She washed her hair with coconut scented shampoo and conditioner. Scrubbed with Molton Brown bodywash then wrapped herself in a thick towel. Brendon had suggested she wear fitted black cropped trousers with a low-cut cerise top, he’d said it was business-like yet sexy, sophisticated yet flirty. She was inclined to agree, it worked, especially with matching pumps. She slipped into her outfit and rubbed in her ridiculously expensive face cream. After a quick blast with the hairdryer she was set to go. She’d get camera-ready once at the studio.

“Damn!” She glanced at the clock. Time was ticking along. She grabbed the bags of shoes and the files of notes she needed, tucked her purse under her arm and dashed from the flat.

The sun was still shining and she breathed in the scent of freshly mown grass—the mower was being chugged around the small communal lawn by the gardener. It was a good day.

Or was it?

Like a lead weight landing in her belly she remembered the total mess that was her and James. What the hell was she going to do about it?

Nothing.

She didn’t have time.

She hailed a cab and slid in, heavy bags and light jacket spreading on the seat as she flopped back against it.

“Grace Studios please.”

“Yes, miss.”

She crossed her legs and checked her fingernails—luckily the polish was unchipped. Would that weight in her belly lift over the course of the day? That feeling of having totally messed it up with a seriously hot guy who ticked every box she had ever wanted ticking?

She didn’t have his number to call and apologise. She probably should ask at reception and get it. Now she was staff they might give it to her. She could call and say she’d had an urgent dentist appointment, or a meeting with her bank manager…or simply say she’d been spooked and had run.

It had all been too much too soon and she was still on the rebound from jilting Dylan.

Perhaps honesty was the best policy?

She tapped her toe in the air, stabbing towards the seat in front of her. No. She’d blown it. He’d think she was a silly little girl who’d created an illusion of sophistication yet beneath it all was messed up and only good at running.

She couldn’t blame him for that.

The cab pulled up so she paid and jumped out, hauling her bags with her.

The studio stood imposing before her, stretching upwards to the blue sky. Last time she was here she hadn’t noticed the massive scale of it, now she did and it dwarfed her.

“You can do this.”

She walked to the entrance. A fountain sprinkled water from a contemporary chrome spout and it splashed on the black granite pavers before trickling in an ‘S’ shape to an ornamental drain.