When I got back to the flat, I opened up my suitcase on my bed and started to put my clothes into it. Nerves swirled around with excitement about the trip ahead. I grabbed toiletries from the bathroom and stared at what I had packed so far, hoping I wasn’t forgetting anything important like my passport or something equally embarrassing. I needed to get off on the right foot with Jake Richards, so instead of letting him see how ruffled I was, I needed to act calm, cool and collected. I thought that maybe a mantra could help so I repeated those words over and over in my mind as I packed and hoped they would become true.

* * *

Spoiler alert: the mantra failed.

Calm, cool and collected. My arse.

First, the car I had ordered was half an hour late to pick me up. I made frantic phone calls and checked my emails with them and finally, the car company admitted my driver had set off late and was now stuck in traffic. Jake consequently arrived at the airport before me and sailed through check-in, sending me a curt message saying he’d meet me in the first-class lounge. So, we didn’t get off to the best start there. When I finally got to Heathrow, there was a long check-in queue and then, of course, they wanted to look through my suitcase because I clearly looked so nervous and frantic, they thought I might be planning to do something dodgy.

When I finally got all checked in, I hurried to the lounge with my carry-on bag, red-faced, heart racing with a bead of sweat dripping down my back. As I walked through the lounge entrance, I missed the yellow ‘caution wet floor’ sign and hurried across the shiny floor in my three-inch boots, and slipped instantly. I let out a strangled yell akin to a cat if you stood on their tail then promptly fell down. My bag collapsed open beside me, its contents flying everywhere.

I lay on my back in a heap on the floor, wondering if I had died and gone to hell, when someone cleared their throat. I looked up in confusion into a pair of hazel-coloured eyes. ‘Am I alive?’ I asked, clutching my chest with my hand.

‘You’re talking so I would say yes,’ the man replied, dryly. ‘How about I help you up to make sure?’

‘Oh, okay, yes, good idea,’ I said, nodding. My whole body hurt along with the stabbing pain of intense humiliation. I was certain my face was the same shade as a lobster. A hand stretched out for mine and I grabbed it, clammy and sweaty, and let the man pull me up from the floor with easy strength.