Brendan.

I met him at an exhibition at the Royal Academy a few months ago, the first night I met Gabe.

Stupidly attractive.

The kind of guy who looks like he has a different woman in his bed every night.

Swagger for days, or so you’d think… But he was extremely weird with me that night. All stuttering and awkward. It made me feel so uncomfortable, in fact, that I excused myself soon after and went back to schmoozing our patrons.

‘Yeah?’ I say cautiously.

‘He was so into you that night. He was completely tongue-tied—I’ve never seen him like that since. And he’s asked about you a few times, but he’s a total fuckboy.’ She takes a few steps towards me and cocks her head, surveying me thoughtfully. ‘He’s still got a massive bee in his bonnet about the fact that his brother, who used to be a priest, hooked himself up with a Seraph EA and he was totally oblivious to the entire concept. It really pissed him off.’

She sucks the inside of her cheek before continuing. ‘How about I have a little chat with our Brendan? He may be a player, but he’s a good guy at heart. I bet he’d jump at the chance to have someone like you at his beck and call.

‘And, most importantly, I know where he lives, so if he hurts you, I can get to him and hurt him.’

CHAPTER 3

Brendan

In the arse end of the London Docklands lies a jewel: an absolutely massive former aircraft hangar that’s now a showroom for Lagoon, one of the world’s highest-end brands of catamaran.

Others may favour yachts, but I don’t have the patience for sailing. Why the fuck would I want to fanny around with the wind when I can rely on sheer horsepower instead? And, given that I’m low-key claustrophobic and not mad about the concept of spending millions to sleep in a glorified bunk room, I’m partial to the twin-hull design and extra space a catamaran affords me.

After my last two-week holiday in the Maldives, I swore I’d never base myself in one vacation spot again. I nearly died of boredom. The same view, every day. By day three I wanted to bang my head against a palm tree, over and over. I’d far rather take one of these babies to the Greek Islands or BVIs and island hop whenever I get itchy feet.