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“Fine. I’ll freshen up.”
Her own bathroom was attached to her office; Noah had already done a preliminary inspection, so she slipped inside and bolted the door, pressing her back to it as she met her own eyes in the mirror. She couldn’t have described what emotions she saw there. She was a mess.
And was it any wonder?
Since finding her car, her life had taken on a surreal quality. She felt as though she were at the centre of a space ship that was hurtling wildly out of control, loose in the galaxy, flotsam, gaining weight and jettisoning her to some unknown destination. No
ah Storm should have been an anchor of sorts but he wasn’t; he was propulsion, flame, speed, terror. There was nothing safe about a man who could make her heart rate shoot up like this.
He was ready when she emerged a few moments later, his laptop packed into a slimline leather bag. “Where’s your car?”
“Garage,” she murmured. “Underground.”
“You drive yourself?”
“I have a driver – Felix.” And then, for no reason she could think of, she added somewhat defensively, “I use the commute time to work.”
He nodded curtly. “How do you notify your driver you’re ready to leave?”
“My keycard.” She lifted a credit card size piece of paper from her purse. “When I swipe it in the lift, it alerts him.”
“Efficient.”
Why did she feel as though there was condemnation in the neatly-drawled word?
“I’m going home to shower and change, then out for a thing.”
“Where?”
She named one of the hardest to get into rooftop bars. “A friend is launching a drink.”
“A drink?”
“It’s a gin mix.” She ignored the feeling he was laughing at her. “I told her I’d go.”
“Because where you go, publicity follows?”
“Because I’m being supportive,” she responded, annoyed that he was right and that yes, it had been a calculated choice.
“Has your presence been advertised?” He asked, opening the door wider for her to step through. As they moved out of her office, into the executive level of Fortescue Tower, he looked around, his eyes not simply scanning the room but pinging through it as though for danger. A shiver ran the length of her spine and unconsciously she moved a little closer.
The top level was deserted though.
“Maxine?”
“Max,” she responded, striding towards the lift as though she didn’t have a care in the world, forcing herself to remember her number one mantra: you are as you seem. “Only my parents call me Maxine. And I hate it.”
“Fine, Max,” he said, with no idea how hearing him say the shortened version of her name made her veins flow with lava. “Has your presence been advertised?”
“It’s not like that,” she said, a hint of impatience in her words as she pressed the lift button. “It’s not like the guest list runs in the Times the day before or anything.”
His eyes seemed to bore through her. “Believe it or not, I have a reasonable working understanding of celebrity events.”
“Then why ask if my presence is advertised?”
He compressed his lips in frustration. “Is it widely known that you will attend?”
“Yes,” she clipped. “To industry insiders. I can’t back out.”
