GROWING INTO YOU
Chapter One
Georgia
“Well, that was weird.”
Carla strides across the lobby, one brow arched in annoyance. She stops in front of me, resting both palms flat on the reception desk, her hip jutting out to one side.
“The guy who checked in earlier—the one with all the luggage—requested sixteen bottles of mineral water from room service. Weird, right? Like, who’s that thirsty? So I said I’d go up and deliver them myself. And when I get there, it turns out he’s smuggled his cat in with him.”
She stares at me, her brown eyes blinking as she waits for a reaction, but all I can do is roll my lips inwards to stifle a smile.
“He brought his cat,” she continues. “To a spa hotel. And the water is for his humidifier. And to be clear,” she presses an index finger down on the counter. “The humidifier is for the cat. Apparently, Valentino finds the summer weather in England too drying. I mean… rich people!”
She shakes her head disapprovingly, and then quickly looks back at me.
“No offence.”
“None taken,” I say. “The woman in room thirty-nine—”
“The one with the face mask?”
I nod. “She’s staying for a month, and she’s brought all her own sheets and towels with her, which she’s asked to be washed separately from other guests, of course.”
Carla shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Of course.”
“She’s also requested three room cleans a day, and when Darren took her bags up, he found her checking her bathroom with a blue light.”
Carla snorts. “What’s a good hotel without a resident germaphobe? I bet housekeeping are going to love her.”
The phone on the desk rings, and Carla snaps into character, lifting the receiver and pressing it to her ear. “Front desk, how may I assist you?” She glances at me and rolls her eyes. “Hello, Mr Chilton. No, there’s no need to worry; I can assure you Darren is still standing by your car. I believe he’s been there for…” She checks the clock. “Almost three hours now, and he’ll be there until his shift ends.” She pauses. “No, sir, I can promise you he’s not touching it. I’m looking at him right now. All is well.” She ends the call and inhales deeply through her nose; it’s a ‘give-me-strength’ breath we both take at least twice a day. “Is it me or do the guests seem more demanding than usual today?”
“Full moon?” I suggest.
Carla looks down at her name badge as she readjusts it. “We can’t blame the moon every week.”
Through the hotel’s glass doors, we can see Mr Chilton’s precious Lamborghini, with Darren the bellboy watching over it. His jaw clenches as he stifles a yawn, but he straightens as a man wanders over to him. They talk for a minute before Darren points through the entrance doors towards the desk I’m standing behind and explains something. The man looks over, nods, and starts to walk towards the building. Carla and I exchange a glance. Even from a distance, we can tell he’s not a guest. More like a tall, rugged groundskeeper carrying a parcel. Like someone who should be entering via the service entrance.
The lift doors slide open, drawing my attention back inside. A group of women in yoga outfits float out and gather around a noticeboard, animatedly discussing the sign announcing the launch of Wakewood Hall’s first-ever Wellness Immersion Retreat. For twenty-five guests, tomorrow would mark the start of a week of vegan cuisine, guided meditation, intensive yoga classes, and personal transformation. All hosted by Luna Sky, a celebrity yoga and wellness guru from America, hired as the hotel’s summer retreat director. Someone whom Time magazine voted one of the most influential yoga teachers of the century.
“Carla,” I say, smoothing down my shirt. “When Luna arrives, if she mentions that she needs an assistant and, you know, with me being newly qualified to teach and everything, I could totally help her out. I’m just one downward dog away from becoming her teaching aide. I can feel it.”
Carla rolls her eyes with an exasperated smile, and the hotel manager, Mark, appears. Like a skittish squirrel, he makes his way toward us, eyes darting around, trying to find something out of place to complain about.
“Are you ready?” He holds his arms out and flaps his hands at us. “Ms Sky will be here any minute. I’ll do the talking; you two just stand there and do your best to look interested.”
I open my mouth to remind him that I am genuinely excited about Luna’s arrival, but before I can form the words, the groundskeeper from earlier walks in through the hotel entrance and looks around uncomfortably, shifting his weight as he runs a hand through his hair. He looks so out of place, like he took a wrong turn out of an agricultural show.
“Who is that?” Mark asks, recoiling. A few of the guests walk past him, then glance back to stare at his muddy boots and ripped jeans. Though I have to admit, the group of yoga bunnies don’t look that horrified by him. In fact, I’d say it was the opposite.
“I have no idea,” Carla purrs, giving him a once-over. “But I’ll be more than happy to find out for you.”
She steps forward, but before she can get any further, Mark grabs the hem of her jacket, pulling her back. “Georgia. You go,” he hisses. “That can’t be the first person Luna sees when she walks in. If he’s not a guest—which he clearly isn’t—then get rid of him. Quickly!”
Carla pouts like a toddler as I run over to him, my heels clicking on the marble floor. Up close, he’s pretty handsome in a sun-worn sort of way, though his old work clothes and shaggy beard are doing nothing for him. His shoulders drop with relief when he notices the employee badge on my blazer. Georgia Brown, Guest Service Agent.
“Can I help you?” I ask, looking up at him.
He clears his throat. “I’ve uh…I’ve got a delivery for the head chef. It’s cheese.” His huge hands are wrapped around a box with a Willowsmere Farm label on the top. He holds it up for me to see.
I blink. “Cheese. Right. I see. Well, kitchen deliveries are usually dropped off at the back of the hotel, at the service entrance,” I say, peering around him to see a blacked-out Mercedes glide into the circular driveway outside.
Luna.
“Oh, of course. Right,” he says, sounding almost disappointed. “Can you tell me how I can find it?”
“Erm,” I hesitate, biting my bottom lip. Luna will be stepping out of that car any minute now. If I can’t get rid of this guy before she walks into the lobby, Mark will be furious. “You know what, give it to me, I’ll see that he gets it.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, gripping the box a little tighter. “It’s some samples. It’s pretty important that he gets them today. If they’re out of the fridge for too long, they’ll get sweaty.”
I tilt my face up to find his warm eyes earnestly fixed on me. It’s clear he’s no ordinary deliveryman. They usually throw their parcels at me from the doorway.
“I promise,” I say, resting my hand on his forearm and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me. I won’t let your cheese get sweaty.”
I let my eyes close for a beat as I replay what just came out of my mouth. Wow. No wonder I’m single.
A bemused smile curls at one corner of his mouth as he thinks for a second. Then he gives me a resigned nod and, as he hands over the box, our fingers brush against each other. He has weathered, calloused hands, the type that spend all day outside. Our eyes linger on each other for another beat before a slow grin spreads across his face.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
“You’re welcome,” I reply breathlessly.
He turns and walks back out of the main entrance just as Luna’s driver hops out, snapping me out of whatever daydream I was about to surrender to. Running back to the desk, I put the box underneath the counter before smoothing down my lapels.
“Who was that?” Carla whispers as I stand next to her, ready to greet our VIP guest.
I shrug and shake my head. “Nobody.”
She hums. It’s the sound you make just before you’re about to bite into something delicious. “That man did not look like a nobody to me.”
“He was just some guy delivering a box of cheese.”
She lets out a dreamy sigh. “God, I hope you told him how much I love cheese.”
“Carla,” I say, my voice syrup-sweet with sarcasm. “I thought you were lactose intolerant?”
She pulls a face at me, and then we watch as the rugged groundskeeper disappears behind Luna’s car. But not before he glances back at me with another dimpled smile, just as Luna steps out. As expected, she looks impeccably groomed in sunglasses, a white linen wrap dress, and a summer trench coat draped over her shoulders. Nobody would guess she’d just spent the best part of 15 hours travelling. She’s just as poised as I remembered her from when my mother and I took her life-affirming Kundalini class in Los Angeles a few years ago. The class that inspired me to finally start my yoga teaching qualification.
“This is her!” Mark squeals as he pulls down his cuffs, causing Carla and me to choke back a laugh. I mean, I’m thrilled that Luna is here, but Mark’s reaction is so gushing it’s like Taylor Swift is checking in.
She strides through the hotel entrance whilst two assistants with dark circles under their eyes scurry behind, furiously tapping at their phones.
“Ms Sky,” Mark says brightly as they approach the desk. “Welcome to Wakewood Hall and Spa. We’re so happy to—”
“Where is the suite?” she says in a slow Californian drawl, not taking off her sunglasses. “I need to sage the energy before I can let my luggage be taken in. The moon is in Virgo. It’s a whole thing.”
“Of course.” Mark smooths down his tie. “We have you in the Saffron Suite. It has two rooms, and we have your assistants sharing with you—”
“There is no sharing,” she says coolly. “I need space. Space is part of the creative channel. They’ll need their own room.”
Behind her, the assistants stop scrolling and exchange a loaded look. I swear they’re relieved.
“That won’t be a problem.” Mark indicates to a wide-eyed bellboy with a clammy forehead. “Please follow my colleague, who’ll take you to your suite. Georgia here will arrange another room for your assistants, and I’ll be up shortly to check on you.”
With a disinterested sniff, Luna sweeps away towards the lifts, leaving behind a scent of palo santo and Acqua Di Parma. Her assistants scamper after her.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I watch her disappear. “She’s…different. To how I expected her to be.”
“Well,” Carla whispers. “What did you expect? The moon is apparently in Virgo, which, personally, I always find is a nightmare. But at least we know why the guests have been extra crazy today.”
Mark taps the desk with his finger. “When you’re both quite done.” He eyes us suspiciously. “Georgia, find another room on the third floor for the other two.”
I nod and start checking the system.
“Excuse me,” a voice with a strong Texan accent calls out. “Don’t I know you?”
An immaculate woman who appears to have been groomed by a glam squad leans over the desk, studying me expectantly. Full face of makeup. Perfect blowout. Diamond studs so large they could be Christmas decorations.
“Me? I…don’t think we’ve met?” I say, my voice slightly pitched, conscious that Mark is standing next to me.
She tilts her head, her brows lowered. “Are you sure?” She points a red nail at herself. “Pam Woods from Dallas, Texas. Didn’t we meet at the Desert Rose Retreat in Arizona last year?” She flicks her hand towards me and smiles. “I’m sure it was you!”
One of my eyelids twitches when I hear her mention Desert Rose.
That’s my parents’ newest resort. And she’s right, I had been there. But that was something I really didn’t want anyone to know, especially Mark.
I offer her a casual shrug, despite my heart rate speeding up. “Must be someone else.”
“Oh?” She pulls her head back and glances at my name badge. “Strange. You look so much like the girl who taught sunrise meditation.”
“As lovely as that sounds, I’m afraid it wasn’t me,” I say apologetically.
The woman narrows her eyes like she doesn’t believe me. Which is…fair. “Must be my mistake,” she says.
Carla leads her over to the next desk to check her in for the retreat, and I pray to every available spiritual force—including Luna Sky’s moon in Virgo—that she’ll forget all about me.
When she’s out of earshot, Mark peers down his nose at me. “Desert Rose? In Arizona? That’s a Browning Group hotel. What would you be doing there?”
I purse my lips and glance up at the ceiling as I pretend to think. “I wasn’t. Not that I recall.”
Mark squints one eye at me. “Hmmhmm. Well, I think it’s something you’d remember.” He leans across me, picks up a copy of Global Traveller magazine lying on the desk and flips it over, revealing a full-page advert for The Browning Group Hotel Collection on the back cover. It’s a photo of the sun setting over the new Desert Rose resort—pink sky, pools, glass-fronted suites—and the tagline: Where the world retreats.
My cheeks flush.
Mark strokes the page reverently. “I hear it’s something very special. The inspiration for this place, in fact.” He huffs out a short, nasally laugh. “As if you could ever afford to stay there.”
I turn my attention back to my computer, hoping he’ll move on. If he knew I was a member of the Browning family, the one that actually owns that hotel, he’d think I was here as a spy. “Maybe I just have one of those faces,” I say.
He tuts and returns the magazine to the pile. “Go and tell Ms Sky’s driver to take the bags round to the back. They can go up to her suite in the service lifts. I’ll finish finding her assistants a room.”
I run over to give the driver his instructions, and when I come back, Carla has finished her check-in and is leaning on my desk, inspecting her nails. Mark has gone, and I can finally take a breath.
“What are we doing here?” she whines, sounding bored.
“Checking in the guests arriving for the retreat.” I smile sweetly at her. I know where this conversation is going; we’ve had it a hundred times.
She playfully hits my arm. “You know what I mean. You were almost busted. That’s the second time this year that someone almost recognised you.”
“She didn’t know who she was recognising! She just thought I was another yoga teacher.”
Carla shakes her head, not ready to give up the fight. “Why are we standing behind a check-in desk, working for idiots like we were doing after we graduated? We gave up management for this! You’re a hotel heiress for god’s sake!”
This was definitely not the first time I’d been called an heiress, but it never failed to make me bristle. “Yes.” I lower my voice. “But can we keep pretending I’m not? Please? Being on the management team of your parents’ hotel chain is like…” I search for the words. “Like winning a raffle you didn’t buy a ticket for. Forever. In front of everyone. And I love that you followed me here, Carla—I really do. And I know it’s a big step down from managing a team to swapping shifts with me on reception. But I like it here!” I reach out and grab her hand. “Nobody knows I’m Georgia Browning. As far as they’re concerned, I’m Georgia Brown. Just one of the team. And besides, I’m really hoping to get the chance to work with Luna.”
Carla eyes my desperate face, draws in a deep breath, then exhales slowly. “Fine,” she sulks. “But if my family owned a hotel empire, I would totally accept a job from them.”
“I know. You’ve told me a hundred times,” I say, checking the computer for any other guests who were due to check in today.
“I wouldn’t care if people thought I didn’t deserve it,” she continues.
“I know. You’ve said.”
“I’d just cash that check every month. Let the haters hate, you know?”
I turn towards her.
“Sound career advice, as usual,” I say, dryly. Carla’s parents owned one of the largest dental franchises in Europe, but I didn’t see her donning a face mask and picking up a mouth mirror any time soon.
“And Luna Sky really wasn’t what I was expecting. If you ask me, she seemed kind of cranky. I don’t know why you’d want to work for her. And did you see her assistants? They looked exhausted!”
I shrug protectively. “Probably just jet lag.”
Carla’s brow shoots up again, clearly not convinced. Then the lift dings, and Luna Sky re-emerges.
“We need more natural light in the suite,” she announces as she crosses the lobby, sliding her sunglasses up to rest on her head. “Light is necessary for alignment. And one of the bathrooms smells like manufactured energy.”
Manufactured energy? What did that even mean? It was a brand-new marble bathroom. The only thing it would smell like was eucalyptus and millionaire’s tears.
“Right away,” I say, already typing. “Did Mark find you?”
“Yes,” she clips. “I left him cleansing the rooms with sage. Are you the scheduling person?”
“I…can be.”
“There’s a sunrise class tomorrow at 6:00 a.m. The dawn energy here is strong, but I don’t want the beginners in the advanced track. They’re not spiritually ready.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
“And don’t allow any guests into the practice space with a watch on. It ruins the frequency.”
I type that down as she cranes her neck to see what I’m writing.
Then, when I’ve finished making notes, I hesitate. My fingers hover over the keyboard before I decide that now is my chance. I pull my shoulders back, turn towards Luna, and plaster on the brightest smile I can manage.
Beside me, Carla anticipates what I’m about to do and grabs my hand under the desk, squeezing my fingers whilst simultaneously coughing out the words, “Don’t do it!” into her other fist.
It takes me a few seconds to pull myself away from her surprisingly strong grip, but when I do, I walk around the desk to stand in front of Luna, who looks at me, nonplussed.
“Ms Sky…I’m a big fan. If you ever need additional teaching support for any of the retreat weeks this summer, I got my yoga teaching qualification a few months ago and—”
Luna doesn’t even wait for me to finish my sentence. She just turns and leaves, and I stare after her, deflated. Who walks away mid-sentence?
Carla puts a hand on my shoulder and clicks her tongue. “Well…I’m no body language expert, but I think that was a no. And honestly, she seems like a bit of a bitch. But look—when you’re running your own retreat someday, she’ll be the one coming to you for a job.”
I laugh dryly as I watch Luna step into the lift and the doors close behind her. “Maybe.”
Carla squeezes. “Definitely.”
Across the lobby, Pam Woods from Texas waves as she heads to her room. I raise a hand back, hoping she won’t Google me or realise that, yes, I had taught her sunrise meditation at an exclusive resort my parents own, overlooking the Sonoran Desert.
Because right now, I am just Georgia Brown, Guest Service Agent, trying to build something of my own.
But not before I deliver a box of cheese.