Invitation to the Boss’s Ball
Fiona Harper

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dear Reader

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

Dear Reader

I’ve always loved fairytales. I used to act them out with my grandma and my younger sister when I was a child. Granny was always the wicked witch or the woodcutter. My poor younger sister was only ever allowed to be a dwarf or an ugly relation of some sort. As older sibling, I claimed the right to be the heroine, the princess. (Sorry, sis!) Cinderella was one of my favourites. Rags to riches, living the dream, falling in love with a handsome prince—what’s not to like?

And that’s why we like reading romance, isn’t it? We like to identify with the heroines and fall in love with tall, dark and handsome strangers. We want to walk in the heroine’s shoes for a few hours and live the fantasy.

Alice, in INVITATION TO THE BOSS’S BALL, has the most fabulous pair of shoes. I would literally love to strut around in them for a while. What a pity she doesn’t believe she’s princessy enough to wear them—that is until she meets the yummy Cameron! In fact, I wouldn’t mind stealing him for a few hours myself too…

This book is my modern-day take on the classic Cinderella story. It has a downtrodden heroine, a suitably remote and regal prince, and it even has versions of the ugly sisters and the fairy godmother—who actually waves a wand at one point. See if you can spot it!

Love and hugs

Fiona Harper

As a child, Fiona Harper was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book or living in a dream world. Things haven’t changed much since then, but at least in writing she’s found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer, before trading in that career for video-editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started pre-school she found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten love—writing.

Fiona lives in London, but her other favourite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland, and the Kent countryside on a summer’s afternoon. She loves cooking good food, and anything cinnamon-flavoured. Of course she still can’t keep away from a good book, or a good movie—especially romances—but only if she’s stocked up with tissues. Because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favourite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.

For my grandmother, Alice Johnson, who always encouraged me to daydream, and helped make some of my early ones became reality.

CHAPTER ONE

THE old oyster-coloured satin had the most wonderful texture—smooth, but not slippery like modern imitations, stiff and reassuringly heavy. Anyone who saw the cocktail dress would just itch to touch it—and that was what Alice did, letting her fingertips explore it fully, lingering on the crease of the sash as it folded into a bow just under the bustline. This wasn’t just a dress. It was a piece of history—a work of art.

She placed it carefully on a padded floral hanger, then hooked the hanger on a rickety clothing rail at the side of the market stall. The next item she took out of the crate was totally different but just as fabulous: a black seventies maxi skirt—a good label—with velvet pile deep and soft enough to get lost in and just not care.

‘We’re never going to get the stall set up if you don’t get a move on.’

She looked up at her best friend and soon-to-be business partner Coreen.

Today Coreen looked as if she’d stepped right out of the pages of a nineteen-fifties ad for washing machines or toasters. She wore a red and white polka-dot dress with a full skirt, her dark hair was coiled into a quiff at the front, and a bouncy ponytail swished at the back as she carefully arranged gloves, little beaded evening bags and shoes on the velvet-draped trestle table that made up the main part of Coreen’s Closet—vintage clothing stall par excellence.

In comparison, Alice looked positively ordinary. Like many of the other market traders, she’d gone for warmth and comfort over style. Her legs, as always, were covered in denim, and an old, battered pair of trainers graced her feet. Coreen had already made fun of the oversized bottle-green fleece she’d stolen from one of her older brothers. Okay, so she wasn’t the epitome of style, but she didn’t stand out either. She was ordinary. Completely average. No point trying to kid anyone any different.

‘Hey, Gingernut!’

Alice sighed and looked up to find the man that everyone at Greenwich market knew only as ‘Dodgy Dave’ grinning at her.

‘Cheer up, love. It might never happen!’ he said in his usual jolly manner.

Too late. It already had. Exactly six weeks and two days ago. Not that she was going to tell Dodgy Dave all about her broken heart.

‘I wasn’t…I was just…’

She waved a hand. Ugh—who cared? It was easier to play along than to explain. She beamed back at Dave, and he gave her a thumbs up sign and carried on wheeling his stash of ‘antiques’ to his stall.

Okay, there was one thing about her that wasn’t ordinary—her hair. And though that sounded as if it was a good thing, it really wasn’t. Some people were kind and called it red. The more imaginative of her acquaintances had even tried to say Titian or auburn with a straight face. The fact was it was just plain ginger.

Coreen snapped her fingers in front of Alice’s face, and when Alice had focused on her properly she realised Coreen was giving her one of her looks.

‘You’re not still mooning around over that useless Paul, are you?’

Thanks, Coreen.

Just for a few moments she’d lost herself in the texture and colours of these wonderful old clothes, but Coreen’s blunt reminder had brought her back to earth with a bump. ‘We only broke up just over a month ago. A girl is allowed to lick her wounds, you know.’

Coreen just snorted. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t dump him first, after the whole kebab incident. I would have done.’

Alice sighed, regretting the fact she’d ever told Coreen about the disastrous evening when she’d got all dressed up to go out to dinner—she’d actually worn a dress—only to discover that Paul’s idea of a treat was a new computer game and a greasy doner kebab. He’d flung the paper-wrapped kebab in her direction as he’d helped her nerdy flatmates set up the games console. It had landed in her lap and left an unsightly grease stain on the brand-new dress. And he hadn’t even noticed when she’d disappeared into the bathroom for twenty minutes, cross with herself for welling up over something so stupid.

At least Paul had tried. How could he have known that she’d been hoping for a romantic dinner rather than a boys’ night in? She’d never complained before.

But, still….

Okay, she hadn’t expected him to roll up in a limo and give her the princess treatment. But being treated like a girl for once might have been nice.

‘No wonder your luck with men is so awful,’ Coreen said as she pulled on a suede coat with a fur collar. ‘You should have “welcome” tattooed on your stomach, because you practically lie down and invite guys to walk all over you.’

Alice didn’t look at Coreen. She craned her neck to look at one of the entrances to the market. It was just short of eleven on a Thursday morning—not their busiest day of the week, but someone had to stop and browse soon, surely? Hopefully, that would take Coreen’s mind off lecturing her.

‘I do not invite men to walk all over me,’ Alice said in a quiet but surprisingly defiant tone, well aware that Coreen would have no trouble kicking just about any man into line with her pillar-box red patent peep-toes wedges. Vintage, of course.

Coreen cocked her head to one side. Her curls bounced. ‘You so do.’

It was no good. Coreen would never get it. She was vivacious and sassy with a glint in her eye and a wiggle in her walk that could stop traffic. Alice knew that for a fact, because she’d once witnessed that same wiggle cause a minor collision down Greenwich High Street. Coreen didn’t know what it was like to be as interesting to men as last year’s wallpaper.

And, while Paul had not been Coreen’s cup of tea, Alice had thought he was lovely. A little bit too into his computer games, and not one for grand gestures, granted, but she’d really liked him. She’d even thought she might have been on the verge of falling in love with him. How stupid. All the time he’d been pining for his ex-girlfriend, and had ended up going back to her. All Alice had fallen into was moping around at home, eating chocolate and feeling rejected and foolish.

‘Sometimes when you’re in a relationship you have to be prepared to compromise,’ she said, hoping desperately that one of the other regular stallholders would wander over for a chat now they were all set up.

No, Alice was a realist. Men weren’t even going to press slightly harder on their brake pedals when she walked down the street, let alone swear undying love or promise to bring her all her dreams on a silver platter. But maybe she’d find a nice guy to settle down with eventually.

She frowned. No, ‘settle’ wasn’t the right word. It made it seem as if she wanted to settle—which she didn’t. She still had dreams. But maybe they weren’t as glitzy as the next girl’s. Prince Charming could keep his castle and his fairy kingdom. Alice would be happy with an average Joe who just wanted an average Jill to share his life with.

But how did she explain all of that to quirky Coreen, who not only expected but demanded allout devotion from the men in her life?

‘Hey.’ An arm came round her shoulders and she smelled Coreen’s lavender perfume. ‘Just don’t forget that even though relationships need compromise, it shouldn’t be just you doing all the compromising—okay?’

That sounded fine in theory, but no man was ever going to be bowled over by her looks. And if you didn’t have looks, you needed a great personality to make a good first impression. Alice didn’t think she did too badly in that department, but she was a little shy, and it took her time to relax around people she didn’t know and let them get to know her properly. And not many of the guys she met were willing to sit around and hang on a girl’s every word unless she had the looks. Basically it was a vicious circle Alice had no part in.

But she had discovered one weapon in her arsenal when it came to interacting with members of the opposite sex. One she’d stumbled upon quite by accident…

Somewhere around her fourteenth birthday she’d discovered she’d suddenly become invisible to the male species. They’d all been too busy being at the mercy of their hormones and drooling after girls who had more, should she say, obvious appeal. But Alice had worked out a way to be around guys. She’d become one of them. Almost.

It hadn’t been hard. Somehow she’d never got the hang of doing all those unfathomable, girly things that tied teenage boys’ brains in knots and drove them insane. So, while she was busy being their buddy, boys got to know her. And when the divas dumped them, they asked her out instead. It hadn’treally been a grand plan. Just a pattern she’d noticed and hadn’t done anything to discourage.

All her ex-boyfriends had said they liked her calm, straightforward nature. ‘You’re so easy to be with,’ they’d said, and had laughed about how they’d raced around like headless chickens trying to live up to their previous girlfriends’ whims and finally exhausted themselves.

Men didn’t have to walk on eggshells around her. She could be friends with them. And friendship was a solid base for something more permanent. The ‘obvious’ girls might be good for the short term, but when it came to the long haul Alice knew other qualities came into play. Qualities she had in spades—loyalty, honesty, supportiveness.

She turned to look at Coreen. Okay, Paul maybe hadn’t been The One after all, and it probably was time to look forward to the future, concentrate on her work instead of her love life.

‘Believe me, Corrie, I’m not mooning around about anything other than these clothes.’

Coreen grinned and clapped her on the back. ‘That’s the spirit! But you can’t daydream about every piece you hang up, you know.’ She took the skirt from Alice and slung it on a hanger. ‘And it’s a good idea not to fall too much in love with the stock. Yes, it’s fabulous, but when someone comes and pays cold hard cash for it I’ll be waving each piece bye-bye with a smile on my face.’

Alice nodded. She knew Coreen was right. This was a business—a business she was on the verge of buying into. But falling in love with the clothes was what it was all about, surely? It couldn’t hurt to just…flirt with them a little, could it?

‘We’ve got a business to run,’ Coreen said, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Alice shrugged. ‘Technically—until we get the money together for a lease on a shop—you’ve got a business to run. Until then I’m not your partner. I’m just moonlighting from my “proper” job, as my dad calls it.’

Coreen made a dismissive little snort and Alice smiled. That was what she loved about her one-of-a-kind friend. Only Coreen would consider hauling second-hand clothes around the markets of south-east London a proper job, and Alice’s home-grown IT consultancy a waste of time.

Actually, Alice’s ‘proper’ job was coming in rather handy at present. Not only was she able to set her own hours, leaving her free to help Coreen out and learn the vintage clothing business, but some of the small companies she did computer troubleshooting for paid her nicely for being at their beck and call. All her spare cash was going into the start-up fund for their dream—Coreen’s Closet in bricks and mortar, with a stockroom and a small office. A place where Gladys and Glynis, the two battered mannequins that Coreen had rescued from a skip, could stand in the warm and dry, safe from the danger of being toppled by blustery autumn winds.

At that moment, another gust blew through the market. Although they were in a courtyard with a corrugated roof, surrounded by small shops, Greenwich market was basically an open-air affair, and the wind still whistled through the access alleyways and pillared entrances. Alice pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, and Coreen pulled her coat around her and stamped her feet. Braving the elements was part of the life of a market trader, even if you dealt in old furs and satins, so all in all it was a very ordinary day—and Alice was totally unprepared for what happened next.

Coreen had been to an estate clearance the day before, and had brought back some truly amazing pieces, obviously hoarded by a woman whose children didn’t see the designer labels she’d tucked away in the back of her wardrobe as a useful part of their legacy. Some people were like that. They could only think of vintage fashion as wearing other people’s clothes, and would never see the inherent beauty of the pieces they were on the verge of throwing away or cutting up for rags.

The satin cocktail dress and the velvet skirt were only part of that haul. Alice carefully lifted a peacock-blue taffeta evening cape out of the box, and when she saw what was underneath it she froze. There they were, just sitting there—the perfect pair of shoes.

She’d been on a steep learning curve about the history of fashion since she’d first met Coreen, but she knew enough to date this pair of evening sandals somewhere in the early fifties. They were the softest black suede and hardly worn. They were elegant, plain—apart from a small diamanté buckle on one side—with a slingback strap. But it was the heels that made the shoes unique. They were totally transparent. Not dull, cheap plastic, though. They were hard and solid, and reflected the light like glass.

Alice hardly dared touch them, they were so beautiful, but she picked one up gingerly and showed it to Coreen.

Her friend nodded in agreement. ‘Fabulous, aren’t they? I swear, if I was a smaller size, I’d have swiped them for myself.’

Alice peeked at the label. ‘But they say they’re a five and a half—you’re only a smidge bigger than that. Are you sure you don’t want them?’

Coreen shook her head. ‘American sizing. That’s a size four to you and me.’

Size four? Really?

That was it, then. This was destiny.

They were the sort of thing a twenty-eight-year-old should be wearing on a regular basis—not canvas sneakers and the big, clumpy things that made Coreen tut.

‘They’re mine,’ she whispered.

Coreen was looking at her again, this time with an understanding light in her eyes.

‘How much?’ Alice asked.

The ponytail bounced violently as Coreen shook her head. ‘I only paid fifty quid for the whole box, and I can sell the rest of the contents for five times that. You have them.’

‘Really?’

Coreen winked. ‘Really. I know that look. That’s the look of a girl who’s fallen completely in love and is never going to fall out again. Go on—try them on.’

Even though the stall was only half set up, Alice couldn’t wait. She sat on the collapsible chair behind the main table and pulled off her ratty old trainers and thick woolly socks. She didn’t even notice the cold on her toes as she took a deep breath and slid her foot into the right shoe, praying fervently that Coreen was correct about the sizing.

Oh, my.

Her first instinct had been right. They were perfect. The shoe moulded to her foot as if it’d been crafted especially for her, and when she slipped the other one on and pulled up the legs of her jeans to get a better look, she gasped. Somehow the shoes made her skinny little ankles and feet look all curvy and shapely and sexy.

She looked up at Coreen. ‘The heels? What are they made of?’

Coreen bent forward as Alice twisted her foot to give her a better look. ‘Lucite. It’s a type of perspex. Really fashionable in the fifties—and not just for shoes. I think I might have a pair of gold-coloured Lucite earrings in my treasure trove.’ She indicated the glass-topped wooden display box full of costume jewellery on the other end of the stall. ‘But the things to look out for are the handbags.’

‘Handbags?’ Alice looked shocked. ‘Made out of this stuff?’

Coreen nodded. ‘Cute little boxy things with hinged handles. They come in all shapes and colours and they are really collectible—mainly because a lot of them haven’t survived undamaged. In good condition, they can go for hundreds of pounds.’

‘Wow!’

‘Yes, so keep your eyes peeled.’

Coreen went back to setting up the stall, and Alice looked down at her feet and twisted her ankles this way and that. She wasn’t a girly girl, and she didn’t normally get excited about something as frivolous as shoes, but it was almost a wrench to slip her feet out of the sandals and return them to her hiking socks and trainers.

‘That settles it, then,’ Coreen said, bustling Alice to her feet and snatching the shoes away so she could pack them up in a box. ‘They’re yours.’

Cameron Hunter stood facing the plate glass window that filled one side of his office. From seven hundred feet above sea level, this was one of the most spectacular views in London. It was as if the whole city had prostrated itself at his feet.

Although the day had started crisp and bright, pollution had turned the autumn sky hazy, and now the cityscape below was all pale colours, smudged greys and browns. He stared at the silvery water glinting in the docks below.

He should feel like a king.

Most days he did. Head of his own software company before the age of thirty-five. A company he’d started with nothing but a loan he couldn’t afford and an idea that had woken him up in the middle of the night.

And now look at him. This building in the heart of Canary Wharf—and his office within it—could be seen all over London. Further, even. Now every day in the south London suburb where he’d grown up the boys who’d bullied him, the ones who’d taunted him mercilessly, could see the proof of how spectacularly they’d been wrong about him when they walked down the street.

Even better, when they got to work and switched on their computers, it was probably his innovative software they were running. Not that he’d leased these offices because of that—it had just been a pleasing perk. When Orion Solutions had first moved in here he’d smiled every time he’d glanced out of the window.

But now…Sometimes he felt…

He shook his head. This was nonsense.

The intercom on his desk crackled.

‘Mr Hunter?’

He didn’t move, not even to twist in the direction of the speaker. His eyes were fixed on a blue patch of sky on the horizon.

‘Yes?’ He didn’t speak loudly. He never spoke loudly. Somehow there was something in the timbre of his voice that just carried. He had no doubt that Stephanie heard every syllable.

‘I know you asked not to be disturbed, Mr Hunter, but something urgent has come up.’

Now he turned and stared at the speaker. ‘Come and fill me in.’

He stayed where he was and transferred his gaze to the door. He was not a man accustomed to being kept waiting. Not that he was impatient—far from it—but when you were Cameron Hunter people tended to ask how high it would be convenient for them to jump before he’d even thought of demanding anything of the sort.

There was a timid knock at the door and Stephanie peered round it. He motioned for her to come inside, and she stopped as close to the threshold as she could without actually being outside the room. He’d been having trouble finding a new PA since Aimee had left to have babies and devote herself to full-time mothering. He’d offered to double Aimee’s salary if she’d stay. He needed her organisational skills here at Orion. But she’d turned him down, damn her.

Aimee wouldn’t have crept into the office as if she was scared of him. But Stephanie, just like her three predecessors, jumped every time he spoke. He didn’t mind the fact that his staff respected him—were in awe of him, even. In fact it had been something he’d cultivated when his business had grown beyond a handful of employees. It didn’t bother him that people thought him remote. He wasn’t the kind of boss who chatted about pets and children, and people didn’t expect that of him. They expected him to be in charge, to keep their wages and bonuses coming. His staff knew he was dedicated to them and the company, that he was hard-working and that he rewarded loyalty richly. That should be enough. His personal life was out of bounds. He respected his staff enough not to pry into their business, and they in turn afforded him the same courtesy.

Stephanie clasped her hands together in front of her, looking as if she’d really like to bolt but was attempting to anchor herself. Cameron sighed inwardly.

‘The Japanese party have rung ahead to say they’ve been delayed at the airport. They’ve asked if we could push the meeting back to three o’clock.’

He nodded. ‘Fine. Make the arrangements, would you?’

She gave a hasty nod and sidled round the half-open door.

He walked back to his desk. Before he sat down, he ran his fingertips over the flat, square and now empty jewellery box sitting next to the phone. Until very recently there’d been at least one woman in his life who hadn’t quivered with fear when he’d walked into the room. Far from it.

Jessica Fernly-Jones. High society darling and professional butterfly.

She was the woman every red-blooded male in London was dying to have on his arm. And for a while she’d been his. His triumph, his coup.

She’d made him dance through hoops before she’d consented to date him regularly. Not that he’d cared. It had all been part of the game—part of the sacrifice to win the prize. And there was always a sacrifice if something was worth having. When she’d finally relented and agreed to go out to dinner with him, he’d relished the looks of envy and awe on other men’s faces as he’d walked through the restaurant with her. It had been even better than when he’d dated a supermodel.

But after two months the hoop-jumping and game-playing hadn’t relented, as he’d expected. And he’d started to wonder whether one woman really was worth all the aggravation.

His answer had come the night he’d given her the jewellery box. Lesser women would have squealed and gone all dewy-eyed when they saw the logo of a rather exclusive jewellers on the box. But, give Jessica credit, she’d merely raised an eyebrow and given him a sexy smile. A smile that said she’d knew she’d deserved it, that she was worth every carat the box contained—probably more.

She’d prised open the lid and her eyes had roved the contents of the box.

It had been a diamond pendant. Simple. Elegant. Outrageously expensive.

A small pout had squeezed Jessica’s lips together. ‘It’s lovely, Cameron,’ she’d said. ‘But don’t you remember? It was the pink diamond I wanted—not a boring old white one. You will be a darling about this, won’t you?’

At that moment Cameron had known suddenly and unequivocally that he wouldn’t be a darling about anything for Jessica any more. Still, there had been no need to make a scene. They’d gone out to dinner, and he’d explained it all quite carefully before Jessica had flounced off.

Now he had his own little empire he supposed he would need a woman to stand by his side, someone to share all this bounty with. On the climb up he’d always imagined she’d be someone exactly like Jessica. Now, though…

Instead of sitting down he turned round and walked back to the window.

The view was starting to bore him. Just as well he’d be changing it soon.

‘Alice? Alice Morton?’

Alice’s hand closed around a pound coin in her money belt. She hadn’t heard that voice in years. She looked up to find a stylishly dressed woman with a wavy blonde bob smiling at her.

‘Jennie? I can’t believe it!’

It looked as if Jennie’s trademark stripy legwarmers of a decade ago had finally been declared a fashion no-no, because the woman in front of her oozed sophistication. However, there was no mistaking Jennie’s bright smile and the aura of excitement she carried with her wherever she went. In a flash Alice had scooted round the velvetdraped stall and the two women launched themselves into a rib-crushing hug.

A polite cough from Alice’s left reminded her of what she’d been doing just seconds before Jennie had arrived. She handed the customer she’d been serving her change.

‘I’m so sorry! Here you go.’

The woman shrugged and wandered off, with a genuine ‘Choose Life’ T-shirt in her shopping bag.

Coreen braced her hands on the stall and leaned forward, her eyes practically out on stalks. ‘Who’s this? Long-lost sister?’

‘Almost,’ Jennie said, as she and Alice smiled at each other. ‘I was engaged to Alice’s brother for a couple of years. The fact I didn’t get to be Alice’s sister-in-law was the thing that made me the saddest when we broke up,’ she said.

‘Anyway, what are you doing selling vintage lace and platform shoes? The last I heard your IT consultancy was just getting off the ground.’

‘Oh, I’m still doing that. It helps pay the bills. In fact, that’s how I met Coreen…’ She paused briefly to introduce the two women properly. ‘When Coreen started selling her stock online a few years ago, she decided to upgrade her system. I sorted her out with what she needed.’

‘That doesn’t explain how you’ve ended up selling Wham! T-shirts on a chilly Thursday morning rather than hooking up cables to PCs,’ Jennie said to Alice.

Just at that moment another customer walked up and asked Coreen something in-depth about alligator handbags. As she talked to the woman, Coreen made shooing motions with her hands. Bless Coreen! Alice mouthed her a silent thankyou and guided Jennie away from the stall, so they could walk and talk, browsing the clothing and arts and crafts stalls and catching up on over ten years’ worth of gossip. She filled Jennie in on what the family were doing now, and she seemed genuinely interested in what Alice had been up to since she’d known her as a shy sixth-former. Alice gave her a potted history—there really wasn’t that much to tell—and finished up with how she’d fallen in love with vintage clothes herself after getting friendly with Coreen.

‘We’re saving hard so we can open up our own vintage clothes boutique,’ she said as she finished off.

Jennie smiled at her. ‘That’ll be just fabulous,’ she said, nodding her head, and then she pressed her lips together and looked skywards. ‘Tell you what, when you finally open your shop give me a call—I’ll organise a launch party that will put you firmly on the map.’

‘A party?’

Jennie reached into a soft leather handbag the colour of clotted cream—the stitching on it was fantastic, and screamed quality. She pulled out an elegant business card and handed it to Alice.

‘You’re an event planner?’

Alice couldn’t have thought up a better job for Jennie if she’d tried.

Jennie nodded. ‘Isn’t it a scream? I get paid to have fun!’ She sighed. ‘Actually, sometimes the “planning” bit of event planning is a bit of a drag. That’s why I’m down here at the market this morning—hunting for inspiration.’ She gazed at a stall filled with home-knitted baby cardigans. ‘Did you ever meet my stepbrother?’

Alice blinked. Okay—swift change of subject, but she could keep up. She’d heard a lot about the stepbrother during the years Jennie had gone out with Patrick, but he’d been away at university for much of the time they’d been together.

‘Tall?’ She resisted adding skinny, mainly because she hated being described that way herself. ‘With glasses?’

Jennie laughed. ‘Yes! That was Cam back then. He hasn’t shrunk any, but he’s lost the specs.’

A flood of memories entered Alice’s head and she smiled gently. She’d met Cam—Cameron—just once or twice, the most memorable occasion being at a Christmas do at Jennie’s parents’ house. She’d been living in fear that she’d get picked next for charades, and had sneaked into Jennie’s father’s study to hide. She’d almost jumped out of her skin when she’d found a tall, lanky young man sitting in an armchair with a book. He hadn’t said anything—just raised an eyebrow and nodded at the other chair.

They’d spent a couple of hours like that, reading quietly, chatting occasionally, until Jennie had discovered them and dragged them out again to join the ‘fun’. They’d both pulled a face at the same time. Then he’d smiled at her, and she’d smiled back, and just like that they’d become co-conspirators.

The details of their conversation that evening were fuzzy in her memory, but she hadn’t forgotten his smile—or his eyes. Dark brown, streaked with warm toffee, like the tiger’s eye stones in a bracelet she’d inherited from her grandmother. What a pity those eyes, with all that warmth and intelligence, had been hidden behind a pair of rather thick, ugly glasses.

‘I remember him,’ she said quietly. ‘He was nice.’

More than nice. But he’d been older. And she’d been sixteen, and still a little terrified of boys she wasn’t best buddies with. But that hadn’t stopped her wishing it had been New Year’s Eve instead of Christmas Eve, just in case he’d been in need of an available pair of lips when midnight struck.

‘Well, he’s driving me nuts at the moment, because his company is doing up some old building and he wants—and I quote—a “different” opening bash. Something distinctive, he says.’ Jennie gave a little huff, as if she were offended that anyone would think she would do anything less.

They’d come full circle, and were now standing next to Coreen’s stall again. Jennie reached out and lightly touched the bow on the front of the sixties cocktail dress. ‘This really is exquisite,’ she murmured.

‘Try it on,’ Coreen said brightly. ‘I’ve got a deal going with Annabel, who runs the posh children’s clothes shop over there. She lets me send customers across to use her changing cubicles as long as I give her first dibs on any gold lamé that comes in.’

Jennie bit her lip.

‘Go on—you know you want to,’ Alice said. ‘The dress is lovely, but you need to see if it works for you. Things that look great on the hanger can suddenly look all wrong once you get them on.’

‘And sometimes,’ butted in Coreen, ‘you find something that’s—oh, I don’t know—more than the sum of its parts. Like somehow you and the dress combine through some kind of synergy to create…well, a vision…’

Alice smiled, glad to see that Coreen wasn’t as oblivious to the magic of her stock as she claimed to be. Jennie disappeared with the dress into the ultra-white, minimalist decor of Annabel’s emporium.

‘Just you wait!’ Coreen punched Alice lightly on the arm. ‘One day you’ll put a dress on and it will happen to you. You’ll see!’

Alice imitated one of Coreen’s little snorts. ‘Yeah, right. Like that’s ever going to happen.’

Coreen shook her head. ‘You’ll see…’

There was only one way to deal with Coreen when she got like this: agree, in a roundabout way, and then change the subject quickly. Alice started off gently. ‘You’re right about some dresses looking magical…’

Pretty soon she’d managed to steer the conversation on to the fashion shows the vintage clothessellers staged each year, to advertise their spring and autumn ‘collections’. They were always a huge success, and Coreen had heaps of tales about amateur models, slippery-soled shoes and fragile vintage stitching. It wasn’t long before they were giggling away like a pair of schoolgirls.

All laughter stopped when they realised Jennie had emerged from Annabel’s shop and was staring at herself in the full-length mirror Coreen always placed next to her stall.

‘Wow!’ both Alice and Coreen said in unison.

It was stunning. The pale colour complemented Jennie’s skin tone perfectly, and the skilful tailoring accentuated all her curves. Somehow the dress made her look positively translucent.

An elbow made contact with Alice’s ribs. ‘Told you,’ Coreen said. ‘That’s her dress.’

Okay, perhaps Coreen had a point. But it wasn’t hard to look fabulous if you had a figure like Jennie’s. She was tall and slim, and she swelled and curved in all the right places. Finding a dress that did that for someone who had more angles than curves, and no chest to speak of at all, would be nothing short of a miracle.

Jennie twirled in front of the mirror. ‘I don’t care how much it is,’ she said, striking pose after pose and never once taking her eyes off her reflection. ‘I have to have it.’

Coreen grinned and high-fived Alice as Jennie glided away to get changed. When she arrived back at the stall she had a thoughtful look on her face. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying earlier—about the fashion shows, that is.’ She looked from Alice to Coreen and back again. ‘I’ve got a proposition for the both of you. And, if I am right about this, this idea could put you well on the way to owning that shop you’re after.’

CHAPTER TWO

ALICE sat on the edge of her bed and gazed at the one good photo she had of her and Paul together. One word echoed round her head.

Why?

Why hadn’t she been good enough for him? Why had he gone back to Felicity when by all accounts the old trout had made his life a misery by being the ultimate high-maintenance girlfriend?

‘Alice,’ he’d said, ‘you’re such a relief after her.’

Relief.

At the time she’d been too caught up in the first flush of a new relationship to be anything but flattered. Now his words just stung.

Her nose was running badly enough for her to give in and sniff. She had promised herself she wouldn’t cry any more. She was made of sterner stuff than that.

A phone started to ring. Probably the one in the hall. It rang on.

Alice blew her nose.

It still rang.

‘Al-lice!’ It was one of her housemates. She shared a house with the two biggest geeks on the planet. The untidiest geeks too. Roy and Matthew were no doubt on their brand new games console, occupied with slaying aliens and zombies and saving the universe. There was no way they would shift themselves unless their thumbs had locked up and they’d gone cross-eyed. She swiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, then ran down the stairs into the hall and grabbed at the phone before this very persistent person hung up.

‘Hello?’ she said, not a little breathless.

‘Can I speak with Alice Morton?’ a male voice said.

Alice’s heart began to hammer a little. That was one sexy voice. Deep and warm.

‘Hello?’ he said again.

‘Hi…yes…sorry. This is Alice.’ She winced. Compared to The Voice, she sounded all silly and schoolgirlish.

There was a brief pause, and then he spoke again. ‘It’s been a long time, Alice.’

Was it her imagination, or had his voice got just a little bit softer and warmer—almost as if he were smiling?

‘Erm…who is this?’

Please don’t let it be a prank caller. Just for a few seconds she’d had the giddy feeling that a man was actually interested in talking to her, in hearing what she had to say. And if this turned out to be a huge joke it would make her life unbearably pathetic. Which was actually quite an accomplishment at this present moment.

‘It’s Cameron Hunter.’

Cameron? She didn’t know anyone called—oh.

‘Jennie’s step-brother…’ he added. ‘Didn’t she tell you to expect my call?’

Realisation hit Alice like a bolt of forked lightning. Of course! The voice was deeper, and more mature, but all of a sudden she recognised the quiet precision, the slight edge of dry humour.

‘Oh, of course. Erm…hi, Cameron.’

Blast. Jennie had warned her that Cameron would be calling some time soon. According to his stepsister, he was a bit of a control freak, and if they wanted him to agree to the idea that they’d hatched with Jennie for this new building launch party of his, either Alice or Coreen would have to pitch it to him. Alice had begged Coreen to do it—after all, she had all the experience—but Coreen had refused, saying Alice and Cameron had prior history. Alice had argued that reading books on the opposite side of a room from each other while their tipsy families had embarrassed themselves could hardly constitute a ‘history’, but Coreen would not be budged.

‘You’re right,’ she said, finding her voice had gone all soft and girly. ‘It has been a long time.’

‘Almost twelve years.’

Wow. He hadn’t even taken a few seconds to work it out—he’d just remembered. Not many people remembered things about her. Mostly because she kept her head down and kept herself to herself. If it wasn’t for her hair she’d be instantly forgettable.

Alice had been staring at the textured glass on the front door while she’d been listening to Cameron. Now she turned around and wandered off in the direction of the kitchen.

Jennie had obviously pitched her idea to him, and now she was going to have to convince him to agree to it. The plan had all seemed so stunningly brilliant when she and Coreen and Jennie had hashed it out over drinks last Thursday. The three of them had bounced ideas around, waved their hands in the air, and generally talked over the top of each other for most of the evening.

But now she was on her own, without the benefit of a couple of cocktails inside her, she suddenly realised there were gaping holes in her knowledge of the project. Like what Cameron Hunter’s company actually did.

There was no point trying to blag her way through this. The Cameron she remembered was too sharp for that, and besides, blagging was a foreign language to her. Maybe when all this was over she’d have to get Coreen to give her lessons. She had a feeling it might come in handy in her future career.

‘Jennie said your company is computerrelated?’ Might as well get the facts straight before she dug herself an even bigger hole. And she might find some common ground.

‘Trust my darling stepsister to be a little sketchy with the details. She’s normally very efficient, but recently…well, she’s been somewhat distracted. Just so you know, my company produces software.’

‘And how’s it going? I know myself that starting up your own business can be hard. Are you doing okay with it?’

She heard him smile. ‘Yes, I’d say I’m making ends meet.’

‘Good for you!’ she said brightly. Oh, dear. That had sounded all fake and patronizing, and she hadn’t meant it to be that way at all. She entered the large kitchen she shared with the boys and flicked on the light, hoping that Cameron would take the comment in the spirit it had been meant.

It was time to turn the conversation to something more solid—something she couldn’t put her foot in. ‘What exactly has Jennie told you so far?’ she said.

‘Not much. I don’t know what’s got into her lately—she’s been disappearing for hours at a time and being very mysterious. It’s more than I can manage to get any sense out of her.’

There was a gentle huff and Alice smiled, knowing how infuriating her own siblings could be.

‘She phoned me up and yabbered away at me about a ball and jazz bands and a show-stopping highlight to the evening.’ Cameron said in a dry tone. ‘I got the impression that bit had something to do with you. Jennie tells me you’re some kind of fashion guru these days?’

She’d just been about to perch herself on one of the high stools by the breakfast bar, and she almost burst out laughing and very nearly missed plonking her bottom on the seat of the stool. Alice Morton a fashion guru? Hah!

She almost said as much, but an image of a scowling Coreen flashed across her mind and she quickly changed tack. She was supposed to be inspiring confidence in her abilities as a vintage fashion retailer, not ridiculing her new choice of career. The PR this job would generate for Coreen’s Closet could be priceless.

‘I see what you mean about Jennie being sketchy with the details,’ she said, and then proceeded to give him a potted history of Coreen’s Closet. When she’d finished he didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

His voice held a hint of surprise when he answered. ‘I would never have guessed you would have chosen that as a profession.’

Alice opened her mouth to tell him about the IT work, then closed it again. She kind of liked the fact she’d surprised him, and she decided she wasn’t about to kill the first little hint of mystery anyone had ever held about her. She was going to enjoy this while it lasted.

‘Well, I think if you love something you should pursue it, no matter the cost.’

That was her new motto. Starting right now. No more distractions. She was going to stop moping about Paul and throw herself into her work. At least with the vintage clothes business it was work she actually liked.

‘My thoughts exactly.’

Just for a split second Alice sensed a common bond, a feeling she and Cameron were both wired the same way. The sensation was so strong she wondered if he felt it too. This was how it had been when they’d been younger. Even though he’d been nearly six years older than her, they’d just clicked.

‘So, this is what we envisage for the launch party…’

Alice had been folding and unfolding the corner of a takeaway menu, and now she flattened it with her free hand and tucked it between the salt and pepper shakers, removing the distraction.

Jennie had told Coreen of her plans for a lavish ball to celebrate the opening of Cameron’s new premises—the fact that the building was ‘old’ and ‘a bit different’ was all Alice had been able to get out of her. Jennie had been struggling to come up with something to set the evening apart, something that encapsulated the idea of new and old coming together, and then she’d overheard Coreen and Alice’s conversation about the market fashion shows and she’d made a connection.

Cameron wanted something that spoke of class, success, elegance. And what could pull all these things together better than a unique charity fashion show, full of the glamour and romance of a bygone age, but showing how vintage clothes could add individuality and style to a twenty-first century wardrobe? And if they sold the idea to Cameron, Coreen’s Closet were going to supply and source the clothes. Alice explained all of this to him, and as she talked she forgot she was selling a business idea and just rambled on about the glorious clothes, the icons of yesteryear, and how everyone who attended it would feel as if they’d stepped back into a magical time.

Cameron listened. He said ‘mmm-hmm’ and ‘okay’ quite a few times as she outlined the plan to auction the clothes off as the show progressed. But she knew that they weren’t the normal noises of a man who was pretending he was listening when he was really thinking about last night’s game. She knew he was taking it all in, capturing every detail with his quick mind and mentally sorting it all.

‘I presume, from what you’ve told me about the history of your new business venture, that you and your partner aren’t just going to be giving the clothes away? How does the charity angle work?’

‘I wish we could give them away. However, we’ve worked out a plan with Jennie. We’d set very reasonable reserve prices on all the pieces—similar to what we’d get if we were selling them one-by-one on the stall. As each piece is auctioned off we’ll keep the reserve price, and anything that is bid over that will go to charity.’

‘What if the reserve isn’t met—or all the clothes only just reach the set figure?’

‘Jennie suggested my business partner, Coreen, should be the auctioneer. She’s extremely knowledgeable, and believe me, she could sell mink coats to…well, minks.’

A loud and unexpected snort of a laugh erupted from the earpiece of the phone.

‘Alice,’ he said, his tone still full of warm laughter, ‘you always did have a very singular way of looking at things.’

Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Had she just blown it?

‘With Coreen doing the talking you’ll have more than enough to donate to charity, I promise.’

‘If this Coreen is anything like you say she is, I don’t doubt it.’

‘And Jennie said you’d put in a hefty donation yourself.’

‘Did she, now?’

Alice winced. ‘Yes.’

Coreen’s Closet could handle giving the extra money to one of the local children’s charities because they’d be shifting a whole lot of stock in one go—and, even better, they’d be attracting the attention of a lot of well-to-do potential customers. The free publicity would be fantastic. With the extra money in their account, and the press coverage, she and Coreen might just be able to twist the arm of their business manager at the bank to give them a loan for the rest of the capital needed to lease and outfit a small shop.

‘If we do this right, this won’t just be another party—same drinks, same faces, same canapés. It will be something truly memorable. Each piece of vintage clothing we sell is unique, one of a kind. For those that buy at the auction, every time they wear that jacket or carry that handbag they’ll remember your company and think one of a kind. Even those that don’t buy anything will have their memories jogged when they turn on the TV and catch an old movie, or see a poster in a shop display. They’ll be instantly transported back to the elegant and original night when you opened your new offices and your company started a new chapter in its history. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? For the event to be distinctive, because then it will be remembered.’

Alice had now run out of words, and she had the sense that adding to them with empty silence-fillers would just be a mistake. So she closed her mouth and stared out of the kitchen window into the dark evening sky, waiting for Cameron’s response.

Suddenly his good opinion—of her, of her hopes and dreams—mattered. She held her breath.

‘Okay, Alice. You’ve got a deal. I like the idea.’

Alice was very glad Cameron didn’t have a video phone, because she took that moment to do a silent victory dance around the kitchen.

‘I understand you’re going to liaise with Jennie about the party, and she’s going to keep me in the loop. Do you really think you can pull this off in four weeks?’

Alice was tempted to hyperventilate. She was so far out of her depth it wasn’t funny. ‘Of course,’ she said.

‘I look forward to seeing you then. Sorry to have interrupted your evening, but I was intrigued by what Jennie had told me and I wanted to find out more immediately. I’ve always found it helps to put the brakes on before she gets too carried away. Sometimes her ideas just don’t pan out. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to…whatever you were doing.’

‘It’s fine. I wasn’t really…’

She knew she should just say goodbye gracefully and put the phone down, but she didn’t.

‘You know, Alice, I always thought you had it in you to surprise everyone.’

That was possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

Oh, her clients gushed occasionally about her, but, to be honest, they’d have sainted anyone who could have got their e-mail going again when an IT disaster struck. And not only was Cameron saying nice things, he was saying them in his lovely voice. She could have listened to it all evening.

‘Thank you, Cam.’

He chuckled. ‘Cam…I don’t think anyone but Jennie calls me that any more.’

‘Sorry…Cameron.’ She frowned. ‘What do people call you, then?’

‘Oh, Your Highness pretty much works for me.’

Now it was Alice’s turn to laugh.

‘See you in four weeks, Alice.’

And then he was gone.

She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. This evening was getting progressively more surreal.

She cradled the phone to her chest as she slipped off the kitchen stool and wandered down the hallway to replace it on its base.

She made her way upstairs and pulled a book off her shelf, intending to read at least five chapters while soaking herself in a very hot bath. And as she threw her clothes onto the bed and pulled on her comfy old dressing gown, the slightly crumpled photo that had been lying facedown on the duvet fluttered to the floor and hid itself under the bed.

‘Moon River’ chimed from Alice’s pocket as her mobile vibrated. In an effort to contort herself into a position whereby she could reach it, she whacked her head on the underside of the desk she’d been crawling under. There was a muffled snicker from somewhere else in the office.

Finally she got her phone to her ear. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello.’

That one simple word, said in a calm, deep, velvety voice, set Alice’s heart-rate rocketing. Why did his voice make her think of log fires and thick hot chocolate?

‘Cameron?’ Oh, flip. Did that nauseating little squeak of a voice belong to her? She cleared her throat.

‘Alice, we have a problem.’

We? Had he just said we?

‘We do?’

She heard a muffled shuffling sound, as if he was pacing around. ‘My ridiculous stepsister has decided to…decided to…elope! I knew she was acting strangely, but…’

Did modern-day women still elope? Alice wasn’t sure. Didn’t that only happen to corsetwearing heroines in historical novels? Either way, it was wildly romantic. She drifted off into a little daydream about carriages, hooded velvet capes and moonlight.

However, Cameron’s voice sliced through her fantasy. ‘No Jennie means no ball. Which means no fashion show.’

That’s right. Break it to me gently, Cameron.

Was she mistaken, or was there a hint of imperious displeasure in his tone?

Anyway, the fashion show couldn’t be off. She and Coreen had already planned what to do with the money. They’d set their hearts on being in a shop by February. Without the income and publicity from the show, they might have to wait until the following year.

Alice thought of the market fashion shows, how all the traders pulled together and made it happen.

‘ I can do it. I can organise the fashion show.’

Had she really just said that? A market fashion show, with people’s sisters and cousins as models, was a bit different from the kind of upmarket affair Jennie had been planning.

There was a split-second pause before Cameron said, ‘I like your fighting spirit, Alice.’

She didn’t have much of a choice, did she?

‘We both need this event to be a success,’ he said. ‘And I agree that bailing out now isn’t an option.’

That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant…

‘You’ll just have to take over,’ he added, almost to himself.

Alice blinked. For a while she’d forgotten where she was. She’d stopped noticing the faded blue carpet and the tangle of wires in every direction. But now she was back in the real world, staring at a bare patch somebody’s feet had worn under the desk.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’ll just have to help me. You said you could organise the fashion show part. Couldn’t you do the rest too? I’ll pay you Jennie’s fee.’

He mentioned a figure that made Alice’s eyes water. With that sort of capital behind them Coreen’s Closet could have its own premises by Christmas, never mind February. It almost made her forget that he hadn’t exactly asked nicely.

‘But I have no experience of—’

‘Neither do I. But I’m prepared to give it a go if you are. We’ve only got three weeks now, and it’s too late to start from scratch with another event planner.’ His voice softened. ‘Come on, Alice. For our own reasons, we both need to pull this off.’

It didn’t matter if Cameron had asked nicely or not. He was right.

‘Okay,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Cameron obviously decided to take that as a yes, because he started to reel off instructions and bark at her about couriering Jennie’s files over.

‘Slow down a minute!’

Cameron broke off in mid-flow, seemingly flummoxed by the concept that someone might have something better to do with their time than fulfil his every whim. Alice took advantage of the silence.

‘You can’t send stuff round right this minute. I’m not at home. I’m at work. I won’t be there to sign for it.’

‘Oh. Sorry. I should have…But Jennie said you weren’t at the market today. I haven’t interrupted you on a house visit, in the middle of rifling through someone’s wardrobe, have I?’

‘No—ouch!’ Alice had turned to sit crosslegged on the floor and her head had made contact with the desk once more. ‘Actually, I’m rifling through someone’s network.’

There was a pause. ‘Did you say network?’

Alice nodded to herself. ‘Jennie really is sketchy on the details, isn’t she? I’m an IT consultant by day and a vintage fashion retailer by night. Think of it as my alter ego—my secret identity.’

‘Not so secret any more…now that you’ve told me.’

She grinned. He had a point there. Somehow she knew Cameron was grinning back on the other end of the line. For a few moments neither of them said anything, then Alice shook herself—literally—and decided to get back to business. Perhaps that would stop this slightly light-headed feeling that seemed to be sweeping over her.

‘I need to get an idea of what your new offices are like—to make sure what we’re planning matches the surroundings. The building is what we’ll be there to celebrate, after all, isn’t it?’

Just as she’d been able to ‘hear’ him smile, she now sensed him…what? Gloating?

‘You should see it. It’s something else—totally unique. An old nineteen-thirties factory on the Isle of Dogs. Classic Art Deco style. All the plant and machinery is gone, but we’ve done as much as possible to preserve the original features.’

A picture formed in Alice’s mind as he talked: geometrical shapes, cool white plaster, long horizontal windows. ‘It sounds fascinating. And what about the space for the party? Is there enough room? How big is it? Over how many levels?’

His voice was full of dry humour when he answered. ‘And you told me to slow down. One question at a time, Morton.’

But he didn’t sound displeased in the slightest. In fact, he addressed her queries one by one in detail, and she could tell from the tone of his voice he was enjoying the chance to talk about his current pet project.

‘I mean it. You need to see it, Alice. What are you doing tomorrow?’

Why don’t you get to the point, Cameron? Stop beating around the bush.

She frowned. ‘I was supposed to be sorting out a—’

‘Cancel it.’

Alice spluttered. ‘I can’t do that! My clients are relying on me.’

‘Give me the address and I’ll send a team from my own IT department. I’ll see to it you won’t lose any business because of this.’

It was all very well for Cameron to wave his magic wand and make all her objections disappear, but she wasn’t at all sure she wanted a bunch of strangers doing her work for her. But it was that or give up on the whole fashion show idea. And that meant delaying her launch into her new career, which she really wasn’t prepared to contemplate now it was almost within her grasp.

And by the way, Mr Hunter…See that mountain over there? You couldn’t just tell it to up and jump into the Thames, could you? It’s spoiling my view.

She was starting to realise that the focussed, determined young man she’d met all those years ago had matured into a formidable force. And something was bothering her. Something on the fringes of her consciousness.

‘Cameron?’

He stopped mid-flow, in the middle of giving her more potted history of his new building. ‘Yes?’

‘What did you say your company was called?’ Now she thought about it, she didn’t remember getting down to specifics—she’d been too busy pitching her idea.

‘Orion.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘Didn’t Jennie tell you that?’

Alice almost dropped her phone. ‘Orion?’ she whispered. ‘As in Orion Solutions?’

‘Yes. That’s it.’

Very clever.

Hunter…Orion…It all fitted now.

She’d booted up the computer on the desk above her only a couple of minutes ago. Full of Orion software. Like almost every other computer on the planet. Suddenly the air in her office had grown a little sparse. She wanted to open a window and stick her face outside into the cold air, but she had a feeling they were welded shut.

Had she just agreed to organise a party for the head of Orion Solutions—one of the fastest growing software enterprises in the world? Boy, she was way out of her league. Way, way out of her league.

But this was Cameron. The young man she’d hidden out at a Christmas party with.

No, it wasn’t working. She couldn’t marry the two ideas together in her head, even though she knew deep down he must have changed since then. Just talking to him, she sensed subtle changes. Now it all made sense. He’d always been reserved and precise. But now when he talked there was an unmistakable undercurrent of confidence and inner strength she’d always sensed had been there which now had risen to the surface. Would he have changed on the outside too? Twelve years was a long time.

The mental image that thought conjured up was appealing. She could see a tall, slim man—not gangly and awkward any more—with the same unruly dark hair that curled past his collar. His eyes would be the same warm brown, but there would be more lines round his mouth and at the corners of his eyes.

There was a meaningful cough from beyond the desk. Alice noticed a pair of pinstriped legs move a few steps closer. Mr Rogers. She’d forgotten all about him.

‘I better go,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘I’ll meet you at noon.’ He reeled off the address of his new headquarters.

As he spoke, she was vacantly staring at a web of cables off to her left. Something drew her attention—some instinct told her to take a closer look. And then she spotted it—the source of all of the solicitors’ problems. It was going to be a nasty job to sort out but, hey, ‘nasty’ normally meant ‘time-consuming’, and that translated into more cash. Something she was only too glad of.

‘Alice? Is that okay?’ The deep, rich voice made her jump.

‘No…yes…that sounds fine. I’ll see you then.’

Cameron rang off with his normal brevity, and Alice crawled over to the knot of cables she’d been inspecting. There was a murmur and a shuffle and the pinstriped legs moved even closer.

‘Anything I can do?’ a thin voice enquired.

Mr Rogers wasn’t being helpful—far from it; he had the air of someone trying to hurry someone else along. Fair enough, since he paid for her services by the hour.

‘No, I’m fine,’ she said, running her thumb and forefinger along a stretch of wire to check where it disappeared to. ‘But I’d love a cup of tea—if you’re making one, that is.’

There was a quiet huff, and the legs disappeared out of the office door.

Alice didn’t feel guilty about that in the slightest. She’d get much more work done if someone wasn’t hovering over her all the time. And she didn’t feel guilty about stopping for five minutes to take Cameron’s call. If she hadn’t been sitting here under the desk, staring at the wires, it would have taken her hours longer to find the source of the problem. She backed out from under the desk, stood up and brushed herself down, pleased to be off her knees and standing tall.

Cameron arrived at the construction site early, keen to meet with the foreman and get an update before he showed Alice around. Although he was required to wear a hard hat, it was hardly necessary as all the major work had been done. Only the finishing touches were being seen to—doors were being hung, sockets were being fixed to the walls and flooring was being laid.

He checked his watch. She’d be here in an hour. He brightened unexpectedly at the thought. Alice had been a nice kid. A little unsure of herself, as teenage girls often were, but kind and intelligent. He was glad to know she’d lost none of that warmth in the intervening years. And she’d certainly seemed full of fire when he’d talked with her on the phone. It was nice to actually converse with someone for a change rather than just give orders.

What was she to him, then? A friend?

He didn’t really have many friends. Hadn’t really had time for them while he’d worked himself stupid getting where he was today. Most of the men he socialised with fell into one of two categories. They were either colleagues or competitors, and both were apt to put on a false front because they either wanted to impress the boss or they were hoping to get close to him and learn something to their advantage.

And women…Well, women never wanted to be just friends with him. They also fell into two camps: tigers and jellyfish. The tigers, like Jessica, were blatant about their attraction to him—and his money. And he obliged them by taking them out to the best spots in London, treating them like royalty…As long as they understood he wasn’t looking for anything permanent, wasn’t looking for someone to share his throne at present. They were all just temporary princesses.

The jellyfish—the second type of woman, like his current PA—trembled and stuttered in his presence. But he saw the glint of attraction in their eyes too—they were just too scared to act on it. Both responses were starting to get on his nerves.

He couldn’t pigeonhole Alice into either of these groups, and that made her an unknown species. Intriguing.

She’d been pretty too, in her own way. Beautiful eyes—a fascinating hazel that were one moment green and the next nutty brown. She’d been like an ugly duckling, just on the cusp of becoming a swan. Sometimes, when she’d moved a certain way or changed her expression, he’d had the strangest sense that a glorious, transformed Alice was about to burst through the meek outer shell.

He shook his head.

This was his problem with women. He let his imagination run away with him and started thinking all sorts of ridiculous things. He became dazzled by the idea of the woman, and always ended up being disappointed when they didn’t live up to the dream. But he’d dated enough golddiggers now that he could spot them at thirty paces. It didn’t stop him taking them out, though. In fact, it suited his whole ‘temporary princess’ idea. He didn’t expect much from the Jessicatypes, and therefore he was rarely disappointed. And there was no danger of them leaving a scar when the relationship ended.

When people got too close, they judged. They found all the bits of your psyche you didn’t want to acknowledge and held them up in front of your face to see, along with a few more faults you didn’t realise you’d had. No, he’d had enough of being judged.

But that really was a moot point these days. He was top dog. He did the judging. And if anyone was foolish enough to put him under the microscope they’d only come away with the verdict that he was the best and that he had the best of everything. And that was just what he’d been aiming for all these years.

A tall fence of chipboard panels painted roughly in forest green surrounded the new headquarters to Orion Solutions. The gate was covered with brightly coloured signs warning of all sorts of dire consequences to those who dared step inside. The boundary fence was at least twelve feet high, and this close to it, Alice could see nothing of the building beyond.

Being fairly local, she now realised she remembered the factory in its previous incarnation as a bakery. It had been left almost derelict for more than a decade, and the only details she could recall were broken panes in the wide horizontal windows and a dirty concrete façade.

Now she was actually here, ready to see the site and show her ideas to Cameron, her stomach was churning. Coreen really should have come. She was good at the talking and schmoozing. Alice was good at the practicalities—the behind-the-scenes stuff.

But you didn’t need to schmooze Cameron on the phone, a little voice inside her head whispered. You talked, he listened. It’ll be the same now.

But her stomach didn’t seem to believe her head. It was still rolling around as if it was being battered by one of the old kneading machines that had lived in the old bakery.

And Coreen hadn’t helped this morning. She’d insisted Alice go round, so she could make sure she was dressed ‘fittingly’ for a representative of Coreen’s Closet. Coreen had taken a single look at Alice’s one good trouser suit, tutted, and then dragged Alice into her bedroom. In no time she’d bullied Alice into stripping down to her under-wear. Alice had stood there like a shop dummy, being prodded and poked and pinched, and when Coreen had pronounced her ready she’d taken one look in the mirror and flipped out.

She’d looked like Coreen’s freaky twin sister, with her hair quiffed and pinned. The floral fifties dress was undoubtedly gorgeous, but Alice’s chest didn’t fill the darted bodice and the large circular skirt just swamped her. The icing on the cake had been the bright red lipstick.

She’d looked ridiculous. She wasn’t that girl—that frilly, sexy, pouting girl. She was Alice. And Alice looked like a big fat fake in that get-up. This time Coreen hadn’t been going to get her way. Alice had told her friend so in no uncertain terms, and then she’d reached for a tissue and wiped the lipstick off, leaving a wide red smudge on her cheek.

Once Coreen had got over the shock of being contradicted, she’d set to work again, agreeing that the full-on retro look maybe wasn’t for Alice, but a touch of vintage might add a little pizzazz to an otherwise dull department store outfit.

So here Alice stood, the result of makeover number two. Coreen had let her keep the looselegged chocolate trousers, as she’d said they flattered Alice’s shape and made her look like Katherine Hepburn, but she’d replaced the suit jacket with a collarless forties one in deep crimson tweed. Even Alice liked the fake fabric bunch of grapes in autumn colours that adorned the breast. She’s brushed out the ridiculous hairstyle and opted for a low, sleek ponytail, and had let Coreen add some lipstick in a berry shade that complemented both the jacket and her colouring.

It would have been madness to tell Coreen—it would only have made her even more incorrigible—but Alice did feel smart and stylish, in a way that was uniquely her. At least she did until she reached the tall chipboard gates that barred her entrance to Cameron’s building. Now she was tempted to turn and run away on her chunkyheeled boots. She looked back down the road to where she’d parked her car.

‘Alice Morton?’

She spun round to find a gruff-looking builder eyeing her up and down through a gap in the gate.

‘Yes,’ she said, finding her voice unusually croaky.

He nodded towards the construction site. ‘This way,’ he said, and cracked the gate wider so she could pass through it. ‘The boss and some of the architects are inside. I’ve been told to take you to them. Oh—and you’ll need this.’

He jammed a bright yellow helmet on her head. Alice was relieved for the second time this morning that the quiff hadn’t stayed. She’d have been digging hair pins out of her scalp for weeks if it had still been there.

She clutched the old school satchel that held her drawings and ideas—Coreen had sworn it would make a funky alternative to a boring old briefcase—and followed the man along a path towards the new Orion building.

And then she looked up and her feet forgot to walk.

Wow.

CHAPTER THREE

CAMERON had said he wanted a ‘distinctive’ opening celebration, and now she saw why. These types of buildings had been considered ugly and out of fashion until relatively recently—left to crumble or bulldozed and replaced with yet another chrome and glass structure.

The building was a low rectangle, with maybe only three or four storeys—it was difficult to tell where the divisions lay, because the whole width of the building was filled with tall windows with horizontal panes, punctuated by plain white pillars and, in the centre, a fabulously ornate doorway that made her think of Greta Gabo films and Egyptian tombs all at the same time.

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