Cash opened his eyes and turned his head to the side, immediately regretting the movement as a sharp pain in his temple made him wince. He squinted at the clock. Seven. His lips were dry and cracked, his throat parched. With a glance at the near-empty whiskey bottle sitting on the window ledge, he groaned.

He sat up in stages, pausing to breathe through his nose every time a wave of nausea hit him, until he finally managed to place both feet flat on the floor. He staggered upright, holding onto the bedframe for support. Putting one foot in front of the other took a monumental effort, but he eventually made it to the bathroom. Clutching the sides of the sink for support, he stared into the mirror at bloodshot eyes, and skin that looked sallow and sunken. Not a fucking heartthrob now, are you, dickhead?

He turned on the cold tap, filled the sink, and plunged his face under water until he ran out of air. He repeated this several times, and after he’d showered, brushed his teeth, and dressed, he almost felt normal.

Whatever normal was.

He called Fortnum’s and ordered a huge bouquet of flowers and a hamper full of Suze’s favourite things and followed that up with another call, this time to La Perla. Suze knew the score, and she was good with it, but he was still a shit for getting her all the way across town for a quick shag. He hadn’t even offered her a drink.

A gentle rapping sound at the door made him sigh. It didn’t take a genius to work out who was on the other side. Normally, Kinga had a solid, authoritative knock. The soft tap meant she was embarrassed about her behaviour the previous night and wanted to make amends.

Cash opened the door and rested a hand on the frame, effectively barring her way. “Morning.” He purposely spoke in a flat, unemotional tone, and she ducked her head.

“Can I come in?”

“That depends. Are we going to have to rehash last night?”

“Not in detail. But I do need to apologise.”

He remained motionless, his outstretched arm still preventing her from coming inside.

“Please, Cash. I don’t want to have this conversation in the hallway.”

He dropped his arm and stepped back. Head bowed, Kinga shuffled into his hotel suite. Cash closed the door a little harder than he should have, and she jumped.

“Make it quick. I’m flying home today.”

She paused midstride before slowly turning around. “To Ireland?”

“That is where I live.”

“But we’re having Christmas in London. We talked about this on Friday. I’ve arranged everything.”

“Well, now you’ll have to un-arrange it.” Cash grabbed a suitcase and threw it on the bed. He began to haphazardly chuck his clothes inside. Even though he’d made a snap decision to go home, the way the tension he’d been carrying around for days finally decided to sod off told him he’d made the right decision.

“Cash.” Kinga stroked his arm, but he pulled it away. “I’m sorry.”

He snorted and continued pulling stuff out of drawers and cupboards. “Déjà vu, Kinga.”

Her hand fluttered to her throat to fiddle with that damn cross she always wore. She wasn’t even religious.

“It won’t happen again.”

A loud smash made them both jump. He’d thrown the half-empty bottle of cologne he was about to pack at the wall. He hadn’t even realised he’d done it. Shards of glass scattered all over the floor, and the strong scent of his favourite aftershave flooded his nostrils.

“Every time, Kinga,” he bit out. “Every fucking time you get pissed, you become someone else. If you can’t handle the drink, then give it up. But I meant what I said last night. We are never going to end up in bed together. You need to decide whether making another pass at me is worth more than your job and our friendship.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Being your agent and your friend means everything to me.”

“Then you’ve made your decision, and we’ll say no more about it.” He finished packing and locked the case. “Now I’m going to enjoy a peaceful breakfast alone before I head off to the airport.”

“You’d rather spend Christmas by yourself than with me?”

“Yes.”

A flicker of pain flashed across her face at his curt response before she hid it behind an impassive stare. “Whatever you wish.” She turned to leave and then paused and glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll call you on Boxing Day to confirm everything’s set for Brisbane.”

“Fine.” He walked on ahead and opened the door, waving for her to go. When she drew level with him, she hesitated, but Kinga wasn’t stupid. She kept her mouth shut, and as soon as she’d walked through the door, he closed it behind her and picked up the house phone to dial Isaac’s room.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, Isaac. Change of plan. Call City Airport, and get the jet ready. I’m heading back to Belfast today.”

There was a pause on the end of the phone before Isaac spoke. “Haven’t you looked outside today?”

“No, why?” Cash picked up the base unit and carried it over to the window. He opened the blinds. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

A thick blanket of snow had replaced Hyde Park’s vast green space. It must have been over a foot deep, and England wasn’t known for its ability to handle extreme weather. There’d be travel chaos everywhere.

“I’ll call the airport anyway, sir.” Isaac’s voice drifted down the phone, barely breaking through the fog in Cash’s head. “And I’ll also check if any commercial jets are flying today.”

“Thanks.” Cash dropped the handset back into the cradle and sank into a nearby chair. He covered his face with his hands and scrubbed hard. Now that he’d made the decision to go home, the driving need to be there was crushing him from the inside. He didn’t need an insurmountable obstacle to be shoved in his way.

Ten minutes later, Cash answered a knock at the door, and Isaac greeted him with a grimace and a shake of his head. “We may be able to fly tomorrow, but nothing’s going out today.”

Cash expelled a harsh breath. “Fucking brilliant.”

“I’ll call them back first thing in the morning. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll order something. You look terrible.”

Despite his annoyance, he grinned. I can always rely on Isaac to give it to me straight. “Thanks. Hey, Isaac?”

“Sir?”

“Has Kinga checked out yet?”

“Um, I’m not sure. Would you like me to ask reception?”

“No. Just… keep her away from me today, okay?”

Isaac gave an understanding nod. He’d been part of Cash’s team long enough to witness Kinga’s games. All Cash could hope was that his earlier tongue-lashing would make her think about laying off the juice a bit more.

 

* * *

 

The following morning, Cash sprang out of bed—a stark contrast to the previous day—and opened the blinds. The snow was still covering most surfaces, but it had thawed a little, and with no new snowfall overnight, he was upbeat about his chances of flying out that day. He rang Isaac. The efficient little bugger had already called the airport, and they were scheduled to take off at one that afternoon.

He ordered breakfast from room service and switched on his iPad, settling into a comfy chair to read the news. BBC’s headline was about a plane that had crashed on take-off in bad weather in Russia with no survivors. Not exactly a story he wanted to read a few hours before a flight. He closed the app and opened up a national newspaper one instead. The headline that greeted him was worse than the BBC.

Much, much worse.

He read the article once, twice, a third time. His eyes settled on the byline as cold fury simmered beneath his skin. He stormed out of the hotel suite, almost knocking over the waiter bringing his breakfast, and pounded on Isaac’s door.

“Isaac, open up.”

A couple of seconds later, Isaac answered, his face covered in shaving foam and a towel wrapped around his waist. Cash thrust the iPad at him and paced the hallway as Isaac read the article. Cash’s blood froze in his veins. If there was one thing he hated more than journalists, it was liars. And a lying journalist was on a par with the filthiest of scum who walked the earth.

Isaac met Cash’s cold stare. He was blinking furiously. “How… what…?”

“Cancel the flight,” Cash said. “And get the car outside in ten minutes.”