I rushed through my morning ritual, cursing my lack of self-control. Why couldn’t I have waited? I knew I’d be used again that night, only this time on Leo’s terms – which meant flat on my back, with him grunting and jackhammering into me like an over-enthusiastic teenager. If I’d waited, I might even have come, for a change, before he rolled over and went to sleep, but there was little chance of that now.

I took the elevator down to the ground floor and hurried past the security desk, out into the rush hour streets of the capital. I pushed through the crowds, down into the Underground, forcing my way onto a train just as it pulled away from the platform. We were packed like sardines in a can, and the smell wasn’t much better.

I checked the time on my phone to take my mind off the passengers. I felt suffocated, holding my breath as they pressed against me. 8:35 am. I was late already.

When I came out at Monument, my phone vibrated in my hand. I glanced down as I waited to cross the road. It was a text. Probably sent while I was on the train. Signal crap, as usual.

It was from Leo:

Love you, Princess. Mine forever, remember? Speak tonight.

The whole tone of the message took me aback and I stood there for a moment, not noticing the traffic had stopped. It wasn’t like Leo to send sweet nothings. I tried to remember the last time he’d told me he loved me, and drew a blank. But he’d sent that text. He must have missed me. I felt a sudden pang of guilt. I really had to put a lid on these fantasies. He was all I needed…nothing else mattered.

I checked it again, just to make sure. I could hardly believe I was reading it. It was so sweet, so…unexpected. The fact that he was up already was a shock in itself. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf. Maybe, even, he was planning something. Like an engagement. The speak tonight part sounded promising, anyway. We didn’t seem to speak all that much at all anymore. In fact, he hardly noticed me, except to find fault with me. I put that thought to the back of my mind and crossed the road quickly, as the traffic started to inch its way forward again.

I was still thinking about it when I entered the vaulted marble entrance hall of Ffyvells Corporate Banking Division.

Ffyvells was one of the largest banks of its kind. It had branches in all the major cities, and dealt exclusively with the wealthy elite. You knew you’d arrived when you were accepted for a Ffyvells account.

The European Group was on the ninth floor. By the time I got out the lift, I’d put Leo’s text aside, to revisit later in the day when I had time to revel in the sweet secret of it. For now, I had other things to concentrate on. I had the whole working day to get through and Max Flint, the group’s Chief Exec and my direct boss, was likely to pounce on me the minute I walked through the door.

Not in a good way, either. I should be so lucky. Max had all the women in the building drooling over him. He was an overpowering blend of half-Italian good looks, pale blue eyes, muscle and testosterone. The unholy offspring of a force ten hurricane and an aftershave commercial.

He was also a nightmare boss, almost obsessively driven. He’d hit CEO of the European Group two years ago, shortly before hitting his thirties, and his ambition was relentless. He had his eye on CEO of Corporate Banking, everyone knew it, and he expected his team to want it as much as he did. I had to be ready when he grabbed me.

As I entered, I saw Pascale Blanchard sorting through a sheaf of documents. She was absorbed, and hadn’t noticed me. She was one of the team PAs, chic in a matronly way, and usually up for a chat before the day kicked off in earnest.

Not today, though, seemingly.

‘Morning, Pascale.’ I unbuttoned my jacket. It was sweltering, and there was no air conditioning. Criminal negligence, in such a high pressure environment, but Max didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem to sweat. Ever.

Pascale looked up from her papers, a ready smile on her lips, but as soon as she saw me her eyes widened and she looked panic-stricken. She gave me an anxious, tight smile. ‘M…morning, ma chère,’ she stammered, and crouched down, as if looking for something under her desk.

I left the last button unopened, and stood waiting, expecting her to come back up. It wasn’t like her to be so abrupt. I wondered if something had happened. Some of the team could be real dicks to the PAs. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had got the blame for something which, nine times out of ten, was the fault of someone higher up the food chain.

I was about to ask her if she was okay, when Max called me from his office. ‘Grace – in here, now.’

I froze. It was his harshest, least forgiving, tone. He’d never used it on me. In fact, I’d only heard him use it once ever, after John Clyde, a complete asshole of an accounts manager, had messed up big time on a deal. John Clyde didn’t work for us anymore – didn’t work in banking anymore. Max had seen to that.

I looked at Pascale, but she didn’t meet my eye. My heart raced. I’m ten minutes late, fifteen tops. What’s his problem? He never moans when I’m the last one here at night.

I wasn’t going to take his crap. I’d put him in his place, tell him just how lucky he was to have me. I took a deep breath, lifted my chin mutinously, and went into his office.

Two

Max was sitting in his chair, his leg extended in front of him. He wasn’t alone. A man stood by his desk, his back to me. He turned as I entered, and smiled.

I looked at Max, then back at this stranger. He seemed amused. Clearly, men yelling at their long-suffering assistants did it for him. He was still smiling, anyway, standing there in the middle of Max’s office like he owned it. Or owned Max.

There was something in the way he towered over him that breathed superiority, and he was superior, in one way, at least. The shock of it – of him – hit me almost physically. I’d never imagined Max could appear second-rate or shoddy, but sitting there in front of this man, he did. He was like the artist’s crude first draft, displayed alongside the finished masterpiece. Everything I’d loved about Max seemed suddenly spoiled and swarthy. Too rough...too blunt…too obvious next to this stranger.

I wondered who he was, and when he was going to wipe that mocking grin off his face. I hadn’t seen him before, so he could’ve been anyone. A colleague, a friend…but I felt sure he was a client. His bone structure reeked wealth and breeding; the ironic hook of his eyebrow - confidence and entitlement. A Merchant Ivory film wrapped in a suit, he was still smiling - leaning back against the desk now, as if daring me to look at him. I deliberately glared at him and turned to Max just as his phone rang.

Max was looking up at me, his eyebrows raised. As he answered his phone, I tried to gather myself. I felt pinned between two opposing forces – commanded by Max, but overwhelmed by this stranger’s gaze. I attempted to focus on Max, wait for him to finish on the phone, but he’d really put me on edge. I glanced back at him, despite myself, and he winked at me. A tiny, almost imperceptible flutter of his dark eyelashes; the perfect frame to those murder-blue eyes.

He was doing it on purpose. He knew. He knew exactly what I was thinking, and he was getting off on it. Hell, I wasn’t even thinking. It was too primal for that, like the urges that had engulfed me in bed that morning. It was instinct, pure and simple. I wanted to get down on my knees before him, throw my arms around his ankles, and worship him. He knew it, and I hated him for it.

‘Look, I don’t know how you got through,’ Max said to whoever was on the line. ‘But I’ve told your lot already. No comment.’