The bag disappeared into the machine and he frowned, looking closer at a screen. His thick eyebrows pulled together and he pursed his lips.

What the hell did he think she was, a bloody shoe bomber?

Finally the bag went through the other side, and she dashed through the human security machine. Thankfully it didn’t make a sound.

She grabbed her samples, threw the guard a glare then raced towards reception.

“Megan Winter,” she said.

“Ah, yes, Brendon Trugate is expecting you.” The receptionist picked up a phone and jabbed at a dial with her long red fingernail. “Yes, she’s here.”

“He’s coming?” Megan asked.

“Yes, one minute. Please, take a seat.”

Megan was too on edge to take a seat. Instead she paced to a large map of the studio that hung on a wall. It was pale green and the outline of the rooms and the maze of corridors were drawn with golden paint.

She spotted a canteen and licked her lips. She could do with something to eat and drink. She’d dashed out of the house, after her dream, with the intention of grabbing something with the estate agents as a mid-morning snack. But that wasn’t going to happen now and her stomach was complaining.

“Megan, you’re here. Oh thank the Queen of Sheba for that!”

Megan turned at the sound of Brendon’s voice.

“Hey, you.” She accepted his flamboyant kisses on her cheeks.

“Now we haven’t a moment to lose, chop, chop.” He stepped back and clapped. “The girls are waiting and…” He dropped his gaze down her body. “And actually I think that will do. Yes, you will do!”

“What?”

“That outfit. Bravo, darling.”

Megan glanced at her sheer stockings, grey pencil skirt and jade silk blouse. It had been a bit of a ‘grab and drag on’ outfit but it was holding its own. The only thing she’d switched as she’d dashed from her office were her shoes. She’d teamed the look with sparkly green heels that worked with her top’s rich tones perfectly.

At least she hadn’t been wearing yesterday’s jeans and silk top ensemble. That had well and truly been thrown together, admittedly the top was Prada but still, it was on the lowest scale of glam.

But she hadn’t dressed to impress that morning. There was no way she’d planned on dropping in at Frank’s for a sneaky glass of wine after work.

Was there?

No. Her mind had been muddled, dream-addled. She’d simply pulled on the first thing she’d laid her hands on and dashed out of the door.

Seeing James most certainly hadn’t been on her mind.

Though she probably should apologise for running off like that. Disappearing into the mist like some tragic Brontë heroine.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered as the emotions of the night before tumbled through her.