Trust (London Love #5)

“I’m so sorry we…we were…unprepared last time. I do remember, fully our responsibility…” he started. Then he stopped. Stared at me. Then at Dieter. “You haven’t got a reservation.”

“I do,” Dieter argued quietly.

This was not how we usually greeted our VIP guests, but I was quite enjoying the little spectacle unfolding in front of me.

“I booked in. Paid and all.”

“Oh?” Eddie tapped desperately at his computer. “What name did you use?”

“That Hugo booked it for me, I dunno. He said it was all there.”

Bloody Hugo. The other reception manager. There were four of them actually, but fucking hell. Two screw-ups in a row.

“You don’t even know what name you’re booked in under?” I asked, trying to help. “Is it like a codename? I mean, You were Mr Pokémon last time, I think. Or was it Mr Marvel?”

It hadn’t been, but it got a small smile out of Dieter as he tried to make himself invisible on that chair. He was always like this. I’d seen him live on stage. Watched him on TV. Entire stadiums full of fans lapped up his every breath, that tousled hair and his trademark bare chest and wanky leather trousers, the mere twitch of his hips causing people to faint, every word coming out of his mouth devoured by his adoring audience. In reality…

Dieter from Blitz was sitting right here, sans leather trousers, obviously, and I needed to figure him out, because honestly, he looked terrified.

“Do you have any idea what name you’re booked under?” Eddie again. “And it’s definitely today?” He was unusually flustered, which could be lack of sleep, as he’d once again done a double duty-manager shift. I knew because I’d been here too, and this clusterfuck of a weekend was not one I wanted to revisit. A stabbing outside, three known prostitutes arrested in the bar, the fire alarm had gone off in the spa, and our resident piano player had been high as a kite and had to be escorted away from her piano. And now Eddie was on his phone leaving voicemail messages for Hugo to ring him back with regards to a rather sensitive urgent matter dealing with a VIP.

Like Dieter didn’t know we were talking about him.

“Look, it’s okay,” he said. “If you have a room, any room, I’ll take it. I’m, like, shattered, and I have nowhere else to go.”

“You have a house up in Hampstead, yeah?” Me and my big mouth, but those gossip sites were very useful. Full of information. Admittedly, some of it was a load of bollocks.

“Can’t go back there,” Dieter said. “It’s on the market anyway. Need to find somewhere else to crash.”

That was…unusually candid. We didn’t know him, and he didn’t know us, and the way he was squirming, he’d clearly not intended to tell us that. “Hugo set it all up. Think it was something to do with fish?”

Good job, Dieter!

Eddie’s face lit up, fingers tapping away like he was performing some kind of satanic ritual on his keyboard, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his mouth in concentration. He swallowed. Smiled.

“Gotcha. You’re right, Mr Dieter.”

“Just Dieter,” he huffed. “It’s just an act. No need to call me that. And this is a…private visit.”

“Indeed,” Eddie smarmed, albeit politely.

“What am I booked in as?”

He seemed to have found a bit of his usual confidence and no longer looked so goddamn scared, thank fuck, because I had no idea where any of this was heading.

“You’re down as Mr Oyster. You are, of course, very welcome to change that.” Eddie tugged at his tie. I noticed a droplet of sweat run down his forehead.

“Nah. All good,” Dieter said. “I’ll get out of your hair then.” He stood up, rucksack still on his shoulder. Shifty little shit.

“Is there anything else we can do for you?” Eddie asked, looking a lot calmer, like he’d had an internal chat with himself and managed to find his Zen or some shit like that. I had no Zen. I was just me.

“I’ll need some…food. Later, yeah?”

Food. Ha! He lived off macrobiotic vegan grains or something. Usually travelled with an extensive detailed rider, containing ridiculous items we’d never even heard off and never had in stock. The guy was all lean muscle. The Dieter. He was also fidgeting with the cord from his hoodie, and that panic-stricken look was back on his face.

“And please don’t tell anyone I’m here. I just want to lie low for a bit. You understand?”

I did. Eddie did too, apparently, as he was back to tapping furiously on his keyboard.