I hail a taxi. A friendly-faced man, who funnily looks a little like Eric Morecambe, is leaning towards the rolled down window on his passenger side to talk to me.
"Where are you needing to go, Miss?"
"The Broadway Tower please?" I ask with a broad smile.
"No problem."
Placing my bags into the footwell, I carefully step into the black cab. I feel relieved to be leaving behind the hustle bustle of Paddington. I am so nervous, yet extremely, excited to be meeting Lydia.
I feel around in my handbag for my small vanity mirror to quickly check on my appearance. My naturally light-brown, mid-length hair is straight, yet softly sexy with that little kick at the ends. My pale blue eyes are shining; and thankfully, bag-free and my cheeks look attractively flushed. I just need to reapply my plum lip-gloss, but all in all, I don't look too bad after all that travelling. I carefully trace the lip-gloss around my peachy lips, rubbing my lips together, doing a little pout back at my reflection.
"You'll do, miss." The taxi driver is smiling from his car mirror; as soon as our eyes make contact, he gives me a little wink.
Embarrassed yet flattered, I smile back. "Why, thank you," I coyly reply. After our friendly, but brief conversation, I sit quietly in the back, watching central London pass me by in a busy blur. To say I am just a little excited; is a bit of an understatement!
After a short journey, the jovial taxi driver turns to face me. "Okay miss, here we are." I pay the fare and step out of the taxi, clutching my bags like some kind of comfort blanket.

The Broadway Tower definitely has the wow factor . . . like really WOW!
I have yet to go inside. I just need to take a moment to fully appreciate The Broadway's beauty from the outside. With wide eyes and an open mouth, I soak in the 1930's contemporary architecture; breathtaking in its grand design. After getting my fix of the magnificent view before me, I suck in a deep and calming breath before nervously walking through the main entrance. Once again, my breath is taken away. The main foyer is truly stunning with crisp white walls and ice white, marble floors. There are inviting seating areas with bold, black leather sofas and chairs, while the bar is softly lit, exuding a sultry hue. The main reception desk is a moulded oval, again in white, glossy marble.
I stand in amongst the opulence and beauty, feeling small and unworthy to be in a place so devastatingly beautiful.
I approach the reception desk with almost an air of arrogance but inside, I'm feeling just like an inferior, scared little girl. The lady behind the desk is in her mid-thirties, impeccably dressed in her dark blue blouse and black pencil skirt. Her brassy blonde hair is tied into a low neat bun. She really wouldn't look out of place at Heathrow; she looks just like an air hostess. Smoothing down my posh red dress, I thank God for wearing this beauty!
My beloved dress delicately shows off my curves, and being 50's style, it looks timelessly classic. The outfit is superbly finished off with to-die-for, three-inch stiletto heels in scarlet red. However, a pep talk to my feeling-very-out-of-her-depth-self is still very much needed.
I can do this. I really can do this! Okay, Jessica. You may feel like a complete fish out of water right now, but you, Jessica Neel, are looking shit hot!
The receptionist greets me with a big courteous smile, "May I help you, madam?"
"Hello, my name is Jessica Neel. I've come to check in. My boss booked the room, Lydia Mason?"
"Yes, Mrs. Neel. Miss Mason has, indeed, checked in already," The air-hostess look-a-like stares at the screen for a moment. "I will get your key for you, I will be just a moment." I watch her disappear into a small room. She quickly returns with a key in her willowy hands. "There you are Mrs. Neel, room 17A is on the 2nd floor. Have you stayed at The Broadway before?"
"No, I haven't," I answer. Oh, shit, am I really that obvious as someone who doesn't frequent posh hotels very often? I wonder to myself, desperately trying to make myself appear confident.
The helpful receptionist points with her long arm and statuesque finger. "Well, if you walk to the end of the foyer, you will see the lifts. If you prefer, you can take the stairs which are on the right side of the lifts."
"Thank you, very much." I smile weakly.
"Enjoy your stay, Mrs. Neel."

Holding the key tightly in my hand, I can't help but feel relieved to have checked in. It will be nice to see Lydia, instead of the sea of strange faces I see everywhere I look.
I press the button. Thankfully, the lift doors open straight away. Stepping in, the lift is wall-to-wall with mirrors. I'm trying not to look too much at my reflection, but when I do, I see an almost smiling but very relieved, smug face looking back at me.
I am once again thinking about what to do after the afternoon's meetings are all done. There is just so much to do here at The Broadway Tower and in London itself. I could maybe go to a theatre or a nice little restaurant. Maybe use the hotel's spa and have a wonderful back massage. So many important decisions! What is a girl to do?
The lift doors open, I quickly step out. As I turn to see which way my room is, I walk straight into someone with such force, that I nearly lose my footing. I quickly try to regain my balance. I really don't want to fall over in my to-die-for heels, all the while apologising profusely to the person that I have unfortunately just collided with.
When I finally do look up, my stomach feels like I'm on a ridiculously fast fairground ride. My mind is screaming at me. It's Jonny Riley! Oh, shit! I have nearly knocked Jonny bloody Riley off his feet! SHIT!
Jonny Riley is the nation's sweetheart. Actor, presenter, and a UK celebrity A-lister . . . and I've only just gone and bloody bumped into him . . . hard!
He looks even more handsome in the flesh than he does on the telly. I feel mortified, embarrassed, and need to apologise . . . again. All of a sudden this huge, muscular bit of testosterone of a bodyguard, grabs my arm, roughly pulling me to the side.
"Stand back love, and don't touch please." He glares down at me.
I stand for a second, feeling just like a naughty little girl. I look up at the massive bodyguard, who has just so rudely manhandled me, then back at Jonny Riley, who weakly smiles. The anger begins to take a hold of me. Before I'm able to control it, the words have already left my furious mouth. "Now just you hang on a minute, who the hell do you think you are? I admit I wasn't quite looking as to where I was going as I came out of the lift, but I can assure you, I'm quite capable of keeping my bloody hands to myself. I am not some silly little teenager who will throw herself at any celebrity she just so happens to meet, you know? I'm thirty-six-years-old and married with kids. How dare you speak to me like that?" I feel almost breathless after my feisty rant.
"I am sincerely sorry. Beef can get a little, overprotective shall we say?" says Jonny Riley, slowly stepping forward. His smile is awkward, but exudes such genuine warmth that my icy glare begins to instantly thaw.
I huff, "Just a little overprotective?"
Jonny Riley turns to his ginormous sidekick. "Beef, I think you owe this lady an apology?"
"I am very sorry . . . I'm just doing my job, I apologise if I was overly rude, madam," says the awkward looking man.
He is approximately forty-five-years-old, with no hair, at all, on his large, gleaming scalp. In fact, such is the lack of hair; the lights reflect off the shiny area on the top of his incredibly big head. His overly tanned and leathered looking face is now faintly smiling back at me. With intrigue, my eyes scan the enormous man before me. He is almost as tall as he is wide. His neck is so damn thick; it must have at least four or five creases at the back of it. This guy really is huge in stature; he's like a small mountain made of skin, bone and muscle.
"Beef, eh? How very appropriate," I reply with obvious sarcasm and a feeble smile.
"Isn't it just?" Jonny Riley laughs. Shit! Jonny Riley is laughing at one of my quips . . . aaarrrggghhh!
Although I am completely star-struck, I still try to remain composed . . . aloof almost.
He steps closer still, politely holding out his hand. "Forgive me, I'm Jonny Riley. Myself and Beef are slightly lost; do you know what floor this is, please?"
I tentatively shake his hand. Oh my God! I'm actually touching Jonny Riley! Please don't faint Jessica . . . just please-don't-faint! "This is floor two," I manage to calmly answer back.
"Well, we are supposed to be on floor three, however, bumping into you has certainly made floor two all the more pleasant, actually." He throws me a heart-stopping grin. Shit!
I look at him, trying to gauge whether he is being sarcastic or sincere. He has an air of confident arrogance, which I can almost smell. Although I am actually beginning to feel a little uncomfortable, I find myself still smiling. Jessica Neel, STOP smiling like a crazy lady. Just move your damn legs before you really do make a fool of yourself! I am so preoccupied with the rather delicious Jonny Riley, who seems to be actually flirting with me; that for just a moment, I appear to have lost all power of speech and movement. Shit again! My thoughts, however, are quickly interrupted by the sound of chatter coming from down the hall.
Two teenage girls are chatting and heading towards us. One of them looks at Jonny Riley and squeals, which then starts a squealing frenzy between the two of them. The one girl then actually faints, causing Jonny Riley to rush over and check whether she is okay. Shit! Maybe fainting wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all? I quickly push aside such a ludicrous thought to concentrate on the drama that is unfolding before me.
"Beef, give me a hand lifting her up," Jonny Riley asks, as he struggles with the unconscious teen.
The other friend has stopped squealing, but is now rambling, "Oh, my God, she's gonna be so bummed that she's fainted. Can I have your autograph, Jonny? Oh, my God, I'm gonna have to get a picture of this." She pulls out her mobile phone and promptly starts to take pictures of her fainted friend with her idol, who is trying to carry her with Beef.
Opposite the lift is a gold table, with a huge vase of flowers on the top; beside it are two ornate gold and cream chairs. Together, the drop-dead gorgeous Jonny Riley and his burly bodyguard carry the girl to one of them, carefully sitting her on it.
"What is your friend called?" Jonny Riley asks the still rambling friend.
"Emily, oh my God, I cannot believe this is happening." Excitedly the girl is jumping up and down, clapping her hands with delirious delight.
"Emily, can you hear me?" Jonny Riley has his one hand upon the girl's shoulder, gently trying to rouse her from her hysteria-induced faint. I stand there, feeling out of place, and frankly very embarrassed. Is this what it is really like for celebrities? Everywhere they go, girls passing out in hotel lobbies?
I catch a flustered Jonny Riley glance over at me. We hold a lingering stare. His arrogance appears to have gone; now he looks almost bashful. I want to get out of there, find my room, and tell Lydia all about the insanity I've just witnessed on the second floor. I pick up my bags and begin to walk away.
"Wait, I never got your name," Jonny Riley says, beginning to stand up straight, after crouching down beside the just coming-to teenage girl. "Beef, give Emily a drink of water will you. . . and take care of her." He begins to walk over to me. I nervously stand still as he approaches me. "I'm sorry about all that, it kind of comes with the territory, I'm afraid." He holds his hands up apologetically.
"No need to apologise. I'm just glad that she's okay," I say with an assuring smile.
There is now an awkward silence hanging in the air, he seems nervous. With him standing closer to me, I can clearly see his cappuccino eyes. They are like little melting pots, which you just want to dive the hell into. His hair is light brown in colour and is slightly ruffled. He looks after himself, I can tell by how well groomed he is; nails short and buffed, his skin lightly tanned and radiant, and teeth a natural looking white. The cherry on top is the way he looks in indigo jeans and a fitted white linen shirt he wears, so damn well.
I always thought he was hot but he is devastatingly handsome and charming, with it. This is all beginning to feel rather surreal and overwhelming, yet, I remain magnetised to him. Utterly ridiculous I know, but my God, he is sexy as hell. Jonny Riley, the actor, the drop-dead gorgeous piece of trouser leg, stands before me and wants to know my name. Shit, am I dreaming all of this? "I'm so sorry, Mr. Riley, I really must go as my boss will be wondering where I have got to. We have a convention at 1:30 p.m. and some meetings to attend. It has been . . . how can I say? . . . interesting meeting you. What with nearly knocking you out and fainting girls." I laugh and I'm very grateful when he laughs, too.
"No, I apologise for the way Beef grabbed you. Mind you, the look that you threw his way nearly floored him," Jonny tells me with a delicious grin.
I blush, nervously touching my ear. "That scary, huh?" I ask.
"So scary, maybe you've missed your vocation. If ever Beef resigns, I'll be giving you a call," Jonny says with a laugh.
"I think I'll stick to selling toys. Well, goodbye, Mr. Riley."
"Goodbye Mrs. . . . .?" he asks, patiently waiting for me to divulge my name.
"Neel, Jessica Neel," I say with a warm smile.
"Goodbye, Jessica Neel."
I turn and walk towards the hallway wearing a somewhat disbelieving smile. Holy shit, what the hell just happened? Did I really just meet THE Jonny Riley?