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with people at work, but a quickie with the PR rep surely didn’t count, Zack had thought, and there were slim pickings where he’d been that night and it was nice to dream.

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      ?

      Her response?

      There hadn’t been one.

      His next email, after a long day of surgery followed by a very long night in Nepal:

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      ??

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      Very single. (Don’t tell James.)

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      I never kiss and tell.

      He smiled as he finished reading and did a quick search on her name, and suddenly Zack wasn’t smiling.

      There was an article on Freya, accompanied by a picture of her collapsed and being taken out of a nightclub and he read about her drug habit. There was a quote from her mother, stating that Freya was finally getting the help she needed and was in rehab.

      He thought of the woman who had slunk out of his hotel room rather than face the music.

      Oh, yes, they needed to talk!

      * * *

      Freya wasn’t proud that she had dressed and left but she hadn’t wanted last night to dissolve into a terse exchange.

      And neither had she liked how one minute they’d been so, so intimate and the next he had reduced it to a lab-report exchange. She’d heard the shower being turned on and had gone red in the face as she’d recalled her pleas and her demands, and what had felt fine—in fact, amazing—just a short while ago had then felt like an embarrassing mistake.

      She’d pulled on her dress and slipped out of his suite, taking the walk of shame back to her own room. Once in there she had surprised herself by letting out a shocked burst of laughter.

      Who knew?

      Not she.

      Freya showered and massaged loads of conditioner into her hair and then as she dried herself off she looked at her body, turning to see her red butt cheeks. God, she felt better for it. And, now that she thought about it more calmly, Freya liked the head-on way he had tackled the awkward subject.

      She’d print off her results, Freya decided. She would cross out her name and other details and put the relevant part in an envelope and leave it at Reception to be delivered to his room.

      Freya got ready and dried her hair so that it was its usual straight self, and was about to put it up when she remembered why she couldn’t.

      The memory of them had her wanting more. Freya did her best to quell a building want and she pulled out of her wardrobe the dress she had worn before the bridesmaid outfit.

      It had been a one-off, a little sexual adventure and one that was never to be repeated again, Freya told herself.

      She pulled on a neutral linen shift that she wore with flat ballet pumps and she carefully did her very neutral make-up then gave a sigh of relief when she finally recognised herself in the mirror.

      Freya.

      She called down to Reception and asked for her car to be brought around and decided that, given she had late check-out and Red was feeding Cleo, she would come back after the interview to pack. She took the elevator and went to one of the juice bars in the foyer and ordered her regular blend along with a nutrition bar and she was back in control.

      Freya headed over to the business centre and printed the necessary form off, blacked out all details except the relevant part and lined up at Reception. The want and desire for him wasn’t diminishing in the way she’d hoped.

      It was building.

      If anything, the thought of never seeing him again, of it really having been just one night had her hesitate when the receptionist asked if she could help her.

      ‘Could I check in for another night?’ Freya asked.

      ‘Sure.’ The receptionist smiled. ‘I’ll just check that we don’t have anyone incoming for your room. No, that’s fine. Is there anything else I can do for you?’

      ‘Yes,’ Freya said. ‘Could I have another card for my room, please?’

      ‘Of course.’

      It took just a few seconds but Freya knew what a monumental few seconds they were. The receptionist popped the card into a little wallet with Freya’s room number on it, but instead of putting it in her bag Freya put it in the envelope along with her blood results.

      ‘Could you please deliver this to room 2812?’ Freya asked, determinedly not blushing, telling herself that the receptionist would not care or even guess what she was up to.

      ‘Sure.’ The receptionist smiled. ‘I’ll make sure that’s done for you. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

      ‘That’s it, thanks.’

      Oh, my!

      Freya was all flustered as she drove to work and then parked in her reserved spot at The Hills.

      It really was stunning. James had put everything into the place and the patient list read like a who’s who of the film industry. They did a lot more than just cosmetic procedures here, though. From obstetrics to intensive care, everything was luxuriously catered for. Well, everything except eating disorders, but Freya was planning on addressing that.

      Just not today.

      Today she had this interview to get through, but there was one good thing about last night, Freya thought—it had made a tiny email flirt seem pretty tame.

      Yes, she’d get through the interview and then head back to the hotel and wait and see if lightning did strike twice.

      Freya walked through the entrance into the foyer with its marble floor and pillars and stunning floral arrangements that were changed daily. A huge chandelier shed a calming light and Freya did her best to walk as if she hadn’t been having torrid sex all night.

      Sometimes the luxury of The Hills gnawed at Freya.

      All her life, disparity had. She could remember tours of Africa with her famous parents. Seeing the utter poverty and then taking off in a luxury jet had felt so wrong. Being photographed with people who walked miles just for water and then watching her mother guzzling champagne for hours and bemoaning her menu selection later had made Freya furious.

      Her questions to her parents had gone pretty much unanswered. ‘Why are they hungry and we’re not?’ Freya had asked. ‘I just don’t get it.’

      ‘We’re doing our bit,’ had been Aubrey’s dismissive response, and her father, Michael, had had no time for his daughter’s questions either.

      ‘Freya, can you just, for five minutes, stop trying to change the world.’

      James had listened, though, when Freya had approached him, and now things were finally getting under way.

      ‘Hi, Freya.’ Stephanie, the receptionist, smiled. ‘James said to go straight through to his office.’

      Freya nodded and promptly ignored Stephanie’s instruction by heading for her own office. Yesterday evening James had finally sent Freya the bio for the cardiac paediatrician. He kept all staff files himself and there were no sneak peeks, even for his sister.

      She wanted to read up on Zackary Carlton rather than explain to James that she was utterly unprepared for this interview.

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