‘Not for publication yet,’ she said sharply.

Darcy jumped guiltily. ‘Oh, sorry.’ She quickly smiled. ‘Couldn’t help it. It’s good.’

‘So everyone keeps saying,’ murmured Becky and, taking the document back, she looked it over. It all seemed to be fine, no scrunched-up or half-printed sheets. Puzzled, she turned and looked back towards her desk.

In her seat was Piers, on her computer.

The little shit! She marched over, furious. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Damn it, she hadn’t locked her screen before she’d left, and now he was searching through – what?

‘Get off that,’ she said angrily, pulling the laptop away from him. She quickly checked the screen and saw he’d been scanning through her search history. ‘Are you really that desperate?’

‘It’s your own fault,’ said Piers pleasantly. ‘If you weren’t so secretive all the time . . .’

Becky fumed, biting her tongue to stop herself from shouting at him.

He seemed amused by her anger. ‘Oh, come on, you’d have done the same.’

His lack of shame only served to infuriate her further and she was about to explode when her phone started ringing. That would be Grace, calling her back. She slammed her laptop screen shut, took the phone from her bag – hiding the screen from Piers’s inquisitive eyes – and then headed off quickly to the only place she knew she’d get some privacy. Bolting the door behind her, she sat on the loo seat and answered.

‘Hello?’

‘Becky, it’s Adam.’

Her heart leapt. ‘Adam! Hi . . . how are you?’

‘I’m fine. I got your messages.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Becky quickly. ‘I behaved abominably. But it wasn’t just about—’

‘It’s OK,’ interrupted Adam. He stopped, quiet for a moment, and Becky waited, wondering why he was calling her.

‘No need to apologize, OK? No hard feelings. I’d like to meet. There’s something I need to tell you.’

Becky’s heart began to race. ‘Is this to do with your work?’ she asked tentatively.

He paused. ‘Yes.’

A wave of excitement gripped her. ‘Is it about the thing you couldn’t talk about?’

‘Yes.’ It was so quiet, it was almost a whisper.

‘When?’

‘Huh?’

‘When do you want to meet?’

‘Oh . . . can we do Friday? After work?’

‘Yes . . . oh, shit, no. I can’t, sorry. I’ve said I’d meet my mum’s new boyfriend. Sorry. Big thing.’ Damn, she thought, but quickly offered up an alternative. ‘But I can do Saturday?’ She waited, on tenterhooks.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘That’s fine. But I don’t want anyone to know.’

‘I won’t say anything.’

‘No, you don’t understand. I don’t want anyone to see us together.’

Becky was surprised. ‘What . . . you think you might be being . . . followed?’

‘Yes . . . no . . . I don’t know. I just don’t want it. OK?’ He was getting agitated.

‘It’s OK, we can do it any way you want.’ She thought quickly. ‘Premier Inn. Holborn. I’ll text you the room number. Say 10 a.m.?’