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ONE

She could
get arrested for this.

The thought pounded her temples as Olivia Evans glanced around the dark and thankfully deserted London alleyway at the back of Masterson Mayfair, the flagship of Masterson Enterprises hotel portfolio.

Why had she thought gatecrashing one of London’s most exclusive parties was a good idea?

A bead of perspiration prickled her forehead.
Swiping it away with an impatient gesture, she pressed her lips together hard. This was a good idea because it was the only idea left. It was imperative that she see Adam Masterson before he gallivanted off on yet another business trip. She had tried every conventional method of contacting him, but the man was more closely guarded than the president of the United States. There was every possibility
his PA doubled as Head of National Security.

Desperate times called for desperate measures; hence Operation Break and Enter.

Olivia hauled in a breath; with any luck that would push the panic down. One final glance around and, standing on her tote bag, she applied herself to the task of picking the window lock. Amazing how some childhood skills didn’t desert you. Even those learnt from
one of the more unsavoury of her mother’s boyfriends. The thought of her mother had her shoving the hooked pick deeper into the lock until she felt it butt into the mechanism; she would not give up now.

Nerves knotted inside her before giving way to a buzz of exhilarated relief as the lock gave. Pocketing the pick, she pulled the window open, then jumped off the tote bag. She thrust the bag
through the gap a minute later.

So far, so good. Her reconnaissance of the hotel had been spot-on; the room she had chosen as an access point was a small conference room which wouldn’t be in use tonight as the hotel was being exclusively given over to a charity gala. Hosted by Adam Masterson.
Finally
she had him in her sights.

She scrambled up onto the window ledge and her nerves retied
themselves right back up. What her recon
hadn’t
bargained for was the size of the window gap.

Logic. Angles. Weight. Mass distribution. Those were the things to focus on—because, come hell or high water, Olivia
would
get inside. Never mind that it looked to be physically impossible.

So should she wriggle in forwards on her tummy or try to get in backwards? There were so many things that
could go wrong: she could get stuck, she could fall into the arms of a waiting security guard... Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea.

But if she gave up now then she wouldn’t get a chance to talk to Adam Masterson.

That was unacceptable.

Good thing she was flexible.

* * *

Adam Masterson perched on the edge of his security officer’s desk and scowled at the CCTV footage
of the woman balanced on the windowsill.

What the hell was she doing? Apart from an excellent impersonation of Catwoman. Dressed completely in black, with a beanie pulled low over her forehead, it was impossible even to know her hair colour.

More to the point, who the hell was she? Journalist? Photographer? Wishful thinking... He’d already arranged publicity for the event. Which meant
here was yet
another
hopeful player in the new party game Bag a Billionaire. Bad enough that he knew the ballroom would soon be awash with legitimate guests scheming how to waylay him over the canapés. At least they’d paid for the privilege, with the money going to a more than worthy cause.

Tendrils of memory threatened and he cut them off before they could take hold. He’d had his daily surfeit
of grim memories already today, following his earlier conversation with his ex-wife and the news that she was remarrying. He was happy for Charlotte, but the exchange had brought back recollections of a time in his life he was less than proud of.
Way
less.

Plus, it had highlighted the way their lives had gone in the eight years since their disastrous union. There was Charlotte, with the happy-ever-after
she had always wanted; here was Adam, being pursued by a bunch of women mining for his gold.

Speaking of which, right now he had to contend with his gatecrasher. He bit back an exasperated groan; he didn’t need this. The entire billionaire-bagging thing was getting old.

‘Do you want us to apprehend her?’ Nathan asked.

Adam pulled himself into the present and focused on the screen.
The woman appeared to be engaged in some sort of internal Q and A session before she wriggled limbo-dancer-like through the gap in the window.

An arrow of desire shot straight through him.

He ran a hand over the top of his head. Talk about misplaced. A probable stalker, a definite intruder, was breaking into his hotel and his libido had decided to come to the party. The woman landed
on the floor, glanced round the empty room and opened the bag she had pushed through earlier.

Adam opened his mouth to instruct his security chief to get a team down there.

And closed it again on a strangled gargle, unable to wrench his eyes from the screen as the woman pulled the black beanie from her head and shook out a mane of extraordinary hair. Strawberry blonde tresses, with the
balance towards strawberry, fell past her shoulders.

Crossing her arms, she hoisted her black jumper over her head to reveal a white tunic top, and then with a little twist pushed her jeans down her hips.

Misplaced or not, desire pulled his libido’s strings. Time to get a grip; better yet, maybe it was time to get a date. Clearly it had been too long—ever since that article had appeared
and the baggers had emerged from the woodwork he’d put himself on a stint of enforced celibacy. Partly because the thought of being chased for his money brought a tang of distaste, and partly because he wanted any press attention to be focused on his charitable activities and not his bedroom ones.

Until now it hadn’t been an issue.

‘So what next?’ Nathan asked.

It was a good question.

The woman was now fully clothed in an outfit that at a glance resembled the uniform worn by all hotel employees; she’d obviously done her research. White tunic top, black trousers—she’d even got a clipboard. The intent look on her face backed up the determined set of her jaw as she swept her magnificent hair into an efficient bun.

Picking up the bag, she opened the door and walked down
the corridor. Her stride confident, she looked as though she knew exactly where she was going and why.

Of course there was no way he would allow her access to his guests; it was just fascinating to watch her at work. The first bagger to catch his interest and certainly the most resourceful.

But enough was enough. Time to mobilise the troops.

Before he could say anything Nathan’s
massive body tensed as she ducked into the ladies’ restroom. ‘Better hope she
is
a bagger. For all we know she could be building a bomb in there.’

Staring at the screen, Adam concentrated on unclenching his jaw. It was an outside chance, but it was still possible that the intruder was armed. And he had let a moment of inappropriate attraction blindside him. A pulse started to beat in his
cheek and he closed his eyes, grounded himself, before pushing himself away from the desk in a single lithe movement.

‘Close the ladies’. Be discreet. Say it’s a plumbing problem and send your men down there in cleaners’ uniforms.’

Nathan nodded. ‘I’ll go in and get her out,’ he said.

Adam shook his head. ‘I screwed up. I’ll go in.’

‘But...’

‘No buts,’ Adam said. ‘We could’ve
stopped her by now. That was my call and I didn’t make it.’ Too busy stewing over the past whilst lusting over a stranger. Who said men couldn’t multitask?

‘I still think...’

Adam shook his head. If he didn’t sort this one out himself the strawberry blondee stranger would haunt his dreams for too long. Best to make her real. Expose her as the avaricious gold-digger she undoubtedly was
whilst avoiding the baggers no doubt waiting to hunt him down in the ballroom.

He picked up his tux jacket and gave Nathan his best impression of an action hero. ‘I’m going in.’

* * *

Olivia mentally ran through her entire and extensive repertoire of swear words. This was ridiculous! This was supposed to be the easy bit. The bit where she locked herself into a cubicle and transformed
herself from faux hotel employee to fake ballroom guest. All she had to do was change into a party dress. Good grief! What sort of personal shopper couldn’t get herself into a dress? A dress she’d tried on at home with no problem.

But now the stupid zip on the stupid little black blend-right-in dress was stuck. Worse, she couldn’t get out of the skintight concoction to
un
stick it.

As
she twisted she lost her balance and the back of her knee thunked the lip of the toilet seat. ‘Ouch!’ Biting her lip, she stilled. Please let there be no one out there. Though...surely there
should
be someone out there? Guests must have arrived in droves by now so it made sense that someone would want to freshen up in the ladies’ restroom.

That was the essence of the last stage of her plan.
Guests would only be allowed entry into the hotel on production of an invitation, embossed and coded and impossible to duplicate. This was a private party, an annual gala that raised hundreds of thousands of pounds for Support Myeloma, thanks to the auctioneering powers of Adam Masterson. But she was already in the building, and as the invitations were inspected at the foyer of the hotel Olivia
figured she should be safe.

Particularly as the plan was to leave the ladies’ with a group of other women who would serve as camouflage. Then she would find a large potted palm and lurk unnoticed until the moment arrived when she could snag Adam Masterson.

After all, she was good at lurking at parties.

Memories skittered through her brain as echoes of raucous laughter peppered with
the pop of champagne corks reverberated in her eardrums. How she had hated the numerous shindigs her mother had hosted, even as she’d understood Jodie Evans’s desperate need to extract fun out of every second of a life that had stacked the odds against her. Olivia hadn’t begrudged her mother one of those seconds of fun; she had wished with all her heart for Jodie to be happy. The knowledge that
she could never repay everything she owed her mum was always with her.

Closing her eyes, she sucked air into her lungs. For goodness’ sake! This was not the time for a trip down memory lane. Any minute now someone was bound to come in here so she had better hurry up. How hard could this be? She was
flexible
, remember? She reached round for the zip.

‘Need a hand?’

Olivia froze as
an unmistakably male voice drawled out the question.

In slow motion she forced herself to look up at the man observing her over the top of the cubicle. He must be standing on the toilet in the next door cubicle, her brain told her dully, trying to operate past the volcano of panic about to erupt in her chest.

Dark hair, light brown eyes, square jaw, a nose that was ever so slightly off-shape...
Recognition slammed her like a sucker punch. ‘It’s you,’ she breathed.

His eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown as his lips tightened. ‘In the flesh,’ he said.

Olivia opened her mouth but the words evaporated under the heat of his gaze. Plus, she was damned if she knew the best way to explain her presence. Blurting out her reason for being there whilst standing half-dressed in a
toilet cubicle had
not
been part of the Masterson Master Plan.

Still, she was going to have to work with what she had; this was an opportunity. ‘Mr Masterson,’ she began. ‘I can expl—’

‘I need to check your bag,’ he broke in.

‘My bag?’

‘Yes, your bag,’ he said, his impatience tingeing the air.

Olivia glanced down at the bag in confusion. Looking back up at the exasperation
that lit the brown eyes, she realised his motivation was irrelevant. Right now it seemed clear he wouldn’t listen to anything she said until she gave it to him. She ducked down awkwardly and picked up the bag.

‘I’ll come round,’ he said.

She heard the thud as he presumably jumped down from the toilet; she pushed the door open and held out the bag. ‘Look, is this really necessary?’ she
asked, a shudder of aversion shivering through her as he started to sift through the contents.

‘Yes,’ he stated. ‘My security chief is worried that you are locked in here constructing a bomb.’

Fabulous! Her stomach plummeted into a free fall of panic; she was under suspicion of being a terrorist.

Come on, Olivia. Calm down. You’ve talked your way out of worse than this before.

Though she suspected that talking her way past this man would be akin to melting iron with an incense stick.

Still, she had to try. She took a step forward out of the cubicle and straightened her spine.

‘I realise all this is a bit bizarre, but I’m not a terrorist and I’m not here with the intention of hurting anyone. If—’

Adam Masterson wasn’t so much as looking at her, let
alone listening. Instead he was on the phone.

‘Nate,’ he said. ‘I’ve checked the bag. Our enterprising intruder locked herself in the toilet to get dressed, not to build a bomb.’ He listened for a moment and then put the phone back into his pocket.

OK. At least the terrorist theory had been knocked on the head. Not that Adam Masterson looked relieved; if anything the set of his lips
was even grimmer, the frown deeper. Time to try again.

‘Look, I’m truly sorry,’ she said. ‘I never meant to cause so much hassle. I really,
really
just want to—’

A derisive snort interrupted her. ‘I know what you really,
really
want to do, and I’m really,
really
not interested.’

Olivia frowned. ‘You can’t possibly know why I’m here.’ She was having trouble enough believing it herself.

Adam pulled his phone out of his pocket.

‘Hang on!’ Olivia said. ‘You’ve got to listen.’