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"The journalist from the Arts Bulletin is ready for you."
Reluctantly, Zac released her. "Bad timing," he explained. "I've agreed to give an interview about the venue and the autumn line up." Maybe it was just as well. Their involvement was far from clear cut.
She looked from him to Nathan and back.
Zac raised a hand. "Cheers, Nathan. Take him up to the office and offer him a drink. I'll be with you in two minutes."
Nathan nodded and departed, amusement apparent in his expression.
Surprise lit her face. "Are you the manager or something?"
It was a timely reminder of who they really were. "No title as such, but you could say that."
She gave a startled laugh. "And you moonlight as a courier?"
Coming from her that comment tickled him no end. "It's always wise to have a backup plan when it comes to careers, don't you agree?"
She nodded.
"In fact, I bet you've got a few skills to fall back on, should your receptionist work come to an end." She had the decency to blush, he noticed, but she didn't correct him with her true job status. Why?
"A receptionist can always find work. As I suspect couriers can."
Her mouth was so inviting. He wanted to kiss her again. And the rest.
"Tell me," she added, "do you rent the venue out for functions? I'm only a receptionist, but the company I work for might be interested."
"Anything is possible," he stated, ambiguously.
What was she up to, playing the role over again? Why didn't she want him to know she was an investment expert? He couldn't resist the bait though—even if it did mean giving her his name and the possibility of her making the connection. He'd much rather that was avoided.
He slipped his hand into his inner jacket pocket and handed her his personal calling card.
She read it with interest. "Zachary Bordino?"
He nodded. "Call me Zac. And I don't believe you've actually told me your name."
"Abby. Abigail Douglas, but everyone calls me Abby."
"I'm sure we'll meet again, Abby."
"I do hope so." The invitation in her eyes almost made him forget the interview, but he needed the time to figure out why she was masquerading.
"I think we can bank on that." He pushed her loose hair back over one shoulder, his hands itching to hang on to her instead. "Call me or drop by, any time."
What the hell—he wanted her.
"Make it soon."
Chapter Three
The following morning Abby walked into the Heathrow European arrivals lounge seconds before Ed emerged, waving his folded newspaper at her, his suit carrier resting over one arm. He kissed her cheek while he talked about the flight and the atrocious tea he'd had to drink.
It reminded her she was ravenous. "You promised me breakfast."
He laughed. "So I did, let's go."
As they sat chatting over croissants and steaming black coffee, Abby found she could barely focus on what he was saying to her. She was looking beyond him, remembering her encounter with Zac the night before. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, trying to concentrate on what Ed was telling her about the problems with the Pascal account.
