He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Well go, be off with you. There is a canteen just down the hall, go feed yourself before you faint.”

“But…”

“No buts, and I can’t come with you. I have too much to do here.” He sighed dramatically. “That’s one segment done but I have to prepare one for Lunchtime with Lucy, these must-have summer shawls will not iron themselves.”

“Is that really your job?” Megan glanced at a heap of material that she guessed were shawls.

“Everything is my job because it all hinges on my reputation. I’m still freelance here you know, one mistake and poof I could be gone.”

“I don’t think they could cope without you.”

“Very sweet of you to say so, but at the moment, I could do without you so I can get on. So go feed your poor, neglected stomach and we’ll catch up later.”

“Okay, and thanks again. For everything.”

“I know you’ll remember me when you’re a multi-millionaire.” He grinned as he shook out a shawl.

“Of course I will.”

Megan wandered down the hallway, in the direction she’d come in. The scent of the canteen drifted towards her—bacon, coffee, sausages—all the delicious things that made her stomach rumble.

She went into the busy canteen and headed straight for the cooked section. She ordered eggs and toast then watched as they were scooped onto a plate. She grabbed a pot of tea, which she added to her tray, and slid her meal along the metal rails. She wondered if she should add a slice of carrot cake. That would really give her blood sugar a boost and soak up the adrenaline that was still sloshing around her system.

She gasped as her arm bashed into a man to her left. “Oops, sorry.” She watched in dismay as a large splash of coffee left his cup and landed on his sleeve. “Oh no,” she said, reaching in front of him for a wad of napkins. “I really am sorry…I don’t know what happened, I—”

“It’s okay, really.”

Her heart stuttered—she recognised that voice. She looked up. A fresh shot of adrenaline rushed into her blood stream.

Staring down at her was James Carter. His sensual lips—lips she knew were so damn good at kissing—were slightly parted and his eyebrows were raised. He was clearly as surprised as her.

“Oh,” she said, swallowing. “It’s you.”

“Yes, last time I looked.” He appeared to compose himself and took the napkins from her hand. “Maybe next time we meet I’ll manage not to get drink thrown on me. It’s becoming a habit.”

“I…sorry…really, I…”

“Don’t worry about it, no point crying over spilt milk, or in this case, spilt coffee.”