I spotted her the second I walked into the train station. Euston is always a zoo, filled with daily commuters and holidaymakers, but the mountain of pink polka-dot luggage was drawing every eye in the place. Me, I was more drawn to the girl.

She was tall and leggy with a cloud of dark blonde hair, huge blue eyes, and a stunning fuchsia and black dress that showed off the most amazing curves. She was surrounded by porters, and all of them were laughing.

“Oops, let’s not forget that! That’s my clothes! I can’t go around starkers, now can I? Not with Jamie Oliver already claiming The Naked Chef!”

The joy that flowed from her was infectious. Even the daily commuters, drawn and tired, grinned when they saw her.

“Sophie, you’re a nut, you know that, right?” A burly porter I vaguely recognised was fussing over her.

I stared, irresistibly drawn to the giggling girl. She was all curves and laughter, and I wanted her.

“Richard Cummings! Hey!” A microphone was shoved into my face. Gerry Leon, a nasty hack from the Crier, was salivating at the thought of a scoop.

The Crier is a rag, and he was their chief reporter because he lived for ripping people up in print. Now he was yelping excitedly at me.  “How do you feel about dumping Celine?”

Bastard. The words, “Mind your own damn business” came to mind but I didn’t say it.  I run a company worth six billion pounds, but even my own staff can’t be persuaded to read my quarterly newsletter. They’ve more sense, bless them!  But Gerry Leon had an audience of millions, all of them slavering for their daily bloodbath.

“All breakups are painful.” I spoke slowly, frantically thinking my words over carefully. “Celine is a wonderful, warm, successful woman. I’m sure we will remain very good friends.”

Yes, that sounded okay. Even that little shit couldn’t turn that into anything nasty.

“Is it true she was turned down recently by Elle magazine?”

The nasty bugger! If I simply denied it, he would print, “Richard Cummings denied Celine was recently turned down by Elle magazine.” It would be literally true, and give totally the wrong impression. That’s the gutter press for you.

But you don’t get to be a tech billionaire without learning a few tricks yourself. When confronted with a venomous toad who dips his pen in gall, make only short statements that can’t be taken out of context.

I gave him my best smile. “Celine is hugely successful. Everyone loves her.”

“So it’s not true her career is on the skids?”

“Celine is a wonderful woman. Clever, beautiful, and kind, too.”

“I hear that she’s been pitching to be the face for Blaze Cosmetics next year, after Heidi retires.”

“Did you?”

“Apparently she’s failing, too. A bit of a has-been, our Celine.”

I kept my trap shut, so he couldn’t in any way suggest I had agreed her career was over.

Frustrated, the toad was pouting. “Come on, Richard! Give me a quote!”

“I have!”

His beady little eyes narrowed. “Well, if you won’t talk about Celine, I guess there’s a lot about your past that will interest my readers.”

Oh, terrific. He was giving me a choice: sacrifice Celine or have my shareholders screaming at me for having my partying exposed for all to see.

There was only one way to go. “Screw you, Gerry. You’re just jealous.”

He wasn’t bothered at all. The rat merely thought he had me on the ropes. Now he was hoping I was mad enough to say something stupid.

He needled me, “Jealous of a flash-in-the-pan wonder like Celine? The scrubber from Paris? Give over, mate!”

“I’m no oil painting, but they did away with photo by-lines in case your ugly mug scared away readers,” I snapped back. “I’m grateful when gorgeous, clever, successful women like Celine even give me the time of day. Having her as a friend is a true joy.”

Nothing he could do with that, either.

“Bastard.” He said it quietly, but he gave me an evil look as he sloped off. 

It wasn’t a victory. Gerry Leon had nothing useful on me, which meant he’d be out to bury me. I’d better call my PR company pronto and get them to start working on the backlash.

Andrea, my PA, would need to know, too. She’s brilliant at PR, but she was pissed off when I started seeing Celine. She’d loathed the girl, and now she’d be even worse as the relationship had lasted about as long as a soap bubble. I made the call to the PR agency myself, hoping that I’d have enough time before the storm broke to soften Andrea up.

“Alex? Richard here.”

“Thought you might call!” I could hear grunting in the background. Either Alex was humping or working out. With him being a man slut as well as an exercise addict, both were equally likely. “So the news about you and Celine is out, is it?”

“Yes, and I just pissed off Gerry Leon.”

“What happened?”

After I told him Alex grunted, “You should have dumped Celine in it. It’s what she deserves.”

So he knew. Typical. I pushed away the wash of shame and hurt that flowed up. It was in the past and best forgotten. “Celine may have her faults, but I’ve not been a saint, either. Get me out of this and do it without putting her in the shit.”

“Yessir! I’m all over it!”

That’s one of the advantages of being rich. You can buy excellent service, and you don’t get a lot of argument when you lay down the law. I knew Alex would do the job and do it well. “Awesome. I’m off to the wilds of Chester.”

“What on earth are you going there for?”

“I hired Basildon Hall.”

“What for? You’ve got a penthouse in Knightsbridge and a mansion in Hawaii.”

“Alex, you do my PR; you’re not my mum.”

“But I’m nosey!” he wailed. “You know I need to know everything!”

I’d met Alex at a drunken party when I was nineteen, and although we were like chalk and cheese, I trusted him straight away. It had been well founded, too. Alex knew all my dirty secrets, and he never ever gave me anything but his best support and advice.

“Well, I’m wooing some people for a new project.”

“The bot?”

“You are nosey!”

All I got was a laugh. “How long are you there for?”

“A week. And if I’m lucky, they’ll stay on a couple more days for extra testing.”

“You can’t get Basildon Hall for less than a month.”

“Yeah, well. If it’s pretty, I might stay an extra couple of days. It’s got a lake, and there’s some good rambling routes.” 

“Sounds hell,” Alex is a London boy, through and through.

“I’ve got Tanaka and Vladimir coming.”

“Jesus! They had a spat at the NASA conference three months ago.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Is it true they had to be pulled apart?”

“Yup.” Because I’d done the pulling.

“Well, with the Crier baying at your heels, and two super scientists ready to commit murder, it sounds like you’re going to a have a wild time, Richard!”

“Thanks a bunch, Alex!”

But as I hung up, I felt that band of tension lessen a little. With Alex on the job of heading off or at least stemming the worst of the gutter press, I was clear to focus on the job ahead. 

I’d booked Basildon Hall because I needed space, privacy, and a lush backdrop for some grand entertaining. I’m an inventor, you see, and this month in the country was a pitch to get partners for a business venture. I had Kaito Tanaka from JAXA, the Japanese Space Agency, and Vladimir Petrov from Roscosmos, the Russian Space Agency, coming. Both were difficult people, and I was expecting it to be a hard sell.

When I’d planned it, Celine promised to come down for weekends, bringing along her friends to provide some glamour and liven us up. Breaking up meant I was on my own.

That was a problem because Lorelei, Petrov’s very pretty wife, was a dear friend of Celine’s. I had only met Lorelei once, but I had the impression of a spoilt beauty with a penchant for shopping. Andrea would distract her, but it was an extra hassle.

Also, I’d be fielding the press just because of the split, and if that sewer rat Gerry Leon had his way, my own board and shareholders would be screaming, too.

So I was feeling a bit low as I boarded the train. Until I spotted the ravishing curves saying to Andrea, “I like nerds!” Then she turned to me, looked me over with a smile straight from heaven, and giggled, “Let’s talk about you!”

I’m telling you: it was pure balm. I felt my spirits lift just looking at her. She’d been gorgeous from a distance. Up close, I saw she had beautiful, large, sparkling eyes the colour of bluebells. She had a generous mouth, a sweet little nose, and her skin was thick, creamy and rich, sprinkled with freckles. Her perfume was light and sweet, roses mixed with lavender. She was summer personified, and I was lusting after her.

Girls often make passes at me, but I never fool myself: if I didn’t happen to have an eight-figure bank balance, most of them wouldn’t give me the time of day. Sophie was different. I could tell right off that she didn’t give a toss about money; Sophie was a warm, bubbling girl, embracing the world with her happy smile and banter.

“Anything special you want? Something sweet, maybe?” She said it in fun, batting her eyelashes and pouting theatrically, but the suggestive look went straight to my cock. If it hadn’t been for an audience of dozens and an impatient Andrea, I would’ve picked her up and taken her on the spot.

As it was, I hid the tent in my jeans by putting the FT over it and dealt with the urgent morning mail. The usual business messages were followed by a slew of hate mail, all troll-work inspired by the news of the breakup. By the time I finished, the solid was well gone.  Wilted by the poison, I guess.

With a few hours of free time ahead of me, I made my pitch to get to know Sophie better.  “Come and have breakfast.”

Andrea had to deal with the Guardian, sniffing around for gossip under the guise of wanting info on the upcoming negotiations, which was even better. I appreciated the work she did for me, but she did sometimes overstep her boundaries and interfere in my personal life. 

Others would put their foot down, but I forgave Andrea because I knew it came from the heart.  She’d been with me through thick and thin, and that kind of loyalty is precious. I could take her bitching about my breakup as it meant more work for her, but I wasn’t in the mood to be lectured on cholesterol, fat, and sugar. I had enough of that from Celine.

Sophie, thank heaven, wasn’t on a diet. We ordered eggs, champagne and croissants at once—all my favourite indulgent breakfast treats—and got talking.

“I love to cook, and I don’t want to be stuck with the same menu all the time, so parties are perfect for me,” Sophie explained. “People can’t afford staff anymore, and party caterers tend to stick to big events, so I fill a much-needed gap.”

“I’m afraid my guests will be difficult.” The eggs Benedict were delicious, the Hollandaise sauce perfectly creamy, and the croissant just right. I tucked in, determined to enjoy myself. “Vladimir is a nationalist who thinks Russian food, drink, and women are superior, while Tanaka is the same, only about Japan.”

“No problem,” Sophie was buttering her croissant and slathering raspberry jam over it, too. “I’ll spoil them rotten, and when they’re full of borscht and ramen, you can swoop in and seal the deal.”

“Awesome!”

The slanting heavenly  eyes were smiling. “Seeing you’re not creating miracle offspring with turkey basters and sperm, what do you do, exactly?”

“I’ve built a prototype for a robot that will revolutionise our space programmes.”

“Wow! Like R2D2 and C3PO?”

“Kind of. You like Star Wars?”

“Love it! And I’m a Trekkie, too.” Her eyes were sparkling. “I was at the Comic Con last year and I met Nichelle Nichols and Zoe Saldana. Can you imagine? Both Lieutenants Uhura at once!”

“A beautiful girl who loves sci-fi? Where have you been all my life?”

I meant it, but it was plain that Sophie thought it was banter. “You are a flirt, Richard. But don’t tease, will I see your real live bot or is it super secret?”

“Sign a confidentiality agreement, and you can see it.”

“Already done,” she said triumphantly. “It came through with the contract.”

“You signed it?” My colleagues are immune to such things, being inured by years of government scrutiny, but I hadn’t thought of having a chef sign one.

“Sure. Why not?” Sophie was totally transparent. “I sign them all the time. It’s amazing what you see when you’re working. I’ve had celebrity clients get into fist fights, screw each other silly on the dining room table, and have complete melt downs. Sometimes all in one night.”

“Ohmigod, who?”

“I’ll never tell! I’m the soul of discretion,” Sophie giggled.

“So basically, I can run an orgy and you won’t spill to the Crier?”

“Certainly not!” Sophie grinned. “Your contract is awfully strict. I’m not allowed to Instagram my food, even. It’s all terribly hush-hush, isn’t it? I feel like I’m in a spy film.”

Andrea, being overprotective. “I don’t mind you talking about your food, as long as you don’t say where you are, who’s there, or show any background.”

Sophie shook her head. “That’s totally sweet, but I’ve already told everyone I have a VVVIP gig that I can’t talk about.” Her eyes were sparkling with pleasure. “You’ve no idea how much good you’re done me. The rumours are wild!”

Definitely a girl who saw difficulties as opportunities. My kind of girl, in fact. “What are they saying?”

“That I’m working for Beyonce, Angelina Jolie, or Madonna!”

“Heady stuff!”

“Yes, and the reality is much better.” Sophie’s genuine warmth made me smile. “Not only do I get to have this amazing breakfast with you, but I get to see the next Rover, too. It’s even better than meeting the Uhuras.”

Like I said, balm. I could feel my spirits rise just being with this amazing girl. By the time Andrea joined us, I had my bounce back.

“Eggs and croissants?” Andrea’s eyebrows went up in thorough disapproval.

“It gets worse,” Sophie giggled. “There’s bubbly in the orange juice.”

Before Andrea exploded, Sophie patted the chair next to her. “Come on and have a little. It’s fresh, made from real oranges, and you can go light on the champagne if you think it’s too early.”

“Well,” Andrea wavered, but to my surprise she suddenly nodded. Sophie had charm. It was a relief. Celine and Andrea had been at loggerheads from day one. I could tell Andrea wouldn’t be treating Sophie like a sister, but they’d get along.

“Want me to go and leave you two to talk shop?” Sophie asked. “Or is this a good time to fill me in on what you want me to cook?”

“Let’s do it now.” And that’s when I discovered why the duchess had described Sophie as, “Sweet as honey and sharp as a razor.”

She took out an iPad, but she didn’t need to refer to her notes. “Six guests, three men and three women.”

“Three men and two women now,” I corrected her. “Someone dropped out.”

“Okay,” Sophie didn’t miss a beat, and I wasn’t sure if she’d read about Celine or not. “I’ll do a la carte breakfasts, just like a hotel, and as the men are working, we’ll do simple lunches, also personally catered, and blow-out gourmet dinners.”

I liked the sound of that, but Andrea was worried. “Lorelei and Tanaka aren’t blow-out dinner types.”

“No problem! I’ll do nouvelle cuisine. It’s pretty, with small portions. Seconds will be served upon request, and we have a sweet and cheese buffet after, so everyone who’s not on a starvation diet can indulge.”

“That sounds good,” Andrea said, but the praise was reluctant. She struggles to be thin, model thin, and so the prospect of having to avoid cake and cheese for the next week was getting her down.

“I’ve organised daily deliveries of organic veg,” Sophie told her. “One of the local farmers runs a service. There’s fruit, too. Strawberries, gooseberries, raspberries, mangoes, apples, and plums.”

“Oh good,” Andrea perked up. “I’m eating clean, you know.”

“I’ll factor that in, and I’ll make sure there’s a good vegan soup every day,” Sophie promised.

Andrea melted on the spot. “I like yoghurt smoothies.”

“And you will have them. And tofu, too.”

At that, I relaxed. Under the bubbles and laughter, Sophie was a total pro. She had Andrea eating out of her hand, and if she could do that, she’d have Tanaka and Petrov totally charmed, too.

It may sound silly, but it’s much easier to convince people to sign up for a multibillion-pound deal if they’re comfortable and well fed. Sophie was going to be my ace, and I was planning to make the most of her.

“Do you like what you’re hearing, Richard?” Sophie was twinkling naughtily. “I can also accommodate any amount of hot sausage, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Absolutely!”

The delicious curves, beautiful eyes, and sense of fun married to good humour, charm, and intelligence was everything I wanted. I’d hired a star caterer, but now I’d met her, I decided I wanted more.

I was determined to have this girl.