His pinstriped suit was the business, his tie, navy with a tiny pattern, was eye-wateringly expensive; she’d bought one like it in the store just yesterday. And, even without the designer gear, he had that unmistakable air of authority.

But if she’d thought he’d seemed intense as he’d held her balanced above the stairs, now he looked positively grim.

‘Keep your eyes open, Frank.’ His voice was low; he didn’t need to raise it to make a point.

As she watched, pinned to the spot, he took a step back, glanced around, his eyes momentarily coming to rest on her. She’d left it too late to move and she lowered her lashes, opting for the if-I-can’t-see-you-then-you-can’t-see-me scenario. Holding her breath as she waited for the got you hand on the shoulder.

Her heart ceased to beat for the second or two that he continued to stare at her, but after a moment she realised that, while he was looking at her, he wasn’t actually seeing her. He wasn’t even in this room, not in his head, anyway.

Then someone put his head around the corner. ‘Whenever you’re ready, sir.’

Without a word, he turned and walked away. Which was when she realised that he was gripping something in his hand. A shoe.

Her shoe.

Had it fallen out of her bag when she’d stumbled?

Well, duh… How many red suede peep-toe designer shoes were there lying around Hastings & Hart? How many dumb females whose coach had just turned into a pumpkin were there fleeing up the H &H stairs scattering footwear in their wake?

How many men who could stop your heart with a look?

Stop it!

Enough with the fairy tales.

She was done with fairy tales.

‘Wh…who was that?’ she asked, as casually as she could, once she’d finally managed to retrieve her heart from her mouth and coax it back into life.