it. I assumed she’d pass it on to you.’
‘When did you call her?’
‘About an hour ago.’
‘She would already have been in yoga class by then. It has a strict policy of requiring all mobiles to be switched off.’
This time it was his turn to frown.
‘I thought she said something about knowing you from that class. Don’t you two go to yoga together.’
‘Yes, we do. Ordinarily.’
I saw the penny drop.
‘Right.’ He stood.
Great. No apology for making me miss my class either. If this all proceeded, I was seriously tempted to shift him to my assistant. I’d dealt with enough ‘challenging’ clients in my time, and it would be good practice for her to take O’Farrell on. Mind you, Bernice was adorably cute and an absolute sweetie so in all probability would have him eating out of her hand within ten minutes. And that was fine too. Just so long as I didn’t have to deal with him.
He unzipped the top of his leathers and began wrestling the upper half off his shoulders.
‘Just so you know, Miss Stone. None of this was my idea. I have absolutely no wish for you to come into my home and start poking about, faffing and cleaning up. I’m more than happy with things just the way they are.’
Sorry Janey, but enough’s enough. I wasn’t prepared to waste my or my assistant’s time with someone who clearly wasn’t going to even try.
‘Mr O’Farrell. I do not specialise in “faffing” or “poking about”. Neither am I a cleaner. But I suspect you’re already aware of all that. Clearly you have no interest in my services and, as such, I think it’s probably best if we discontinue now in order to prevent either of us wasting any more time. If you could call your sister and explain the situation that would be most helpful. Goodnight.’
I turned and took the few steps back to the door, my hand upon the catch.
‘Wait,’ he called as a phone began to ring, its tone muffled. Digging into the rucksack he’d been wearing on the bike, he yanked a mobile out and looked at the screen.
‘Shit.’ Michael took a deep breath and answered. ‘Hi Janey.’ His eyes focused on his socked feet as he listened, his gaze raising only briefly to glance over at me. ‘Yes, she’s still here…No, I…Of course I do…Fine, hang on a minute.’ He looked back at me and held out the phone. ‘My sister would like to talk to you.’
I hesitated. What was the most polite way of telling my best friend that her brother was a rude and arrogant dick who has no appreciation or respect for what I do, and no inclination to be helped anyway?
I took the phone. ‘Hi Janey. How – ’
‘I am sooooo sorry!’ Janey interrupted. ‘I just got the message on my phone that he was going to be late. I can’t believe it! He promised me and I know you went out of your way to be there tonight. I love him and everything, of course, but Jesus, he really can come across as an arrogant shit sometimes. I know he’s just trying to get out of doing it all.’
‘It’s fine. Don’t worry. We’ve consensually decided that perhaps this isn’t the right thing for – ’
‘No! No, no no! You have to stay! Please!’
‘Janey. It really only works if the person involved wants it to. Otherwise everything will go back to how it was within weeks, which is just a waste of time for everyone involved. Not to mention a waste of money.’
‘Wait. Don’t leave yet. OK? Promise?’
I paused.
‘Please, Kate. It’s really important. He needs this.’ Her voice was softer now.
‘OK. Fine. As it’s you.’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. Right. Now, can you pass the phone back to my dick of a brother?’ Her voice was louder again now and from the look on his face, Michael heard the comment. Which was good news for me as it meant I didn’t have to find a way to tell Janey any of that stuff after all. She was clearly already aware. He held out one large hand which I put the phone in. He lifted the mobile back to his ear.
‘Yes. No. I know. Yes. Yes, I promise. OK. What? No, you don’t need…fine. Here…’ He stabbed at his phone and Janey’s voice came out on speaker.
‘Is it on speaker?’
‘Yes.’
I felt bad that I was perversely enjoying seeing this rude, arrogant man getting bossed about by his little sister. But then I looked down and saw my soaked, numb feet, and remembered how cold I was, and miraculously, all traces of guilt disappeared instantaneously.
‘Kate, can you hear me?’
‘Yes, Janey.’
‘Right. Good. Now Michael, we discussed all this. Your house is a bloody tip and your life’s not much better.’
‘My life is just fine.’
‘No, it’s not. And don’t interrupt. You agreed to host Christmas this year– ’
‘Actually, I was just outvoted, if you remember.’
‘Because we’ve all taken plenty of turns in doing it and you never have!’
‘That’s because I wasn’t in the country most of the time.’
‘Yes. Well. Nobody forced you to jet off every year instead of spending time with the family.’
‘Janey. You know that it wasn’t as simple as that. And could we please not discuss family matters in front of strangers?’
‘Oh shush. Katie’s not a stranger. She’s a very good friend – ’
‘To you.’
‘Yes. To me. And because she is such a very good friend to me, she’s agreed to help you, you great lummox. So wind your neck in and start taking this seriously. You need to start getting your life back in order and find your way back to being the happy bloke you used to be. And believe me, Kate is your best chance at doing that.’
‘Really.’ He was clearly still unconvinced. It was the one thing we appeared to agree on.
‘Yes, really. We’re fed up of watching you work yourself into the ground, surrounded by all that crap. You’ve got a lovely house there but you wouldn’t know it because of the state it’s in! How on earth are you ever going to meet anyone else if you can’t bring them home?’
‘I’m not particularly interested in meeting anyone else. And when I do bring a woman home, it’s not exactly to give them a tour of a house.’ He looked over at me, as if awaiting a reaction.
If he was trying to shock me, he was way off the mark. I’d had him pegged as the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ type within about two minutes. Except minus the ‘thank you’.
‘Well, it’s about time that changed. We all know you’ve been through the wringer Mikey, but it’s time to start moving on.’
‘I have moved on. Weren’t you listening to the last bit?’
‘Having sex with strangers and moving on are two very different things. Now, your family’s been behind you throughout all of this, despite how difficult it was at times, but it’s time to get on with your life. And Katie’s going to help you make that start.’
‘Right.’
‘She’s your chance at finding a way to be happy again Mikey.’
‘Oh. Great. No pressure,’ I mumbled.
For a split second I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch into the hint of a smile but when I looked again it was set back in a grim line as he stared at his feet.
‘Tonnes of pressure, Katie. Sorry darling!’ Janey’s voice came from the speaker. ‘But he really does need to get his arse in gear and I know you won’t take any shit off him, so it’s perfect.’
‘Perfect,’ Michael repeated, flatly. He lifted his gaze. ‘Don’t worry about it, my sister’s just being dramatic. It’s a habit.’
‘Knock it off Mikey,’ Janey snapped. ‘You need to start taking this seriously. Your life is a mess since Angeline left and you’re a grouchy workaholic. It’s about time that you got your shit together and found happiness again, and Katie there’s your best chance. So stop being an arse, listen to what she says, and do what she tells you because if you don’t, so help me God – ’
‘Fine! Yes. All right,’ he cut across her.
‘I love you, you know. We all do,’ Janey’s voice was softer now and it was clear to hear the love contained within her words, ‘that’s why we’re doing this.’
‘Yep. I know. I love you too.’
I looked away and found an intense interest in the junk mail teetering on the phone table.
‘Better not get all soppy. It looks like you’re embarrassing your friend.’ Michael’s deep voice held a hint of amusement.
‘Oh, Katie’s all right, aren’t you?’ Janey’s voice assured.
‘Umm, yes. Fine.’
My client’s vivid gaze fixed on me and he shook his head, that hint of smile back flickering around the full mouth.
‘I’ll behave for Kate, Janey. I promise.’
‘Good. Because she has my full permission to kick you in the nuts if you don’t.’
Michael burst out laughing and his whole face changed. The spiky demeanour transformed into something much closer to the warm, welcoming air that Janey always gave off. For the first time since I’d met him, I could finally see him as being related to my friend.
‘I’m countering that permission and as they’re my nuts, I have final say.’
‘Just be good,’ Janey said.
‘I’ve said I will. So I will. Now, can I go?’
‘Yes, all right. Bye, Kate. Thanks so much for this. Talk to you tomorrow.’
‘Bye Janey,’ I called.
‘Bye sis,’ Michael added, before pressing ‘End’ on the screen.
Silence fell over us.
‘So. I guess it looks like you’re stuck with me then.’
‘Yes, it does rather.’
More silence.
‘When she said about you being my chance at…you know…she didn’t mean…’
‘No. I know.’
‘OK. Good.’
‘It’s a bit of a cliché but I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure anyway.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘And I’m already seeing someone. Janey knows that.’ Why on earth was I going into all of this?
‘Right.’
‘And you’re definitely not my type anyway. Janey knows that too.’
Michael rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his feet. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d never opened my mouth.’
‘Not at all. It’s always good to be absolutely clear on things.’ For the love of God, Kate. Shut up!
After a beat, Michael spoke. ‘So, what happens now?’
I mentally squared my shoulders and shook my uncharacteristic babbling moment off. Focusing on what I knew best, I was back on firm ground.
‘Generally, I assess the project, then I look at my schedule and you look at yours and we see when we can fit in some sessions that work for both of us.’
‘Right.’ He moved away from me, his back turned.
‘But as I said earlier, I can only help someone if they want to be helped and are prepared to put in effort themselves. I realise that Janey is keen for you to do this, and that you clearly wish to please her, but if you’re really not invested in this, then it’s just a waste of time for both of us. It’s a very busy time, and as such, I have plenty of other people who would benefit from my services far more.’
As Janey had warned, I didn’t pull punches. I wanted her brother to know exactly what I expected from him.
‘Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to keep Little Miss Popular from doling out her beneficial services.’
I rolled my tense neck, sore from huddling against the cold earlier, and counted to ten. Ten wasn’t nearly enough.
‘Are you always this much of an arsehole?’
Michel didn’t say anything but I was almost sure I saw his lips quirk briefly in amusement at my outburst.
I took a deep breath. ‘I apologise. I shouldn’t have spoken like that. It’s been a very long day. Perhaps it’s best if I leave and you take the night to decide as to whether you wish to proceed.’
‘It’s fine. I probably deserved it.’
Probably?!
‘And in answer to your question, depending on who you ask, yes, I am always this much of an arsehole. And I don’t need the night to think about it. If I don’t do this then I’m in the shit with my family, which I know you probably couldn’t give a toss about but I do. They’ve done a lot for me and I need to do this for them. Unfortunately, I can’t do it without you.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘I promise I will take it seriously and do what I need to do to make them happy.’
‘It’s supposed to be about making you happier too.’
He shrugged. ‘If that happens too, then it’s a bonus, but don’t get your hopes up.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.’
Chapter Two (#u27559d27-b1b9-578b-adff-c37b57b9653b)
Michael gave me an even look, assessing. We were sat in his kitchen. It was light, modern, spacious and absolutely crammed full of stuff, just like the rest of the place. It didn’t look like he’d put anything away for years.
‘So, explain again what it is that you do, as it’s obviously not “faffing” or “poking about”.’ The even look remained. I knew he was testing me, seeing if I’d crack again. And although I was desperate to tell him exactly what I thought of him – again – I refrained. Not because of anything I felt for him but because of something I’d heard in Janey’s voice on the phone. Getting this arrogant man’s home, and life, better organised clearly meant a lot to her. That was the only reason I was still here.
‘I run an organisation consultancy. I help people to declutter and organise their living spaces which in turn makes their home a nicer, more inspiring and serene place to be. And that in turn, is good for everyone who lives there. Being surrounded by clutter can be stressful for the mind, not just because it’s hard to find things, but because it doesn’t instil the peace and calm we crave as human beings in the sanctuary of our home. When a person’s house is in order, it generally has positive benefits to other aspects of their life.’
Michael took a sip of the coffee he’d made. ‘Right.’
The word ‘sceptical’ sprang to mind.
‘But as I said, I can’t do this alone, I need – ’
‘Me to get on board. Blah Blah. I know. I get it. I just don’t really buy it.’
I shifted in my seat.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve done plenty in my life that I didn’t really buy into either and I got by. Just ask my ex-wife. So we’ll get it done. You do your thing, I’ll make the effort and then it’s done.’
‘Great,’ I said, feeling pretty unconvinced myself now, which was the complete opposite to how I normally felt at this stage in the process. Not a great sign.
I pushed my coffee mug to the side and pulled out a folder from my bag, clearing a little space on the breakfast bar to lay it on. Michael took the mugs off the counter, rinsed them and then came and stood behind me, peering over my shoulder at the forms I had just begun filling in. As he did so, I got a subtle waft of aftershave. It was light and citrusy and, oddly, not what I would have expected from him.
‘What’s this then? Do you give out grades for first impressions?’
I shoved my stool backwards, causing him to move, as I then dismounted. Tilting my head back to meet the intense green gaze, I answered him.
‘Perhaps it’s just as well that I don’t Mr O’Farrell.’
‘Oh. I guess, in the interest of fairness then, I should take that Yelp review down that I did when I nipped up to change my clothes?’
I turned quickly. ‘What did you say on it?’
He shrugged. ‘Just that I thought it was a novel approach for a business owner who comes into peoples’ houses to call her client an arsehole within minutes of meeting him.’
My mouth dropped open and I felt my face drain of colour.
‘That was entirely unfair of you! I apologised immediately! I know that’s no excuse, but you were late, rude and disrespectful of what I’ve been hired to do!’ A stray tendril of hair had come loose from my bun and I pushed it back from my face distractedly. ‘This is my livelihood! How could you – ’
He snagged his phone from the shelf and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans as he threw me an amused look.
‘Calm down. I didn’t do anything of the sort.’
I felt the colour return to my cheeks.
‘Oh. Right. Well, good. Thank you. And just so you know I’ve never, ever done that before and have no intention of doing it again.’
He shook his head. ‘Forget it. Believe me, if I Yelped everyone who thought I was an arsehole I’d be on the site all day.’
I didn’t say a word but his mouth did that quirk thing again.
‘It’s all right, you can say it.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You can say you aren’t in the least bit surprised.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of saying that.’
‘Nothing to stop you thinking it though, eh?’
‘Shall we make a start?’ I said, uncomfortable at being quite so transparent.
His lips gave a little tug to the side. ‘Absolutely. Tell me what you need me to do.’
‘So, is there anything you’re specifically hoping for with this process?’ I asked, glancing at my notes.
When he didn’t answer, I looked up to find him studying me.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Just seems an odd question, bearing in mind you already know the only reason you’re even here is because my sister cajoled you and my family forced me. If I wasn’t looking for the process to happen in the first place, I can’t see how I could be hoping for anything from it.’
I took a deep breath. ‘It’s fair to say that my clients are normally a little more pleased to see me than you are.’
‘I can see that,’ he said, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his ankles.
‘But that doesn’t mean, now that you’re committed to the process, that you won’t gain anything from it just because you came to it from a more unconventional angle.’
A grin flickered on his face, as fleeting as a guttering candle. ‘Unconventional. That’s one way of putting it.’
‘So, having heard what I do, is there anything you can think of that you would specifically want to gain from all this?’
He straightened from the doorway and looked at me. I tilted my head back to meet his eyes. Now I’d taken my sodden shoes off, I had to look up even further.
‘I’m not exactly sure what you want me to say Kate, but if you’re hoping for some sort of emotional blather about me wanting to find myself amongst all the clutter, then I’m sadly going to have to disappoint you. The only thing I’m looking for with this process is to turn my house into a place that’s fit for a family Christmas. At the moment, with all this stuff everywhere, it’s not. I’m just wanting a tidy house, Kate. Not therapy.’
‘Fair enough.’ I scribbled a note and made to move on.
‘It would seem your clientele are generally a lot deeper than I am.’
‘Not at all. Everyone’s different. I just want to make sure that I do the best job I can for each client, and that means finding out what it is they really want.’
‘Don’t they all just want less crap kicking around? Isn’t that the whole point of your business?’
‘Yes and no. That’s usually what it starts off as them thinking they want, but quite often there’s a deeper issue that they don’t even realise is driving them until part way through the process.’
He gave a quick raise of his eyebrows. ‘Right. Well, as you heard, the only thing driving me is a sister half my size.’
I felt the smile slide onto my face and for a moment he returned it.
‘So, let’s just accept that I’m shallow and move on. Where do you want to see first?’
He leant on the newel post and I watched the corded muscles on his forearm flex as his hand rested on the bannister.
Was that true? Was he really that shallow, or was he, in fact, one of my most complicated clients? Usually about this time, I had a pretty good idea of who my client was, but with Michael O’Farrell, I still didn’t have a clue.
‘Shall we do bottom to top?’
He gave me a quick nod and led the way down the stairs to the basement level of the four-storey Georgian. Here the space had been given over to a large open-plan living area that had bi-folding doors leading out onto a garden. There was a small counter/kitchen area for preparing snacks and cups of tea, to save having to traipse up and down the stairs when time was being spent in here. A flat-screen TV collected dust against the wall and a couple of couches and beanbags sat unused underneath some appliance boxes and other discarded items. Looking out onto the garden, it could be a great space for entertaining, or just relaxing, but right now it was uninviting and cold. From my time studying the outside, and now here, there already seemed to be a theme emerging.
Next I followed my client back up the stairs to the ground floor where he stopped outside a room opposite the kitchen we’d sat in earlier. As I caught up to him, he opened the door. Inside was an architect’s easel, a work station with a large flat-screen computer on it and a bookcase stuffed with books, papers and all sorts of other random items. Under another pile of papers a small two-seater sofa lounged against the wall. Michael walked over and flicked on the lamp over the easel. There was no window dressing of any kind and streetlight shadows from the trees outside danced on the stripped wooden floor. At least, what you could see of it.
‘My office.’
‘You work from home?’
‘I do.’
I glanced around. ‘And do you always know where everything is in here?’
He followed my gaze and I saw something cross his face. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was being sarcastic so I clarified my question.
‘It’s just that sometimes, especially in work areas, what looks like a mess to an outsider is actually a very specific way of working for the person whose space it is. People find their own way of working and obviously I don’t want to do anything to upset your working methods.’
He picked up a mechanical pencil from the desk and fiddled with it.
‘As much as it pains me to tell you this, I can’t actually find a bloody thing most of the time.’
‘OK. We can fix that and find a much better system for you, which will make for a more pleasant and efficient working environment.’
‘Just because it looks a tip doesn’t mean I’m not “efficient” at my job. People might think I’m an arsehole but they still know I’m a damn good architect.’
I tried not to look surprised at his defensiveness. Time to employ some professional soothing. ‘I never meant to suggest that you weren’t. I’m sorry if it came across that way.’
He fiddled with the pencil a little more, then nodded, seemingly accepting my apology. ‘But you are saying my office isn’t pleasant?’
‘I’m just saying that we can make it more pleasant.’
He gave a little shake of his head, that almost-smile flashing briefly. ‘Very tactful.’
I looked up from my notes. ‘So, what’s next?’
Staying on the same level, he pointed to a door behind which was apparently a downstairs loo, before moving on to show me the living and dining rooms. Both were gorgeous spaces, not that it was easy to see that at the moment. But they could be.
‘You play the piano?’ I asked, seeing an upright groaning under another pile of magazines and general ‘stuff’.
He shrugged. ‘Used to. Haven’t played for ages.’
‘Why not?’
He gave the shrug again and then set off for the next floor. Here there were four spare bedrooms, two with small en suites, and one main bathroom. One of the bedrooms had been converted into a mini home gym which, unlike many I’d seen in my time, was clearly being put to good use. I made a note to suggest moving this equipment down to the basement level. There was plenty of space down there and it could always be screened off with a room divider. That would free up the bedroom, which, from what Janey had told me about the size of their family, could be useful. Plus it might be more inspiring for my client to work out looking onto the garden rather than staring at a blank wall as he clearly was at the moment. I snuck a glance at him. Admittedly, from what I could see under the slightly misshapen clothes, he didn’t seem to be lacking in motivation to work out.
As we moved around, it seemed that most of the rooms had generally turned into a dumping ground for random items, boxes for appliances, motorbike parts and goodness knows what else.
‘The master bedroom is on the top floor but you’ve pretty much got the idea as to what it’s like from these.’ He waved a hand at the rooms we’d already seen.
‘It would still be very helpful for me to see it, if possible. So that I have all the information as to what we are dealing with. It’s especially helpful in this case as we’re on quite a short deadline.’
After his comment about one-night stands earlier, I was a little surprised that Michael had suddenly seemed to have turned a little shy. Frankly, I’d half expected that to be the first room he’d shown me, maybe hoping for another reaction. But the truth was, I’d seen all sorts in my time and there was little that could surprise me now. I opened my mouth to reassure him but he took off up the stairs before I could say anything. Quickly, I followed. He opened the door and stepped in.
‘Master bedroom, en suite, dressing room.’ His voice was uncharacteristically flat.
I looked around the room before turning back to Michael. Unexpectedly, not to mention, annoyingly, he had indeed surprised me. Whilst everywhere else in the house was full of stuff, his bedroom – the one place where it should feel the most personal – felt the least. It was almost like a hotel room but with less soul. The room itself, like the others, was beautiful. In fact, it was even more so with its double-aspect windows, high ceilings and finished wood floor. It could be the perfect bedroom. My new client might be annoying, bristly, arrogant and rude but there was one thing he clearly wasn’t short of, and that was personality – however desirable or undesirable its aspects. And yet this room had none. There was no sense of him at all. Of anything really. It was sparsely furnished and had none of the junk that the other rooms had acquired.
Evidently the surprise showed on my face.
‘It seems unlike you to have nothing to say Kate.’
I turned quickly, trying to regain my mental footing.
‘I was…it’s just that…’
Michael raised an eyebrow at me, but remained silent, making no attempt to help me out.
I cleared my throat and smoothed my hair unnecessarily. ‘Do you actually use this room?’ I asked, making a couple of notes.
‘I do.’
That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I just couldn’t picture this man in such a bland space. Everywhere else in this house showed aspects of who he was: his work, his motorbike, the food he liked – mostly because it was all on display. But here there was nothing. Not an inkling of the person who spent his nights there. And then it dawned on me. Maybe that was precisely the aim.
‘OK. You seem to have managed to maintain this one a little better, so that’s helpful.’
‘I’m glad you approve.’
I crossed the room and opened the door to the walk in wardrobe, peering in. Much of it was empty and I had to fight the urge to fling myself down and weep for the space he had for clothes – a space that was only a little smaller than my entire flat.
‘Are you all right?’ The deep voice almost sounded concerned.
‘Hmm? Oh, yes! Absolutely. This really is a beautiful room.’
‘Thank you.’ He turned to leave, clearly feeling that I’d got all I needed. As I followed, I gave it another look. It could be so much more for him. I wasn’t a professional decorator but I loved the subject as a hobby and so it was easy for me to see how this could be transformed into a real oasis of calm for him. Somewhere he could escape the day, the stresses of work – assuming that all electronic devices were banned from the bedroom – as they should be.
‘You know, you could really make that into a gorgeous space for you to – ’
‘I wasn’t aware you were here to comment on my decoration tastes,’ he snapped, pulling the bedroom door closed behind me.
‘No, of course not. I just…’ I met his eyes and saw there was no argument to be made. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, attempting pacification with a smile. ‘It’s just that it’s an interest of mine and it’s hard not to get carried away in a beautiful house like this.’
‘Perhaps you could try a little harder.’
I swallowed and gave him a tighter smile. ‘Of course.’
He nodded sharply. ‘Thank you,’ he said, before standing aside and motioning for me to precede him down the stairs, apparently ensuring that I couldn’t scoot off and peek at his bedroom again. A desire I currently neither had, nor ever planned to have.
‘So, what’s the verdict?’ He indicated the notes I’d made as he’d shown me around the house and the few answers to questions regarding the process that I’d managed to pry out of him.
‘All fine. I’ll make up a plan of attack and email you a copy so that you know exactly what we’re trying to achieve.’
‘You reckon you can transform this place into an oasis of serenity then?’ He raised an eyebrow.
I ignored the sarcasm. ‘Of course. Janey’s been a very good friend to me and I want to help her. If doing this with you makes her happy, then as you said earlier, we’ll get it done.’
‘Right.’
‘The process always works best when several hours can be allocated to it together, rather than little bits here and there. So I would need to try and schedule some blocks of time that work for both of us. Perhaps tomorrow you could look at your diary and see what you have available and let me know? Once I know that, I’ll do my best to work around it for you.’
‘How long does the whole process generally take?’
‘That really depends on the size of the place, how invested the owner is, what time they can give over to it, etc. Some people have a lot more stuff than others, some struggle more on what to discard, and so on. There’s no set time. Every house is different because every client is different. Obviously we have a tighter timescale than I usually work to, bearing in mind you want this done for Christmas.
‘But can you do it?’
‘I’m fairly confident of it, yes. Of course, it depends on how much time you can put aside and how well things work. I will do my absolute best but I don’t want to mislead you. You have to realise that trying to organise a house of this size with this amount of–’
‘Crap?’
‘I was going to say “accumulated items”– ready for guests in just over a month will be quite a challenging target.’ I dropped my file back into my bag.
‘I’ll pay you double.’
I looked up, surprised.
‘I don’t work like that Mr O’Farrell. That would be unfair and, to me at least, incredibly unethical. I don’t categorise my clients by who can pay me the most!’
‘I didn’t mean to suggest that you did. I apologise.’
Oh. So he did actually understand the concept of apologising then? That was a start.
‘I just…Look, I really need you to help me with this, in that timescale. I realise it’s difficult and I will do my utmost to obey whatever you say and get it done.’
‘It’s not about obeying me – ’
‘That’s a shame.’ He cut in, his lips hinting at a smile.
I pointedly ignored the remark.
‘It’s about putting in the effort and believing in what you’re doing.’
‘OK. Look. I get it. I can see the point of all this.’ He waved his hand, encompassing me in the gesture. ‘I have a cleaner in once a week but I’m fully aware I’m not that great at housekeeping, so to speak. I sort of lost my way a bit when…’
I waited. The hardness in his face faded. It was still all sharp planes and glass cutting cheekbones but as his expression softened, he suddenly seemed more approachable, and less …well, less of an arse. He looked back from where he’d been staring at the darkened kitchen window and saw me watching him. Immediately the hardness in his face returned.
‘Carry on,’ I prompted softly, trying to rescue the moment. If I could understand him a little more, it would help my job enormously. Organising a home was incredibly personal, which is why the owner had to be involved. But if I could understand that owner, what was important to them, what had happened to them in their lives, it made the whole process so much easier.
‘Nothing. I just need to get this done for Christmas. It’s my turn to host the family and if someone else gets stuck doing it because I didn’t pull my finger out, then that’s not fair and I wouldn’t feel right even attending. But I’ve already missed far too many. So it’s not an option. I do understand that you have plenty of clients vying for your time, so if you can’t do it then I’ll just get someone else in. I’m sure there are plenty of people who do this kind of thing.’
On second thought, I wasn’t sure anything could make Michael O’Farrell less of an arse. It was clear that was just his demeanour’s natural setting.
‘Yes. There are. I am, however, one of the best. I did you a favour coming tonight, and waiting until you eventually turned up. I’ve spent my entire evening here and am now aware of exactly what needs doing, all of which time will have been entirely wasted should you turn to someone else. And that, frankly, would be incredibly frustrating. I am prepared to take you on as a client of Stone Organisation, and reschedule others whose needs aren’t quite so pressing in order to accommodate you, in order to please Janey. However, it is of course your prerogative to employ whomever you wish. In the circumstances, I would ask that you let me know by ten o’clock tomorrow morning so that we both know where we stand.’
I finished my spiel and turned away, quickly retrieving my coat from one of the overstuffed hooks that lined the wall of the hall.
‘I want you.’
I turned, pausing in the belting of my coat.
‘Pardon?’ I squeaked.
‘I want you.’ He’d descended the stairs too and was now leaning against the banister, his green eyes fixed on me. ‘I don’t want to employ anyone else to do this. Janey recommends Stone Organisation, so that’s who I want. I know that I’m difficult and impatient and impossible to deal with – God knows I’ve been told it enough times over the past few years. I’m also aware that I’ve given you a hard time this evening and you’ve taken it all in your stride and pushed back when you needed to. I need someone prepared to do that. Otherwise I’ll take the piss and never get anything done and it really will be a waste of time.’
I looked away and concentrated on wrapping my scarf around my neck, taking a moment to gather myself. Even though he was far too annoying to fancy, Michael’s soft Irish, deep gravelly tones saying ‘I want you’, completely out of the blue, was enough to throw any girl off her stride for a moment or two. No matter the context. Recovered, I turned back to face him.
‘All right. Good. Here’s my card.’ He closed the distance between us and I handed him a pale Tiffany blue business card. ‘Work out when you can set aside some time and email me. I’ll look at my diary and then give you a call to plan the first session.’
‘I’m assuming you don’t work weekends?’ he said, studying the card.
‘I try not to, but obviously it’s very difficult with the type of work I do, so it’s all dependent on the client.’
‘Right. Guess I blew that already then.’
‘Yes, you did rather. But lucky for you, I adore Janey so, if weekends are all you can do, then that’s what will happen.’
He gave a small smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll do my best to clear some space in the week so that I don’t take up too many of your weekends. I’m sure your boyfriend probably likes to see you as much as possible.’
I retrieved the leather gloves from my pocket and started pulling them on. ‘He’s aware my work hours can be a little erratic. Besides, he travels a lot and is often away over weekends too so it’s not such a big deal.’
Michael looked at me again, studying me, his eyes almost hypnotic in their concentration.
‘What is it?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ He flicked the card. ‘I’ll email you tomorrow.’
I nodded. ‘Great. Goodnight then.’
‘Night.’
He leant over to open the door and glanced up and down the street. The snow was still falling but a little less heavily than it had been earlier.
‘Where did you park?’
‘I didn’t. I got the Tube. Speak to you tomorrow then.’
‘Wait. I’ll walk you to the station.’
‘No. It’s not far. But thank you.’
‘Janey would want me to.’
I gave him a patient look.
‘Look, just wait while I find my shoes. I know the other one is here somewhere…’ He began hunting around the ‘accumulated items’ in the hall for his other trainer.
I shook my head. ‘Looks like you could do with a bit of organisation,’ I quipped. Stepping past him, I opened my umbrella, heading off quickly before he could get himself organised enough to come with me. The Tube station was only a few minutes of quick walking away and the area was well to do and well lit. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t done a hundred times before and I certainly didn’t need chaperoning by Michael O’Farrell just because his sister would have wanted him to. I soon reached the bright, fluorescent lights of the Tube station and headed into its underworld to catch my train.
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Maxine Morrey
‘One of my favourite Christmas reads. Maxine Morrey writes the most gorgeous heroes. – Jules Wake, author of Covent Garden in the Snow’A delightful wintery tale full to the brim with drama, passion and heartwarming cheer.’ – Gem~BeeCould happy ever after be waiting underneath the mistletoe?Professional organiser Kate has had her share of demanding clients. But Michael O’Farrell is the most obnoxious man she’s ever met. He may be gorgeous, but if he wasn’t her best friend’s brother Kate wouldn’t have waited on his doorstep for five minutes, let alone an hour!But, underneath Michael’s icy exterior, Kate’s surprised to find a man who needs to declutter his heart as well as his home. And while she’s happier fixing messy desks than broken hearts, Kate can’t help making Michael her secret Christmas project.After all, at Christmas, anything can happen!What reviewers are saying about Maxine Morrey‘Absolutely adorable, made me cry, made me laugh and made me want a gorgeous green eyed Irishman!’ – Lori (Goodreads)‘A sweet and funny Christmas tale’ – For the Love of Books‘Enjoyable and heart-warming. It's just right for a cosy night in, curled up with a vanilla coffee and candle-light.’ – Jane (Netgalley)‘This book is pack full of giggles and tears. A fantastic festive winter warmer.’ – Natasha (Netgalley)
Christmas in the city has never been more magical!
Professional organiser Kate Stone has never – NEVER – been tempted to hit a client over the head with a snow shovel, but Michael O’Farrell is the most obnoxious – and heart-stoppingly gorgeous – man she has ever met. If he weren’t her best friend’s brother, she would not have waited on his doorstep in the freezing cold for five minutes, let alone an hour.
Kate knows, however, that her job isn’t just about tidying up, sometimes she needs to be part therapist too, and Michael clearly needs her help to declutter his heart as well as his home.
But with the festive season just around the corner there isn’t much time to get Michael’s house ready for the O’Farrell family celebrations, but everyone knows that at Christmas anything can happen...
The Christmas Project
Maxine Morrey
HQ
The Christmas Project
© 2016 Maxine Morrey
by HQ, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
ISBN: 9781474057394
Version: 2018-01-24
MAXINE MORREY
has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember and wrote her first (very short) book for school when she was ten. Coming in first, she won a handful of book tokens – best prize ever at the time!
As time went by, she continued to write, but ‘normal’ work often got in the way. Finally, she decided to go for it, and wrote. Really wrote. And after a while she had a bunch of articles, and a non-fiction book to her name.
But her first love is novels, and, in August 2015, Maxine got the call to say that she had won Carina UK’s ‘Write Christmas’ competition, with her romantic comedy, ‘Winter’s Fairytale’
Maxine lives on the south coast of England, and when not wrangling with words, can be found tackling her To Be Read pile, sewing, listening to podcasts, and walking.
Her website is: www.scribblermaxi.co.uk (http://www.scribblermaxi.co.uk)
You can also find her on Twitter @Scribbler_Maxi
On Facebook www.facebook.com/MaxineMorreyAuthor (http://www.facebook.com/MaxineMorreyAuthor)
On Instagram @Scribbler_Maxi
On Pinterest @ScribblerMaxi
Acknowledgements (#u27559d27-b1b9-578b-adff-c37b57b9653b)
I would like to thank the team at Carina UK/HQ, especially my amazing Editor, Victoria Oundjian, without whose incredible support and continued belief in me, this book may never have come to be.
I’d also like to say an enormous thank you to the very wonderful Emma Dellow for her friendship, kindness and support. All of it has meant so very much to me, especially this year, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I value you. Big, big hugs.
Another huge thank you goes to all the absolutely incredible book bloggers whom I met through their support of my Carina debut last November. You are all such fabulous people and your support is valued so much. I was very much in at the deep end last year and you all were so kind and helpful and supportive, and I am incredibly thankful for that. You’re all complete superstars.
And finally, I’d like to thank James – for everything.
Dedication (#u27559d27-b1b9-578b-adff-c37b57b9653b)
To Mum and Dad
Thank you for introducing me to the joy of words and reading from such a young age. Even though I know now how precious little time you had to call your own as you both worked so very hard, library trips and encouragement in my reading was never in short supply. Thank you.
Contents
Cover (#ud82e9055-3459-5e5c-bf0a-33529e686e37)
Blurb (#u04578ed5-93ab-507f-9744-86d9e26f4b0e)
Title Page (#u7f25c9ad-374a-50fc-a9d3-6fd7f72ab4a3)
Copyright (#u65b2f4c9-fc2d-58be-8f9e-76128ba73e78)
Author Bio (#ud1fa69b1-d6ed-553e-9cc2-b8919ce20fee)
Acknowledgements (#u2410c9cf-03ee-559c-b0dc-6ca0f192ae86)
Dedication (#u320cac9b-184b-5e99-aa8f-bdfb3b29aada)
Chapter One (#u5cf1b1c9-7685-541a-8c90-f14bae592d35)
Chapter Two (#u3879789d-ffd3-5acd-937e-8005b4bfbaaa)
Chapter Three (#u02b890a3-0dc6-5295-9024-9c75870c5e69)
Chapter Four (#u69067ad3-5d9c-512f-bd82-2816c4400534)
Chapter Five (#ud7a799c6-691c-5036-8ae4-971c88b5db7f)
Chapter Six (#uf473aef1-aa30-56e0-aa0d-c801d08d307a)
Chapter Seven (#u6ceb4edc-920c-5737-a9b8-05a4518690a5)
Chapter Eight (#u94bfe594-1d01-5915-994a-50e075ca8458)
Chapter Nine (#u200daf26-a0d5-55bf-a63f-1786593b275c)
Chapter Ten (#u5319ba65-e267-5cc4-a746-0b79200f5865)
Chapter Eleven (#u109780d7-4516-55a4-b4be-d9a7281f7cca)
Chapter Twelve (#ue3a0275e-f617-53da-922d-c7d23c786866)
Chapter Thirteen (#u62acefa5-d4d8-53d1-84c7-7ca03203b5c8)
Chapter Fourteen (#u8e6c9bb7-e2d4-57ae-8880-bb94b9c208b1)
Chapter Fifteen (#u9ae4ca4c-45c9-5dc8-96d8-2fb7133b3d1a)
Chapter Sixteen (#u046c7e97-33d2-5c51-98af-0e8db7ae0fe0)
Chapter Seventeen (#ud52e99b2-1b49-56f2-b59d-2aad0b26831f)
Chapter Eighteen (#uc51d4aee-bdaf-5147-b5c1-a7ca6aac7bd4)
Chapter Nineteen (#uef97ce53-7834-5aeb-852d-0477cda2f1fd)
Chapter Twenty (#u21e8daa7-f933-56c0-be53-f32e9c484b4a)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u5e60cf8d-6d23-54af-840b-8f42b88c237c)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#ud464a071-e606-56b7-ab28-4e47ffc28961)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#ub0ad1e84-7263-5fa0-afc0-fe800fa37eb0)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#uf56c5e8e-1b86-5a91-a614-b586f1f35c18)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u06974b52-f5d6-557d-9925-4e9d57d2bd8a)
Excerpt (#u90348eeb-c233-55bc-bcae-77c7d130864b)
Chapter One (#u27559d27-b1b9-578b-adff-c37b57b9653b)
I peered down at my feet and wondered exactly how many toes I’d have left when I finally got home this evening. It was totally possible to get frostbite in North London, right? The snow that had been threatening all afternoon had finally begun to fall about half an hour ago, right around the same time I’d lost all feeling in every single one of my extremities. It had already started settling and the heavy flakes now falling looked set to continue all night. And yet, here I was, huddled under an umbrella that was doing very little for the bottom half of my body, still waiting.
Had I known I was going to be stood outside, freezing my backside off whilst waiting for a client who was, at this point – I checked my watch – exactly fifty-seven minutes late, I would have worn my fur-lined boots rather than the gorgeous four-inch heeled Mary Janes that currently adorned my feet. Still, on the upside, I was at least fully colour-coordinated: My nose now matched my scarlet shoes and lipstick, and my hands and feet were likely a fetching shade of blue to tone perfectly with my tailored navy wool coat. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked the screen again - no new messages or missed calls. I’d give it precisely three more minutes and then I was off.
I gave another glance up to the house. In contrast to many others I’d passed down this avenue, there was no clue here that we were in the midst of the countdown to Christmas. No tree twinkled with fairy lights in the beautiful bay window, no decorations or cards lined the windowsill. Outside, in the tiny bit of garden that was left from making it into a parking space, instead of illuminated reindeer and snowmen, the border was filled with blackened, soggy annuals left over from the summer. The other houses looked warm and welcoming. This one appeared cold and impersonal.
I stamped my feet, trying to kick-start the circulation, all the while hoping not to break off any icicled digits. Next door, a late model 4X4 pulled up and two designer-clad children tumbled out the back doors, laughing as they charged up the path. From the driver’s seat emerged one of the yummy mummies the area was well-known for. I surreptitiously admired her crocheted beanie as she busied herself unloading the car. She wore it with the assured style of Kate Moss, and looked fabulous. I knew from experience the moment I put one on my head it magically transformed into a tea cosy. Bit unfair.
The deep, throaty rumble of a powerful motorbike caught my attention. As I looked up, the cyclops-like headlight flashed across me as it turned into the driveway on which I was standing, coming to a stop almost beside me. With a final throttle blip, the engine fell silent. The rider kicked out its stand and then swung a long leg over to dismount before turning to me. A hand lifted and flicked the visor up. Vivid green eyes looked out as the figure towered about me.
‘Can I help you?’ The tone was deep, Irish accented, and less than friendly.
‘Are you Mr O’Farrell?’
‘That would depend on who’s asking.’
‘Hello Michael,’ Yummy Mummy called, several designer shopping bags looped over each arm. She flashed Motorbike Boy a stunning smile that showed impossibly white, perfectly straight teeth.
‘Evening Tamara.’
It was impossible to tell if he was smiling as he hadn’t yet removed his crash helmet. But I took a wild guess at no, judging by those eyes.
‘Good day?’ she pursued. Her gaze flicked briefly over me before returning to focus on her neighbour.
He gave a non-committal shrug that made his leathers creak. ‘You know how it is.’
She tilted her head and pulled a sympathetic face, oozing empathy and understanding.
Yeah, right, I thought, doubting very much that she had a clue what it was ‘like’, at all.
‘Well, if you ever need anything, you know where I am.’
Mentally, I raised my eyebrows so high they barely connected with my face. Physically I kept my face impassive. I saw the man glance at me, briefly, before he replied. I studied my feet for a moment as I considered the possibility that my ‘impassive’ face may need some work.
‘I do, thanks.’
She gave him another full-wattage smile before moving gracefully up the steps and in through the large black painted front door.
The man turned his attention back to me and tilted his head in question, apparently still awaiting a reply to his enquiry.
‘My name is Kate Stone.’ The name didn’t seem to spark any recognition. ‘You had an appointment with me for six o’clock this evening.’
He lifted his arm and wiggled his wrist a little until a watch face peeked out enough from his sleeve to see the time.
‘It’s gone seven.’
‘Yes. It is.’
‘So why are you still here?’
This is exactly why I hate doing favours for friends. My business was in demand and had a waiting list. Without trying to sound smug, I didn’t need this. Ordinarily there was no way I would have waited so long for a client to show. Add that to the fact that there was no explanation or even attempt at apology for his lateness, and my patience was being severely tested. But Janey had begged me to come and help her brother, even paying for the initial consultation herself. I’d rearranged other clients and missed my yoga class tonight because, according to him, six o’clock was the only time he could possibly make it this week. Or not apparently.
‘I suppose you’d better come in before you freeze to death.’
‘Thanks. I’d hate to inconvenience you by croaking on your doorstep,’ I mumbled.
‘Sorry?’ He spun round, the bottom of his boot grating on the step.
Whoops.
I shook my head innocently, grateful for the muffling properties of the crash helmet he still wore.
Mr O’Farrell made his way around the junk that consumed his porch, opened the door and strode in, leaving it to me to see myself in and close the door behind me. As I did, he pulled off the crash helmet and sat it on a cluttered phone table that stood in the hallway. He was, of course, ridiculously good-looking once the protective head gear was removed. Perhaps that went some way to explaining the high opinion he clearly had of himself. Mind you, his hair, black as coal, definitely needed a good cut, and the stubble on his face was way beyond ‘designer’ but not a beard either. Maybe he felt he didn’t need to bother with attention to personal grooming when women like his neighbour were already throwing suggestive invitations his way. Well, Yummy Mummy next door might find ‘mean and moody’ attractive, but to me, Michael O’Farrell, was merely abrasive and rude, no matter how tall, dark and gorgeous the wrapping was.
Sitting heavily on a bench seat in the hall, my new client yanked off his boots. My gaze, however, was roaming around the areas of the house that I could see from the hallway. This was most definitely not going to be a five-minute job. Unfortunately. Because if first impressions were anything to go by, I was keen to spend the least amount of time possible with my new client.
‘You didn’t answer me earlier.’ The soft Irish accent did nothing to hide the abruptness of his manner.
I frowned.
‘Why you’re actually here? I left Janey a message to tell you that I was running late and wouldn’t be able to make it. I assumed she’d pass it on to you.’
‘When did you call her?’
‘About an hour ago.’
‘She would already have been in yoga class by then. It has a strict policy of requiring all mobiles to be switched off.’
This time it was his turn to frown.
‘I thought she said something about knowing you from that class. Don’t you two go to yoga together.’
‘Yes, we do. Ordinarily.’
I saw the penny drop.
‘Right.’ He stood.
Great. No apology for making me miss my class either. If this all proceeded, I was seriously tempted to shift him to my assistant. I’d dealt with enough ‘challenging’ clients in my time, and it would be good practice for her to take O’Farrell on. Mind you, Bernice was adorably cute and an absolute sweetie so in all probability would have him eating out of her hand within ten minutes. And that was fine too. Just so long as I didn’t have to deal with him.
He unzipped the top of his leathers and began wrestling the upper half off his shoulders.
‘Just so you know, Miss Stone. None of this was my idea. I have absolutely no wish for you to come into my home and start poking about, faffing and cleaning up. I’m more than happy with things just the way they are.’
Sorry Janey, but enough’s enough. I wasn’t prepared to waste my or my assistant’s time with someone who clearly wasn’t going to even try.
‘Mr O’Farrell. I do not specialise in “faffing” or “poking about”. Neither am I a cleaner. But I suspect you’re already aware of all that. Clearly you have no interest in my services and, as such, I think it’s probably best if we discontinue now in order to prevent either of us wasting any more time. If you could call your sister and explain the situation that would be most helpful. Goodnight.’
I turned and took the few steps back to the door, my hand upon the catch.
‘Wait,’ he called as a phone began to ring, its tone muffled. Digging into the rucksack he’d been wearing on the bike, he yanked a mobile out and looked at the screen.
‘Shit.’ Michael took a deep breath and answered. ‘Hi Janey.’ His eyes focused on his socked feet as he listened, his gaze raising only briefly to glance over at me. ‘Yes, she’s still here…No, I…Of course I do…Fine, hang on a minute.’ He looked back at me and held out the phone. ‘My sister would like to talk to you.’
I hesitated. What was the most polite way of telling my best friend that her brother was a rude and arrogant dick who has no appreciation or respect for what I do, and no inclination to be helped anyway?
I took the phone. ‘Hi Janey. How – ’
‘I am sooooo sorry!’ Janey interrupted. ‘I just got the message on my phone that he was going to be late. I can’t believe it! He promised me and I know you went out of your way to be there tonight. I love him and everything, of course, but Jesus, he really can come across as an arrogant shit sometimes. I know he’s just trying to get out of doing it all.’
‘It’s fine. Don’t worry. We’ve consensually decided that perhaps this isn’t the right thing for – ’
‘No! No, no no! You have to stay! Please!’
‘Janey. It really only works if the person involved wants it to. Otherwise everything will go back to how it was within weeks, which is just a waste of time for everyone involved. Not to mention a waste of money.’
‘Wait. Don’t leave yet. OK? Promise?’
I paused.
‘Please, Kate. It’s really important. He needs this.’ Her voice was softer now.
‘OK. Fine. As it’s you.’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. Right. Now, can you pass the phone back to my dick of a brother?’ Her voice was louder again now and from the look on his face, Michael heard the comment. Which was good news for me as it meant I didn’t have to find a way to tell Janey any of that stuff after all. She was clearly already aware. He held out one large hand which I put the phone in. He lifted the mobile back to his ear.
‘Yes. No. I know. Yes. Yes, I promise. OK. What? No, you don’t need…fine. Here…’ He stabbed at his phone and Janey’s voice came out on speaker.
‘Is it on speaker?’
‘Yes.’
I felt bad that I was perversely enjoying seeing this rude, arrogant man getting bossed about by his little sister. But then I looked down and saw my soaked, numb feet, and remembered how cold I was, and miraculously, all traces of guilt disappeared instantaneously.
‘Kate, can you hear me?’
‘Yes, Janey.’
‘Right. Good. Now Michael, we discussed all this. Your house is a bloody tip and your life’s not much better.’
‘My life is just fine.’
‘No, it’s not. And don’t interrupt. You agreed to host Christmas this year– ’
‘Actually, I was just outvoted, if you remember.’
‘Because we’ve all taken plenty of turns in doing it and you never have!’
‘That’s because I wasn’t in the country most of the time.’
‘Yes. Well. Nobody forced you to jet off every year instead of spending time with the family.’
‘Janey. You know that it wasn’t as simple as that. And could we please not discuss family matters in front of strangers?’
‘Oh shush. Katie’s not a stranger. She’s a very good friend – ’
‘To you.’
‘Yes. To me. And because she is such a very good friend to me, she’s agreed to help you, you great lummox. So wind your neck in and start taking this seriously. You need to start getting your life back in order and find your way back to being the happy bloke you used to be. And believe me, Kate is your best chance at doing that.’
‘Really.’ He was clearly still unconvinced. It was the one thing we appeared to agree on.
‘Yes, really. We’re fed up of watching you work yourself into the ground, surrounded by all that crap. You’ve got a lovely house there but you wouldn’t know it because of the state it’s in! How on earth are you ever going to meet anyone else if you can’t bring them home?’
‘I’m not particularly interested in meeting anyone else. And when I do bring a woman home, it’s not exactly to give them a tour of a house.’ He looked over at me, as if awaiting a reaction.
If he was trying to shock me, he was way off the mark. I’d had him pegged as the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ type within about two minutes. Except minus the ‘thank you’.
‘Well, it’s about time that changed. We all know you’ve been through the wringer Mikey, but it’s time to start moving on.’
‘I have moved on. Weren’t you listening to the last bit?’
‘Having sex with strangers and moving on are two very different things. Now, your family’s been behind you throughout all of this, despite how difficult it was at times, but it’s time to get on with your life. And Katie’s going to help you make that start.’
‘Right.’
‘She’s your chance at finding a way to be happy again Mikey.’
‘Oh. Great. No pressure,’ I mumbled.
For a split second I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch into the hint of a smile but when I looked again it was set back in a grim line as he stared at his feet.
‘Tonnes of pressure, Katie. Sorry darling!’ Janey’s voice came from the speaker. ‘But he really does need to get his arse in gear and I know you won’t take any shit off him, so it’s perfect.’
‘Perfect,’ Michael repeated, flatly. He lifted his gaze. ‘Don’t worry about it, my sister’s just being dramatic. It’s a habit.’
‘Knock it off Mikey,’ Janey snapped. ‘You need to start taking this seriously. Your life is a mess since Angeline left and you’re a grouchy workaholic. It’s about time that you got your shit together and found happiness again, and Katie there’s your best chance. So stop being an arse, listen to what she says, and do what she tells you because if you don’t, so help me God – ’
‘Fine! Yes. All right,’ he cut across her.
‘I love you, you know. We all do,’ Janey’s voice was softer now and it was clear to hear the love contained within her words, ‘that’s why we’re doing this.’
‘Yep. I know. I love you too.’
I looked away and found an intense interest in the junk mail teetering on the phone table.
‘Better not get all soppy. It looks like you’re embarrassing your friend.’ Michael’s deep voice held a hint of amusement.
‘Oh, Katie’s all right, aren’t you?’ Janey’s voice assured.
‘Umm, yes. Fine.’
My client’s vivid gaze fixed on me and he shook his head, that hint of smile back flickering around the full mouth.
‘I’ll behave for Kate, Janey. I promise.’
‘Good. Because she has my full permission to kick you in the nuts if you don’t.’
Michael burst out laughing and his whole face changed. The spiky demeanour transformed into something much closer to the warm, welcoming air that Janey always gave off. For the first time since I’d met him, I could finally see him as being related to my friend.
‘I’m countering that permission and as they’re my nuts, I have final say.’
‘Just be good,’ Janey said.
‘I’ve said I will. So I will. Now, can I go?’
‘Yes, all right. Bye, Kate. Thanks so much for this. Talk to you tomorrow.’
‘Bye Janey,’ I called.
‘Bye sis,’ Michael added, before pressing ‘End’ on the screen.
Silence fell over us.
‘So. I guess it looks like you’re stuck with me then.’
‘Yes, it does rather.’
More silence.
‘When she said about you being my chance at…you know…she didn’t mean…’
‘No. I know.’
‘OK. Good.’
‘It’s a bit of a cliché but I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure anyway.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘And I’m already seeing someone. Janey knows that.’ Why on earth was I going into all of this?
‘Right.’
‘And you’re definitely not my type anyway. Janey knows that too.’
Michael rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his feet. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d never opened my mouth.’
‘Not at all. It’s always good to be absolutely clear on things.’ For the love of God, Kate. Shut up!
After a beat, Michael spoke. ‘So, what happens now?’
I mentally squared my shoulders and shook my uncharacteristic babbling moment off. Focusing on what I knew best, I was back on firm ground.
‘Generally, I assess the project, then I look at my schedule and you look at yours and we see when we can fit in some sessions that work for both of us.’
‘Right.’ He moved away from me, his back turned.
‘But as I said earlier, I can only help someone if they want to be helped and are prepared to put in effort themselves. I realise that Janey is keen for you to do this, and that you clearly wish to please her, but if you’re really not invested in this, then it’s just a waste of time for both of us. It’s a very busy time, and as such, I have plenty of other people who would benefit from my services far more.’
As Janey had warned, I didn’t pull punches. I wanted her brother to know exactly what I expected from him.
‘Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to keep Little Miss Popular from doling out her beneficial services.’
I rolled my tense neck, sore from huddling against the cold earlier, and counted to ten. Ten wasn’t nearly enough.
‘Are you always this much of an arsehole?’
Michel didn’t say anything but I was almost sure I saw his lips quirk briefly in amusement at my outburst.
I took a deep breath. ‘I apologise. I shouldn’t have spoken like that. It’s been a very long day. Perhaps it’s best if I leave and you take the night to decide as to whether you wish to proceed.’
‘It’s fine. I probably deserved it.’
Probably?!
‘And in answer to your question, depending on who you ask, yes, I am always this much of an arsehole. And I don’t need the night to think about it. If I don’t do this then I’m in the shit with my family, which I know you probably couldn’t give a toss about but I do. They’ve done a lot for me and I need to do this for them. Unfortunately, I can’t do it without you.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘I promise I will take it seriously and do what I need to do to make them happy.’
‘It’s supposed to be about making you happier too.’
He shrugged. ‘If that happens too, then it’s a bonus, but don’t get your hopes up.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.’
Chapter Two (#u27559d27-b1b9-578b-adff-c37b57b9653b)
Michael gave me an even look, assessing. We were sat in his kitchen. It was light, modern, spacious and absolutely crammed full of stuff, just like the rest of the place. It didn’t look like he’d put anything away for years.
‘So, explain again what it is that you do, as it’s obviously not “faffing” or “poking about”.’ The even look remained. I knew he was testing me, seeing if I’d crack again. And although I was desperate to tell him exactly what I thought of him – again – I refrained. Not because of anything I felt for him but because of something I’d heard in Janey’s voice on the phone. Getting this arrogant man’s home, and life, better organised clearly meant a lot to her. That was the only reason I was still here.
‘I run an organisation consultancy. I help people to declutter and organise their living spaces which in turn makes their home a nicer, more inspiring and serene place to be. And that in turn, is good for everyone who lives there. Being surrounded by clutter can be stressful for the mind, not just because it’s hard to find things, but because it doesn’t instil the peace and calm we crave as human beings in the sanctuary of our home. When a person’s house is in order, it generally has positive benefits to other aspects of their life.’
Michael took a sip of the coffee he’d made. ‘Right.’
The word ‘sceptical’ sprang to mind.
‘But as I said, I can’t do this alone, I need – ’
‘Me to get on board. Blah Blah. I know. I get it. I just don’t really buy it.’
I shifted in my seat.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve done plenty in my life that I didn’t really buy into either and I got by. Just ask my ex-wife. So we’ll get it done. You do your thing, I’ll make the effort and then it’s done.’
‘Great,’ I said, feeling pretty unconvinced myself now, which was the complete opposite to how I normally felt at this stage in the process. Not a great sign.
I pushed my coffee mug to the side and pulled out a folder from my bag, clearing a little space on the breakfast bar to lay it on. Michael took the mugs off the counter, rinsed them and then came and stood behind me, peering over my shoulder at the forms I had just begun filling in. As he did so, I got a subtle waft of aftershave. It was light and citrusy and, oddly, not what I would have expected from him.
‘What’s this then? Do you give out grades for first impressions?’
I shoved my stool backwards, causing him to move, as I then dismounted. Tilting my head back to meet the intense green gaze, I answered him.
‘Perhaps it’s just as well that I don’t Mr O’Farrell.’
‘Oh. I guess, in the interest of fairness then, I should take that Yelp review down that I did when I nipped up to change my clothes?’
I turned quickly. ‘What did you say on it?’
He shrugged. ‘Just that I thought it was a novel approach for a business owner who comes into peoples’ houses to call her client an arsehole within minutes of meeting him.’
My mouth dropped open and I felt my face drain of colour.
‘That was entirely unfair of you! I apologised immediately! I know that’s no excuse, but you were late, rude and disrespectful of what I’ve been hired to do!’ A stray tendril of hair had come loose from my bun and I pushed it back from my face distractedly. ‘This is my livelihood! How could you – ’
He snagged his phone from the shelf and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans as he threw me an amused look.
‘Calm down. I didn’t do anything of the sort.’
I felt the colour return to my cheeks.
‘Oh. Right. Well, good. Thank you. And just so you know I’ve never, ever done that before and have no intention of doing it again.’
He shook his head. ‘Forget it. Believe me, if I Yelped everyone who thought I was an arsehole I’d be on the site all day.’
I didn’t say a word but his mouth did that quirk thing again.
‘It’s all right, you can say it.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You can say you aren’t in the least bit surprised.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of saying that.’
‘Nothing to stop you thinking it though, eh?’
‘Shall we make a start?’ I said, uncomfortable at being quite so transparent.
His lips gave a little tug to the side. ‘Absolutely. Tell me what you need me to do.’
‘So, is there anything you’re specifically hoping for with this process?’ I asked, glancing at my notes.
When he didn’t answer, I looked up to find him studying me.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Just seems an odd question, bearing in mind you already know the only reason you’re even here is because my sister cajoled you and my family forced me. If I wasn’t looking for the process to happen in the first place, I can’t see how I could be hoping for anything from it.’
I took a deep breath. ‘It’s fair to say that my clients are normally a little more pleased to see me than you are.’
‘I can see that,’ he said, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his ankles.
‘But that doesn’t mean, now that you’re committed to the process, that you won’t gain anything from it just because you came to it from a more unconventional angle.’
A grin flickered on his face, as fleeting as a guttering candle. ‘Unconventional. That’s one way of putting it.’
‘So, having heard what I do, is there anything you can think of that you would specifically want to gain from all this?’
He straightened from the doorway and looked at me. I tilted my head back to meet his eyes. Now I’d taken my sodden shoes off, I had to look up even further.
‘I’m not exactly sure what you want me to say Kate, but if you’re hoping for some sort of emotional blather about me wanting to find myself amongst all the clutter, then I’m sadly going to have to disappoint you. The only thing I’m looking for with this process is to turn my house into a place that’s fit for a family Christmas. At the moment, with all this stuff everywhere, it’s not. I’m just wanting a tidy house, Kate. Not therapy.’
‘Fair enough.’ I scribbled a note and made to move on.
‘It would seem your clientele are generally a lot deeper than I am.’
‘Not at all. Everyone’s different. I just want to make sure that I do the best job I can for each client, and that means finding out what it is they really want.’
‘Don’t they all just want less crap kicking around? Isn’t that the whole point of your business?’
‘Yes and no. That’s usually what it starts off as them thinking they want, but quite often there’s a deeper issue that they don’t even realise is driving them until part way through the process.’
He gave a quick raise of his eyebrows. ‘Right. Well, as you heard, the only thing driving me is a sister half my size.’
I felt the smile slide onto my face and for a moment he returned it.
‘So, let’s just accept that I’m shallow and move on. Where do you want to see first?’
He leant on the newel post and I watched the corded muscles on his forearm flex as his hand rested on the bannister.
Was that true? Was he really that shallow, or was he, in fact, one of my most complicated clients? Usually about this time, I had a pretty good idea of who my client was, but with Michael O’Farrell, I still didn’t have a clue.
‘Shall we do bottom to top?’
He gave me a quick nod and led the way down the stairs to the basement level of the four-storey Georgian. Here the space had been given over to a large open-plan living area that had bi-folding doors leading out onto a garden. There was a small counter/kitchen area for preparing snacks and cups of tea, to save having to traipse up and down the stairs when time was being spent in here. A flat-screen TV collected dust against the wall and a couple of couches and beanbags sat unused underneath some appliance boxes and other discarded items. Looking out onto the garden, it could be a great space for entertaining, or just relaxing, but right now it was uninviting and cold. From my time studying the outside, and now here, there already seemed to be a theme emerging.
Next I followed my client back up the stairs to the ground floor where he stopped outside a room opposite the kitchen we’d sat in earlier. As I caught up to him, he opened the door. Inside was an architect’s easel, a work station with a large flat-screen computer on it and a bookcase stuffed with books, papers and all sorts of other random items. Under another pile of papers a small two-seater sofa lounged against the wall. Michael walked over and flicked on the lamp over the easel. There was no window dressing of any kind and streetlight shadows from the trees outside danced on the stripped wooden floor. At least, what you could see of it.
‘My office.’
‘You work from home?’
‘I do.’
I glanced around. ‘And do you always know where everything is in here?’
He followed my gaze and I saw something cross his face. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was being sarcastic so I clarified my question.
‘It’s just that sometimes, especially in work areas, what looks like a mess to an outsider is actually a very specific way of working for the person whose space it is. People find their own way of working and obviously I don’t want to do anything to upset your working methods.’
He picked up a mechanical pencil from the desk and fiddled with it.
‘As much as it pains me to tell you this, I can’t actually find a bloody thing most of the time.’
‘OK. We can fix that and find a much better system for you, which will make for a more pleasant and efficient working environment.’
‘Just because it looks a tip doesn’t mean I’m not “efficient” at my job. People might think I’m an arsehole but they still know I’m a damn good architect.’
I tried not to look surprised at his defensiveness. Time to employ some professional soothing. ‘I never meant to suggest that you weren’t. I’m sorry if it came across that way.’
He fiddled with the pencil a little more, then nodded, seemingly accepting my apology. ‘But you are saying my office isn’t pleasant?’
‘I’m just saying that we can make it more pleasant.’
He gave a little shake of his head, that almost-smile flashing briefly. ‘Very tactful.’
I looked up from my notes. ‘So, what’s next?’
Staying on the same level, he pointed to a door behind which was apparently a downstairs loo, before moving on to show me the living and dining rooms. Both were gorgeous spaces, not that it was easy to see that at the moment. But they could be.
‘You play the piano?’ I asked, seeing an upright groaning under another pile of magazines and general ‘stuff’.
He shrugged. ‘Used to. Haven’t played for ages.’
‘Why not?’
He gave the shrug again and then set off for the next floor. Here there were four spare bedrooms, two with small en suites, and one main bathroom. One of the bedrooms had been converted into a mini home gym which, unlike many I’d seen in my time, was clearly being put to good use. I made a note to suggest moving this equipment down to the basement level. There was plenty of space down there and it could always be screened off with a room divider. That would free up the bedroom, which, from what Janey had told me about the size of their family, could be useful. Plus it might be more inspiring for my client to work out looking onto the garden rather than staring at a blank wall as he clearly was at the moment. I snuck a glance at him. Admittedly, from what I could see under the slightly misshapen clothes, he didn’t seem to be lacking in motivation to work out.
As we moved around, it seemed that most of the rooms had generally turned into a dumping ground for random items, boxes for appliances, motorbike parts and goodness knows what else.
‘The master bedroom is on the top floor but you’ve pretty much got the idea as to what it’s like from these.’ He waved a hand at the rooms we’d already seen.
‘It would still be very helpful for me to see it, if possible. So that I have all the information as to what we are dealing with. It’s especially helpful in this case as we’re on quite a short deadline.’
After his comment about one-night stands earlier, I was a little surprised that Michael had suddenly seemed to have turned a little shy. Frankly, I’d half expected that to be the first room he’d shown me, maybe hoping for another reaction. But the truth was, I’d seen all sorts in my time and there was little that could surprise me now. I opened my mouth to reassure him but he took off up the stairs before I could say anything. Quickly, I followed. He opened the door and stepped in.
‘Master bedroom, en suite, dressing room.’ His voice was uncharacteristically flat.
I looked around the room before turning back to Michael. Unexpectedly, not to mention, annoyingly, he had indeed surprised me. Whilst everywhere else in the house was full of stuff, his bedroom – the one place where it should feel the most personal – felt the least. It was almost like a hotel room but with less soul. The room itself, like the others, was beautiful. In fact, it was even more so with its double-aspect windows, high ceilings and finished wood floor. It could be the perfect bedroom. My new client might be annoying, bristly, arrogant and rude but there was one thing he clearly wasn’t short of, and that was personality – however desirable or undesirable its aspects. And yet this room had none. There was no sense of him at all. Of anything really. It was sparsely furnished and had none of the junk that the other rooms had acquired.
Evidently the surprise showed on my face.
‘It seems unlike you to have nothing to say Kate.’
I turned quickly, trying to regain my mental footing.
‘I was…it’s just that…’
Michael raised an eyebrow at me, but remained silent, making no attempt to help me out.
I cleared my throat and smoothed my hair unnecessarily. ‘Do you actually use this room?’ I asked, making a couple of notes.
‘I do.’
That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I just couldn’t picture this man in such a bland space. Everywhere else in this house showed aspects of who he was: his work, his motorbike, the food he liked – mostly because it was all on display. But here there was nothing. Not an inkling of the person who spent his nights there. And then it dawned on me. Maybe that was precisely the aim.
‘OK. You seem to have managed to maintain this one a little better, so that’s helpful.’
‘I’m glad you approve.’
I crossed the room and opened the door to the walk in wardrobe, peering in. Much of it was empty and I had to fight the urge to fling myself down and weep for the space he had for clothes – a space that was only a little smaller than my entire flat.
‘Are you all right?’ The deep voice almost sounded concerned.
‘Hmm? Oh, yes! Absolutely. This really is a beautiful room.’
‘Thank you.’ He turned to leave, clearly feeling that I’d got all I needed. As I followed, I gave it another look. It could be so much more for him. I wasn’t a professional decorator but I loved the subject as a hobby and so it was easy for me to see how this could be transformed into a real oasis of calm for him. Somewhere he could escape the day, the stresses of work – assuming that all electronic devices were banned from the bedroom – as they should be.
‘You know, you could really make that into a gorgeous space for you to – ’
‘I wasn’t aware you were here to comment on my decoration tastes,’ he snapped, pulling the bedroom door closed behind me.
‘No, of course not. I just…’ I met his eyes and saw there was no argument to be made. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, attempting pacification with a smile. ‘It’s just that it’s an interest of mine and it’s hard not to get carried away in a beautiful house like this.’
‘Perhaps you could try a little harder.’
I swallowed and gave him a tighter smile. ‘Of course.’
He nodded sharply. ‘Thank you,’ he said, before standing aside and motioning for me to precede him down the stairs, apparently ensuring that I couldn’t scoot off and peek at his bedroom again. A desire I currently neither had, nor ever planned to have.
‘So, what’s the verdict?’ He indicated the notes I’d made as he’d shown me around the house and the few answers to questions regarding the process that I’d managed to pry out of him.
‘All fine. I’ll make up a plan of attack and email you a copy so that you know exactly what we’re trying to achieve.’
‘You reckon you can transform this place into an oasis of serenity then?’ He raised an eyebrow.
I ignored the sarcasm. ‘Of course. Janey’s been a very good friend to me and I want to help her. If doing this with you makes her happy, then as you said earlier, we’ll get it done.’
‘Right.’
‘The process always works best when several hours can be allocated to it together, rather than little bits here and there. So I would need to try and schedule some blocks of time that work for both of us. Perhaps tomorrow you could look at your diary and see what you have available and let me know? Once I know that, I’ll do my best to work around it for you.’
‘How long does the whole process generally take?’
‘That really depends on the size of the place, how invested the owner is, what time they can give over to it, etc. Some people have a lot more stuff than others, some struggle more on what to discard, and so on. There’s no set time. Every house is different because every client is different. Obviously we have a tighter timescale than I usually work to, bearing in mind you want this done for Christmas.
‘But can you do it?’
‘I’m fairly confident of it, yes. Of course, it depends on how much time you can put aside and how well things work. I will do my absolute best but I don’t want to mislead you. You have to realise that trying to organise a house of this size with this amount of–’
‘Crap?’
‘I was going to say “accumulated items”– ready for guests in just over a month will be quite a challenging target.’ I dropped my file back into my bag.
‘I’ll pay you double.’
I looked up, surprised.
‘I don’t work like that Mr O’Farrell. That would be unfair and, to me at least, incredibly unethical. I don’t categorise my clients by who can pay me the most!’
‘I didn’t mean to suggest that you did. I apologise.’
Oh. So he did actually understand the concept of apologising then? That was a start.
‘I just…Look, I really need you to help me with this, in that timescale. I realise it’s difficult and I will do my utmost to obey whatever you say and get it done.’
‘It’s not about obeying me – ’
‘That’s a shame.’ He cut in, his lips hinting at a smile.
I pointedly ignored the remark.
‘It’s about putting in the effort and believing in what you’re doing.’
‘OK. Look. I get it. I can see the point of all this.’ He waved his hand, encompassing me in the gesture. ‘I have a cleaner in once a week but I’m fully aware I’m not that great at housekeeping, so to speak. I sort of lost my way a bit when…’
I waited. The hardness in his face faded. It was still all sharp planes and glass cutting cheekbones but as his expression softened, he suddenly seemed more approachable, and less …well, less of an arse. He looked back from where he’d been staring at the darkened kitchen window and saw me watching him. Immediately the hardness in his face returned.
‘Carry on,’ I prompted softly, trying to rescue the moment. If I could understand him a little more, it would help my job enormously. Organising a home was incredibly personal, which is why the owner had to be involved. But if I could understand that owner, what was important to them, what had happened to them in their lives, it made the whole process so much easier.
‘Nothing. I just need to get this done for Christmas. It’s my turn to host the family and if someone else gets stuck doing it because I didn’t pull my finger out, then that’s not fair and I wouldn’t feel right even attending. But I’ve already missed far too many. So it’s not an option. I do understand that you have plenty of clients vying for your time, so if you can’t do it then I’ll just get someone else in. I’m sure there are plenty of people who do this kind of thing.’
On second thought, I wasn’t sure anything could make Michael O’Farrell less of an arse. It was clear that was just his demeanour’s natural setting.
‘Yes. There are. I am, however, one of the best. I did you a favour coming tonight, and waiting until you eventually turned up. I’ve spent my entire evening here and am now aware of exactly what needs doing, all of which time will have been entirely wasted should you turn to someone else. And that, frankly, would be incredibly frustrating. I am prepared to take you on as a client of Stone Organisation, and reschedule others whose needs aren’t quite so pressing in order to accommodate you, in order to please Janey. However, it is of course your prerogative to employ whomever you wish. In the circumstances, I would ask that you let me know by ten o’clock tomorrow morning so that we both know where we stand.’
I finished my spiel and turned away, quickly retrieving my coat from one of the overstuffed hooks that lined the wall of the hall.
‘I want you.’
I turned, pausing in the belting of my coat.
‘Pardon?’ I squeaked.
‘I want you.’ He’d descended the stairs too and was now leaning against the banister, his green eyes fixed on me. ‘I don’t want to employ anyone else to do this. Janey recommends Stone Organisation, so that’s who I want. I know that I’m difficult and impatient and impossible to deal with – God knows I’ve been told it enough times over the past few years. I’m also aware that I’ve given you a hard time this evening and you’ve taken it all in your stride and pushed back when you needed to. I need someone prepared to do that. Otherwise I’ll take the piss and never get anything done and it really will be a waste of time.’
I looked away and concentrated on wrapping my scarf around my neck, taking a moment to gather myself. Even though he was far too annoying to fancy, Michael’s soft Irish, deep gravelly tones saying ‘I want you’, completely out of the blue, was enough to throw any girl off her stride for a moment or two. No matter the context. Recovered, I turned back to face him.
‘All right. Good. Here’s my card.’ He closed the distance between us and I handed him a pale Tiffany blue business card. ‘Work out when you can set aside some time and email me. I’ll look at my diary and then give you a call to plan the first session.’
‘I’m assuming you don’t work weekends?’ he said, studying the card.
‘I try not to, but obviously it’s very difficult with the type of work I do, so it’s all dependent on the client.’
‘Right. Guess I blew that already then.’
‘Yes, you did rather. But lucky for you, I adore Janey so, if weekends are all you can do, then that’s what will happen.’
He gave a small smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll do my best to clear some space in the week so that I don’t take up too many of your weekends. I’m sure your boyfriend probably likes to see you as much as possible.’
I retrieved the leather gloves from my pocket and started pulling them on. ‘He’s aware my work hours can be a little erratic. Besides, he travels a lot and is often away over weekends too so it’s not such a big deal.’
Michael looked at me again, studying me, his eyes almost hypnotic in their concentration.
‘What is it?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ He flicked the card. ‘I’ll email you tomorrow.’
I nodded. ‘Great. Goodnight then.’
‘Night.’
He leant over to open the door and glanced up and down the street. The snow was still falling but a little less heavily than it had been earlier.
‘Where did you park?’
‘I didn’t. I got the Tube. Speak to you tomorrow then.’
‘Wait. I’ll walk you to the station.’
‘No. It’s not far. But thank you.’
‘Janey would want me to.’
I gave him a patient look.
‘Look, just wait while I find my shoes. I know the other one is here somewhere…’ He began hunting around the ‘accumulated items’ in the hall for his other trainer.
I shook my head. ‘Looks like you could do with a bit of organisation,’ I quipped. Stepping past him, I opened my umbrella, heading off quickly before he could get himself organised enough to come with me. The Tube station was only a few minutes of quick walking away and the area was well to do and well lit. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t done a hundred times before and I certainly didn’t need chaperoning by Michael O’Farrell just because his sister would have wanted him to. I soon reached the bright, fluorescent lights of the Tube station and headed into its underworld to catch my train.
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Maxine Morrey
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 25.04.2024
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О книге: ‘One of my favourite Christmas reads. Maxine Morrey writes the most gorgeous heroes. – Jules Wake, author of Covent Garden in the Snow’A delightful wintery tale full to the brim with drama, passion and heartwarming cheer.’ – Gem~BeeCould happy ever after be waiting underneath the mistletoe?Professional organiser Kate has had her share of demanding clients. But Michael O’Farrell is the most obnoxious man she’s ever met. He may be gorgeous, but if he wasn’t her best friend’s brother Kate wouldn’t have waited on his doorstep for five minutes, let alone an hour!But, underneath Michael’s icy exterior, Kate’s surprised to find a man who needs to declutter his heart as well as his home. And while she’s happier fixing messy desks than broken hearts, Kate can’t help making Michael her secret Christmas project.After all, at Christmas, anything can happen!What reviewers are saying about Maxine Morrey‘Absolutely adorable, made me cry, made me laugh and made me want a gorgeous green eyed Irishman!’ – Lori (Goodreads)‘A sweet and funny Christmas tale’ – For the Love of Books‘Enjoyable and heart-warming. It′s just right for a cosy night in, curled up with a vanilla coffee and candle-light.’ – Jane (Netgalley)‘This book is pack full of giggles and tears. A fantastic festive winter warmer.’ – Natasha (Netgalley)