All Tash had was the street name, but she had been confident that a prize-winning sculptor’s studio would be easy enough to find. She was wrong. She’d reached a dead end and found no sign, no indication that art of any kind happened behind any of the doors but as she turned she found herself face-to-face with a woman who was regarding her through narrowed eyes. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked. ‘I hope so... I’m looking for Darius Hadley. I was told his studio was in this street,’ she prompted. The woman gave her a long, thoughtful look, taking in the grey business suit that she kept for meetings with the property managers of billionaires; she had hoped it would cut down on the inexplicable electricity that had sparked between them in Miles’s office. A spark that had sizzled even when he was outside on the pavement looking up at her. Okay, maybe she should have worn a pair of sensible, low-heeled shoes, added horn-rimmed spectacles to make herself look seriously serious.
