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A rosy blush spread across Sally’s cheeks, and the others squealed with excitement. During their teenage years, Bill and Sally had often found themselves getting together at summer balls and riotous house parties. They had never seriously dated, but you could lay bets on them sharing a snog at the end of the night.

As the others continued to chat and tease Sally, Fliss found her attention wandering as she looked around the club. She had the uncanny sensation that someone’s eyes were on her, and as her gaze skipped over the flamboyant artwork on the walls, and the gold and crystal chandeliers, she saw him. A dark-haired guy across the room. Fliss’s heart seemed to skip a beat, heat flooding her body. There was an instant physical attraction.

He was good-looking, but not in a clean-cut, male model way; more in a rugged, earthy, undeniably sexy way. There was something about him that seemed different to everyone else at the party; he didn’t look monied, or entitled, or arrogant. Instead, he exuded a relaxed confidence, slightly above the crowd, a glass tumbler resting easily in his hand as he stared at Fliss. He was wearing tight black jeans and a biker jacket that fitted close enough to show off his honed physique. His eyes were dark, his lips full and even from across the room Fliss could sense his presence.

He looked away briefly, then back again, but Fliss couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. She wondered if he was here with anyone. She wondered if she would get to feel those lips on hers tonight …

The guy was leaning casually against the back of a sofa, but then he straightened up and began to make his way through the crowd, heading in her direction. Fliss’s pulse started to gallop, her breath quickening. He was coming over! Surely he could feel the connection between them too? Fliss’s legs felt wobbly, her mouth dry, but she jutted one hip and tossed out her shimmering, strawberry blonde hair, taking a fortifying sip of her champagne.

As he drew closer, she could see the sharpness of his cheekbones, the smattering of stubble along his jawline. Oh God, she wanted him badly! He had almost reached her when, beside her Tara let out an ear-splitting screech. The rest seemed to happen in slow motion. Fliss watched as Tara’s entire face lit up and she opened her arms wide, throwing them around the guy who hugged her back and greeted her warmly.

Tara spun round to face them, still holding his arm proprietorially. Her eyes were sparkling, and she was beaming like the proverbial cat who had got the cream.

‘Everyone,’ she announced breathlessly, ‘this is Kit Forrest.’

Chapter 11

The following week, Fliss’s feet hardly touched the ground. She had been rostered onto a new programme at work: London Lunch, a one-hour lunchtime magazine show which was broadcast live in front of a studio audience and featured a mix of news, interviews and celebrity gossip. It was light-hearted and frivolous, aimed at students, young mums and the terminally unemployed. It aspired to have the anarchic feel of The Big Breakfast combined with the popularity of This Morning.

Fliss loved working for LBTV, the independent commercial television station which produced London Lunch. It occupied a large studio space by the river in Hammersmith, plus a head office in Soho which is where Fliss was today. As a runner, her days were a frantic mix of studio rehearsals, behind-the-scenes admin tasks and, in Fliss’s case, doing anything that needed to be done as fast as she possibly could. It was hectic and exhilarating, and she was loving every minute – not least because it took her mind off Kit.

Fliss knew it was ridiculous, but she had felt such a strong connection with him from right across the room. Physically, her body had responded to him in a way no one she had ever met before had inspired, and she had been foolish enough to think that he might feel the same way, to imagine that he had been staring at her from the other side of the club. Fliss had felt like an idiot when she realised he had actually been looking over at her best friend, and that he was the guy Tara had been talking nonstop about for the past few weeks.

Now Fliss was desperately trying to forget about the hottest guy she had seen, but she was being totally unsuccessful. She could still remember the way Kit’s dark eyes had seemingly sought her out across the club, the way his lips had brushed her cheek as they had been introduced, and the heady, masculine scent of his skin …

‘Earth to Fliss? Hello?’

‘Damn, Jo, I’m so sorry. I was miles away.’

‘So I could see. Anywhere nice?’

Fliss blushed, and Joanna laughed. ‘I’m sorry I disturbed you.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Fliss shook her head, trying to dispel the distracting thoughts. ‘Now, what do you need me to do?’

Joanna Grayson was the producer of London Lunch and Fliss hugely admired her. In her early fifties, with bleached blonde hair and thick-rimmed glasses, Jo had boundless reserves of energy and seemed entirely unfazed by anything the programme could throw at her. Confident and well-liked, she made time for even the most junior of staff, like Fliss.

‘I need you to do some research for me – here’s the information,’ Jo said, handing Fliss a sheet of A4 from the pile she had in her hand. ‘We’re planning a feature on the new wave of “social media” sites,’ she explained, putting air quotes around the words. ‘Like Friends Reunited and MySpace. I need to find juicy stories about how these platforms have affected people’s lives – exes who had lost touch and got back together, couples who met for the first time via MySpace – that kind of thing.’

‘On it! That sounds great – there’s so much potential there,’ Fliss enthused. ‘Have you heard of Bebo? It launched at the beginning of this year and it’s already huge. Maybe we could do a roundup of these new platforms – there’s a new one in the US called Facebook that’s creating a lot of buzz.’

Jo raised her eyebrows, looking intrigued. ‘That’s not a bad idea, you know. The new way to network, for a new generation …’ She trailed off, thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, I really like that. Leave it with me. Brilliant idea, Fliss.’

‘Thanks,’ Fliss beamed, feeling thrilled that a producer had liked her idea! She wondered if she should head off to start her research right now, but Joanna was still standing there.

‘Do you know what? I’ve got half an hour to spare. Do you want to grab lunch? I’m interested in hearing more of your ideas and learning more about you.’

‘Sure,’ said Fliss, surprised but overjoyed. ‘But what about …?’ She held up the paper in her hand.

‘It’ll wait half an hour,’ Jo shrugged. ‘Come on, my treat.’

Jo and Fliss crossed Dean Street, the busy thoroughfare at the heart of Soho, to Giuseppe’s, a little Italian deli. The owner, who had named the café after himself, knew everyone who worked nearby, and on the wall were photos of him with the scores of celebrities who had popped in for a bite to eat over the years, from Tom Cruise to Michael Caine, Sarah Jessica Parker to Kelly Brook.

‘Jo! Fliss! My two favourite ladies,’ Giuseppe gushed, as they managed to find an empty table and sat down. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Lasagne and salad,’ Jo ordered. ‘With a diet coke. Thanks, Giuseppe.’

‘I’ll have the chicken parm, please,’ Fliss requested. She burned vast amounts of energy from running around all day, having started at 8.00 a.m., and was always starving by lunchtime.