Eyes Wide Open

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Fiona opened her bag and pulled out the bottle of water she had stashed in there. Holding it away from her body—she didn’t want to end up with splash marks on her gorgeous clothes—she twisted off the cap and took several long swallows of the cool liquid. It probably wouldn’t stop her throat going dry with nerves once she got inside the interview room, but at least she wouldn’t get dehydrated.

She replaced the bottle, then whipped out her compact mirror and did a quick check of her makeup, which was fine. Finally, knowing she didn’t have any more time to waste, she tugged at her clothes to make sure they were straight and crease-free, and walked towards the hotel.

One of the door attendants she’d seen buzzing around the Mercedes was there, and he moved to open the door for her, giving a polite nod.

“Thank you,” she said, flashing him a warm smile and passing through into the lobby.

The first impression that hit her was one of space. Damn, this was just the reception area and it was cavernous. And yet it was far from sparse. Off to the left side was what appeared to be a sitting area, which was probably also used for informal meetings. It was carpeted in a lush dark purple, with round, very stylish, light wood tables and comfortable-looking black leather chairs.

To her right were a couple of elevators and a large archway, which, according to the sign over it, led to the spa and gym facilities. She suspected it was situated just inside the main doors because it was open to non-guests too.

The flooring was marble, and large potted plants and trees were dotted around, drawing her gaze to the beautiful wooden panelling on the walls, and the paintings hung at what she suspected were far from random intervals. The whole place had an authentic, old-fashioned feel to it, but more like it had been decorated to look that way, rather than because the décor had been like that for decades. It all appeared fresh and immaculate, and she didn’t envy the no doubt huge team of people employed to keep it that way.

Finally, she turned her attention to the reception desk. It was set in an alcove, with a wooden surface that matched the wall panelling and had stunning flower arrangements perched at each end. There was still plenty of room between, however, and no less than three pretty receptionists waited there to deal with guests—or should she say two pretty ones and one handsome one, since there were two women and a man.

Pulling in a deep breath and straightening her posture, she moved from where she’d been loitering off to one side of the main doors and walked to the desk—aware how easy it would be to tumble off her shoes on the smooth surface beneath her feet. It was the sort of place where people would rush to her aid and make sure she was okay, rather than laugh their arses off, but still, that was not the kind of first impression she wanted to make. Plus, she wasn’t sure her ego could take the humiliation.

“Hello,” the nearest receptionist, a redhead, said as Fiona approached. “Welcome to The Portmannow Hotel. How can I help you?”

She’d obviously clocked that Fiona didn’t have any luggage or a bellboy hovering nearby, which was why she’d not asked if she was checking in. Smiling, Fiona replied, “Hello. I’m here for an interview. My name is Fiona Gillespie.”

“Oh right. Just bear with me a moment, Ms. Gillespie, I’ll let them know you’re here.” She picked up the telephone receiver nearest to her and punched in a number. After a beat, she spoke. “Hello, it’s Isa from Reception. I’m just calling to let you know Fiona Gillespie is here for her interview.” A pause, then, “Yes, of course. No problem. Thank you.”

Putting the phone down, she smiled at Fiona and said, “Do you want to go and take a seat in the area over there? Someone will come and get you shortly.”

“Great, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And good luck!”

“Thank you.”

Isa’s smile seemed genuine. Fiona returned it warmly, then made for the area with the comfy leather chairs. Choosing one near to the edge, so she was easy to spot when someone came to collect her, she tugged at the hem of her skirt a little before settling down onto the cool material and subtly angling her body so she could see all around her.

A quick glance at the stylish clock on the wall opposite her, with its huge face and roman numerals, told her she still had fifteen minutes left before her interview. She could relax a little. She was here. She was ready. All she had to do was get up when someone arrived, put one foot in front of the other until she reached the interview room, then do her best to wow them. Broken down into small chunks like that, the whole thing didn’t seem nearly so daunting.

Determined to try to take her mind off her nerves, she looked around some more. She hadn’t been able to see it from the door, due to the angle—which was likely deliberate—but from her new vantage point, she could sneak a glimpse into the restaurant. One of the restaurants, anyway. This one was probably the more casual one, for want of a better word—one which allowed non-guests to book tables—though it’d still probably be well in advance—and was more suitable for daytime dining.

The super luxury restaurants were probably tucked away in more secluded corners of the building; not that the one she could see was exactly a greasy spoon, but still… Her research had told her the head chef had three Michelin stars—one of barely a handful of chefs in the country who did. So no matter which part of the hotel one ate in, a serious gastronomic delight was a given. She’d never been much of a foodie, but spending time in this place would be enough to change anyone’s mind, she was sure.

Immaculately-dressed staff whizzed back and forth between the tables, delivering food and drinks, taking away empty plates, swapping cutlery, bringing new linens… The tasks were myriad, and endless, and they were all performed with quiet efficiency. By the looks of it, patrons would have water carafes and coffee cups refilled before they even realised they were empty. Nobody, not even the pickiest, most awkward diva-ish folk could find this place anything but utterly amazing.

What’s more, the members of staff looked happy, too. There was a difference between smiling because it was what was expected of you and was polite, and smiling because you actually enjoyed your job and wanted to be there. The door attendant, the receptionists and the whizzing waiters and waitresses in the restaurant all appeared to be in the latter group. Of course, they could just be very good at faking it, but Fiona doubted it. The warmth behind Isa’s smile and her tone of voice when she’d wished her luck had been real.

Well, so much for distracting herself and trying to keep the nerves at bay. Yes, her observations had given her some interesting insights into the place, its staff and the way it was run, but they had also driven home for her just how much she wanted this role. She hoped like hell the aching need she now had in her stomach would aid her performance in the interview, because she knew if she didn’t get the job, the ache would turn into a big, heavy ball that would sit in her tummy and make her life very unpleasant.

“Ms. Gillespie?”

The voice startled her out of her thoughts, and a gasp escaped her lips before she could prevent it. She smiled and rose from the seat, turning to face the owner of the voice. “Hello. I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there. You startled me. I’m Fiona.” She held out her hand.

The woman, a tall, curvaceous brunette maybe ten years her senior, took her hand and they shook. “Sorry,” she said, smiling. “I didn’t mean to make you jump. I’m Sophia Lowrey, PR Manager. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were Ms. Cresswell.”

Sophia shook her head. “No. She’s in the interview room, making a few notes on the last applicant. We’ll both be interviewing you.”

“I see. Okay, great. Sorry. It’s lovely to meet you, too. I’m sorry, I’m a little nervous.” Bloody hell, Fiona, stop saying sorry!

The older woman smiled again, then held out her arm to indicate that Fiona should walk with her. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Just be yourself. That’s all we ask.”

Even if ‘myself’ is a penniless graduate with no experience whatsoever in PR? You’d be better off sticking me behind the bar. Though, even there I’d be no good—not much call for champagne and cocktails at The Royal Oak, but I pull a mean pint.

Instead, she smiled back, picked up her bag and followed Sophia out of the lobby, past the elevators and through a discreet door tucked into the far corner of the space. Once through the door, Fiona could immediately see why someone came to fetch the interviewees—giving directions to someone who’d never set foot in the building before would be a recipe for disaster. It was like a labyrinth—albeit an incredibly clean, stylish one.

That really showed what standards The Portmannow Hotel strove for. Even the areas not open to the public were awe-inspiring. As she was half a pace behind Sophia, Fiona allowed herself to drink in the lavishness around her—the beautiful paintings, stunning sculptures, the fact that the carpet was so deep it felt a little like quicksand. The glimpses she caught out of a couple of windows they passed were impressive, too. It seemed there was a central courtyard nestled amongst the stately walls, and it housed a gorgeous haven of greenery.

As if sensing her curiosity, Sophia said over her shoulder, “Once your interview’s concluded, Ms. Gillespie, I’ll give you a tour of the building. You’re the last person we’re seeing today, so I can take you myself.”

“Wow, that would be wonderful. Thank you. This place is beautiful.” She meant every word, but also couldn’t help thinking it was a little cruel to show each applicant around the place, knowing only one of them would get the job. It was a bit like look at what you could have won.

But, on the other hand, for the person who was lucky enough to land the position, every glimpse would be worth its weight in gold, because she was sure whoever it was would spend their first day—probably their first week, actually—getting lost. She’d been paying attention to where they’d been going, and yet she found herself hoping she’d be escorted back to the lobby when she was done. Otherwise, she’d still be wandering these corridors days later, trying to find her way out.

After what felt like a couple of miles, Sophia stopped at a door marked PR & Marketing Suite.

Bloody hell, even the behind-the-scenes places have posh names. Suite? Not department, but suite!

“Okay,” Sophia said, resting her hand on the door handle and half-turning to Fiona, “we’re here. Just remember what I said. Be yourself. And please try to relax. Neither of us bites.”

With a shy smile, Fiona nodded. “I will. Thanks.”

They passed through the doorway into a reception-type area, where a girl around her age sat behind a desk, clicking away on her keyboard. Sophia nodded politely to her, then led Fiona through another door into a huge, open-plan office, with a handful of diligent staff working away on their various tasks. In one corner was a private office with glass walls.

Okay, kiddo. This is it. Knock ‘em dead!