‘So, you’re meeting someone here?’
She shook her head. ‘No… just checking out an old haunt.’
‘You’ve been here before,’ he stated the obvious.
‘Years ago.’
He watched her eyes drift to the glass of white wine he was holding. Shit, he’d forgotten all about the blonde.
‘I’d better let you go and give that to your date,’ Hayley said, as if mind reading was her speciality.
‘It isn’t a date,’ he answered quickly. He wet his lips.
‘Is that how you justify it when you bail out early?’
‘That was a one-off.’
‘Business then?’ She lowered her voice, inching her head closer into his personal space. ‘Something about the Globe?’
He reeled back then, shocked by her words. What did she know about something so confidential?
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he answered swiftly.
She knew about his business. Their encounter at the Chinese restaurant hadn’t been coincidental and neither was this. His hackles were raised now, suspicion rife. Was she competitor or press?
‘Sorry, it’s none of my business,’ she spoke fast. ‘It’s just putting my brother in charge of the project practically made his year.’
His face wrinkled in confusion until everything sunk in. That’s where he had seen Dean Walker before: at the Chinese restaurant, with Lois and the chattering nine-year-old child. Relief flooded his insides and he watched Hayley’s eyes widen.
‘Ha! You thought I was from Apple, didn’t you? Luring you into buying me drinks so I could get the inside scoop on the next big thing.’
He shook his head. ‘Of course not.’
She laughed. ‘You went as white as if I was carrying Kryptonite in this handbag.’
He tried to recover. ‘How do I know you’re not?’
She raised her hands. ‘I come in peace. No substances poisonous to superheroes and no Mob connections, I promise.’
He really wanted to get rid of the white wine. He looked to the blonde across the dance floor. There really was no competition. This English girl was fun and feisty. He liked the idea of a challenge.
He cleared his throat. ‘Just stay right there and give me one second.’
20
VIPERS NIGHTCLUB, DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN
What was she doing? She was watching her brother’s billionaire boss, one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, give someone the brush off… again… for her. Her heart was thumping hard. Was she completely out of her mind? She had learned her lesson about starting a relationship in this nightclub ten years ago. It was not somewhere to begin anything. It was jinxed. And she was not in the market for anything. Not drinks with completely unsuitable men. No matter how hot they were. And hewashot. Every inch she could see… and probably all the inches she couldn’t see but could imagine. This was craziness.
She moved then, quickly, heading across the floor towards a tall, shaven-haired man in his forties wearing a white shirt, his body the width of a Sherman tank. He was chewing gum and had an earpiece in. A doorman might remember Michel. He could have been working here ten years ago. She slipped the photograph out of her clutch bag.
‘Excuse me,’ she shouted above the music.
He leant forward, lining up the ear without the earpiece to her mouth.
‘I was wondering if you might have seen this man.’ She offered out the photograph. ‘He used to come in here, a lot I think, and… I’m looking for him.’
The doorman took hold of the photo and squinted his eyes at the picture.
