Page 13 of Finding Grey

Never. While we’d had some big names come through here, there’d been no one of Dante’s status. But theFull-Service Packagemeant I would be cooking every meal, completing every household chore. Anything he needed, it would be my job to ensure he got it.

“With the money we’ll make from this, I’ll be able to afford to hire another full-time host,” my father added. “You’ll be free to go back to your own career, your own life.”

My already compromised heartbeat gave an extra lub-dub. I’d been in the process of building a successful photography business when Dad had his heart attack. He’d been forced to take time off work while he recovered and the need to hire another audio engineer to run the recording studio had put a strain on the business. Then, a couple of guest cancellations followed by unexpected damage from a severe thunderstorm, had threatened to bankrupt the place. I’d stepped in to help out, scaling my own business back to almost nothing in order to take over the job of host. I’d been inexperienced at the time, but a hell of a lot cheaper than the last person who’d held the position. Over the last two years we’d managed to pullThe Bard’s Retreatback from the brink, but not to the point where I felt right about leaving. If Dante’s stay would get us over that line, it would be worth the trauma of seeing him again.

“Is Roger Sinclair coming as well?” That was the last deal breaker for me. If I had to serve food to that man, I really would push his face into it.

“No. Apparently, he’s busy managing other clients these days. It’ll just be Dante.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, I could do this. Especially if it meant giving up this job and getting my own dream back on track. Besides, being around Dante for a couple of months wouldn’t be so bad. I’d gotten over my obsession with him years ago. The only time I ever thought of him now was when I heard other people talking about him or heard one of his many songs on the radio. Or saw his picture in a magazine or the newspaper. I stopped counting instances, it wasn’t helping.

At least I wouldn’t have to worry about Dante recognising me, even if he remembered me. It had been nearly eight years since the night we met. Everything about my appearance had changed in that time. The whip-thin boy I’d once been was long gone. Smooth cheeks had been replaced by the roughness of stubble. And I would stand eye-to-eye with the man who had so enjoyed looking down on me. I wore my hair longer now, as well, instead of the short but shaggy style I’d favoured at the time. No, Dante would have no idea the man cooking his meals and cleaning his toilet was the same boy he’d kissed so long ago. It was the only advantage I’d have over him, and I would make damned sure I held on to it.