‘Your fingers look broken,’ Angela retorted, kneeling beside her and casting a murderous glance up at Roger Francis. ‘It’s him who’s the toad.’

‘Of all the unprofessional…’ Roger was practically spluttering as he backed away from the handbag-wielding Sophia. ‘Mr Baird, I suggest we look for a property elsewhere.’

Trevor collected himself at that, and moved between Molly and Jackson. He could see thousands of dollars worth of commission going up in smoke here. ‘Mr Baird, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. This is normally the most efficient of offices.’ He glared down at Molly. ‘My father persuaded me to employ my cousin because he felt sorry for her. But if she’s going to offend major clients…’ He tried for bluster, a weak man attempting importance. ‘Molly, get up. You can collect your severance pay and leave.’

But Molly wasn’t listening. She was still staring between her fingers. Lionel’s leg was indeed hanging at an odd angle. It must be broken. She thought of the impossibility of mending broken legs on frogs.

What on earth was she going to tell Sam?

‘Molly, get out.’ This time Trevor’s desperation broke through.

‘You mean my frog’s going to die and now I’ve been given the sack?’ she managed, her voice a distressed whisper. Oh, great. How would they manage now?

‘If you’re going to upset Mr Baird-’

‘She deserves to be sacked,’ the lawyer hissed from the other side of the desk, and Sophia’s handbag was raised again.

‘Just a moment.’ Jackson Baird rose and raised one hand. His voice was a soft and lazy drawl, but it had the capacity to halt everyone in their tracks. It was a voice of one born to command. He rose from where he’d been sitting and knelt by Molly, gently moving Angela out of the way. Immaculately dressed in his superbly fitted business suit, his night-black hair just casual enough for effect, his presence took over the room.