‘To the offices of Charles Higgins?’ Her eyebrows hiked up in mock incredulity. ‘Attila in there wouldn’t let me sit on her settee and eat my bagel. You think she’ll let me sit on her settee now I’m covered with banana milkshake?’

‘I guess she wouldn’t,’ he said, his voice a trifle unsteady. Attila… He knew exactly who she was talking about. Charles Higgins’s secretary.

‘You were waiting to see Charles?’

‘Yeah.’

Marcus knew Charles Higgins. The man was sleaze. A king-sized ego with the morals of a sewer rat. Because of renovations-the same renovations that were causing problems with the lifts now-Marcus had been forced to share a corporate washroom with Charles Higgins for the last few weeks. But that was as far as their relationship went. The man’s brains were in his balls. He had a reputation for dealing dishonestly with dishonest money.

Marcus owned this building. He might lease part of it to Higgins but it didn’t mean he had to like the man.

He couldn’t understand for a minute what business this girl would have with a slime-ball of a lawyer like Higgins.

‘You had an appointment?’

‘At ten this morning. Three hours ago.’ She was still lying on the landing, her fingers tentatively probing her ankle. ‘Attila keeps fobbing me off. Finally I was so hungry I dived out and got lunch and Attila told me I’d have to eat out here. Enter you.’

That made sense. Higgins’s secretary, a woman of indeterminate years and with a bosom like plate armour, had a reputation for being nastier than Higgins himself. If that was possible.

‘You know…’ It was a crazy conversation. Any minute now Ruby would arrive and rescue him, but meanwhile maybe he could give her a bit of advice. It couldn’t hurt. ‘You know, maybe if you want to talk to high-powered New York lawyers, then maybe shorts and T-shirt and scruffy sandals aren’t going to cut it.’

‘Scruffy…’ She probed her ankle and winced yet again but she was able to focus on what he was saying. ‘You’re saying my sandals are scruffy?’