He must be quite something, thought Miranda cynically. A girl like that wouldn’t bother unless he was very rich, very famous or very gorgeous, and she was clearly ready to defend her territory against the likes of Octavia. Needless to say, she didn’t even notice Miranda, proffering her tray, but her companion turned to look at her, and Miranda stopped dead, her heart lurching into her throat and wiping the smile from her face.
Now she could see why the girl was prepared to endure tedious jokes rather than abandon him-he was indeed very rich, very famous and very gorgeous, loath as Miranda was to admit it.
Rafe Knighton, in fact.
CHAPTER TWO
RAFE was looking straight at Miranda and the directness of his gaze made her burningly aware once more of her revealing costume. For one wild moment she was tempted to turn tail and run.
Then she told herself not to be so silly. Even if Rafe were to remember her from earlier that day, which was frankly pretty unlikely, there was no way he could recognise the sexily clad ‘cat’ as the colourless temp at the photocopier.
She forced a smile and held out the tray instead. ‘Would you like anything?’
The girl flicked a dismissive glance over her and looked away, not even bothering with a refusal, but the other men leered openly.
‘I know what I’d like,’ said one to a burst of laughter, ‘and it’s not on the tray!’
‘Here, pussy, pussy,’ called another in a high, stupid voice. ‘I’d like a stroke.’
Rafe was not enjoying himself. Why did he bother to come to these events? He had hoped to meet a rather more serious crowd at a book launch, but he should have known better. This party was even sillier than usual, and whose tasteless idea had it been to dress the waitresses as cats? They were all obviously hating it.
It was depressing to realise that someone had thought he would belong at a party like this.