‘This is Sebasten Contaxis…the lock’s jammed and I’m stuck in here! Call Maintenance!’’ Sebasten called back, all ice-cool authority. Five seconds later, high-heeled shoes were to be heard scurrying down the corridor. As soon as the racket of the woman’s retreat receded, Sebasten stepped back and aimed a powerful kick at the lock. The door sprang open all on its own but the lock now looked damaged enough to support his story. Lizzie was still paralysed to the spot, transfixed by his speed and inventiveness in reacting to what had threatened to be the most humiliating encounter of her entire life. ‘After you…’ Sebasten invited with the shimmering golden eyes of a male who enjoyed a healthy challenge and enjoyed even more turning in a gold-medal performance for the benefit of an impressed-to-death woman. ‘Grab a few files and lose yourself at the other end of the floor. I’ll pick you up at half-six. We’re entertaining tonight at Pomeroy Place, my country house, so pack a bag.’ ‘Sounds great,’ she mumbled, revelling in the coupley togetherness of that ‘we’ he had employed.
