Quietly seething, Cash left Isaac to fetch the car while he grabbed his wallet and phone. He flew down nine flights of stairs rather than take the lift, but the exertion didn’t calm his mood one iota. He wasn’t sure who he was more pissed off with—her for lying, or himself for putting aside his curiosity. He should have questioned her more. His instinct had told him there was something fishy about her, but was too busy listening to his cock and eyeing up her rack instead of taking the opportunity to grill her harder about what the fuck she’d been doing at the event.

A journalist. A goddamn journalist. He’d spent his whole career keeping reporters at arm’s length, being careful to reveal only what he wanted them to know, and giving them no reason to dig beneath the carefully constructed veneer of his life, and then a pretty face and a curvaceous body had made him pay more attention to his dick than his brain.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! If other journalists started digging because of this article, he could lose everything. His sponsors wouldn’t be able to drop him quick enough. Image was paramount when it came to brand protection. No one would want to be associated with him if the truth came out.

“Where are we going, sir?” Isaac asked as Cash climbed into the back seat.

“Let’s start at that rag she works for.”

Isaac met his gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Try not to make a scene.”

Cash ignored him and turned to look out of the window. He hadn’t quite worked out his plan yet. Did he storm inside and demand to see her? He could just bide his time and wait for her to appear. After all, she had to leave the building sometime. Yes, that was the best idea. Causing a scene would only create more column inches.

As they turned into the street the newspaper offices were located on, Cash leaned forward and peered through the windshield. “Pull up on the left in front of that white van.”

“It’s double yellow lines, sir.”

“I don’t care.”

Isaac stopped the car but left the engine running, no doubt so he could pull away quickly if any traffic wardens started sniffing around. Cash checked the time. Eleven fifteen. He unlocked his phone and began another read-through of that damned article.

 

* * *

 

Tally’s stomach rumbled, and she glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty. A bit early for lunch, but she’d skipped breakfast, and if she ducked out now, she’d beat the lunchtime queues.

She grabbed her purse and headed downstairs and out of the building. The temperature outside couldn’t have been much above freezing, and an arctic wind whipped leaves and debris off the street. Snowfall from the previous day still lay on the ground, but with the overnight temperatures staying below freezing, the snow had turned to ice. Tally pulled her collar up, tugged her bobble hat low over her ears, and tentatively stepped onto the pavement. It would be just her luck to slip and break a leg right before Christmas.

She was standing at the kerb, waiting for a gap in the traffic, when a sleek black Mercedes decided to stop directly in front of her.

“Well done, idiot,” she muttered, shifting to the right so she could walk around the rear of the car. As she did so, the back door opened, and she almost bumped into the alighting passenger.

She peeked up from under her hat. “Oh, shit.”

“Indeed,” Cash Gallagher replied, his gaze raking over her, contempt bubbling to the surface of his slate-grey eyes.

Tally pasted on an innocent look. “Can I help you?” she said smoothly.

“I think you’ve helped me enough, sweetness.” He waved his arm at the car. “Get in. I want to talk to you.”

“I’m working.”

“Like you were working on Sunday night?”

A slug of guilt made it difficult to breathe. Or it could have been the freezing temperatures. Whatever the reason, her lungs burned from lack of oxygen.

“Hey, look. It’s Cash Gallagher.” A girl no older than eighteen appeared from nowhere. She jostled Tally out of the way as she pointed her phone at Cash.

“Can I have a selfie?” she said, not waiting for an answer as she nestled into Cash’s side and held her phone at arm’s length. Cash’s whole body stiffened, and although he tried to play the part, the weak smile he managed told Tally he was not enjoying the experience. Within seconds, more people arrived. Cash’s driver jumped out of the car, bracing himself between Cash and the gaggle of overexcited girls. And just when things couldn’t get any worse, a member of the paparazzi turned up.

“Cash, over here,” the pap shouted.

Lights flashed, almost blinding Tally in the dim light of a winter’s day. Surrounded by all the commotion, she had a thought: this was her chance to escape, to avoid having what would undoubtedly be a difficult conversation. She took one step back and then another. Her gaze fell on Cash.

“Get in. Please,” he said, his tone almost begging her to comply as more camera flashes popped and the crowd grew, curious about all the fuss.

Dammit. She did owe him an explanation, and maybe by talking, she could stave off a possible complaint against her less-than-forthright approach.

With a resigned sigh, she muscled her way through the crowd, helped along by Cash’s driver. As she climbed inside, Cash followed, slamming the door behind him. The noise from the street instantly abated, although camera flashes still leaked through the heavily tinted windows.

“You okay?” he asked, although his cold tone didn’t match the concern of his words.

“Yes.”

Cash tapped a button on the centre armrest. The doors locked, and a divider appeared between the front and back seats. He leaned across and clipped her seatbelt into place. As his body skimmed hers, she trembled.

“You and I, Natalia McKenzie, are going somewhere private so we can have a little chat about that article.”

His breath might have been warm as he spoke into her ear, but his voice was bitterly cold, his earlier concern for her fading away like the voices of the screaming fans outside. Her skin prickled. Cash Gallagher was powerful enough to ruin both her and Pete—plus anyone else he deemed a suitable candidate—to pay her back for what she’d done.

“Where are you taking me?”

Cash ignored her. He twisted so his back was facing her and stared out of the window. Guilt chewed at Tally’s insides, turning her stomach, and she breathed slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth. After a few seconds, the nausea retreated, but regrets about the article came roaring back. Cash was clearly a man who valued his privacy above all else, and he’d been damn good at protecting it until he blurted out about his mother teaching him to dance and made that weird comment about his father, giving her the perfect nucleus to build her article around. Readers loved a bit of mystery and intrigue, and the man who never gave anything personal away had suddenly dropped a clanger. She still had no idea why he’d chosen to tell her those private things, but she’d taken the trust he’d shown and plastered it all over a national newspaper. She’d put her ambition above his feelings, and there was no taking that back, no matter what she said or did.

She kept her head centred, stealing the occasional sideways glance. Cash had been her idol for as long as she could remember. She’d followed his career since he first burst onto the seniors’ tour when he was eighteen. He beat David Müller, world number one at the time, in the first round at Wimbledon on her very first visit to the tournament. Cash’s success had caused a huge stir, and he’d gone on to make the quarter-finals that year.

She could still recall the first teenage stirrings of lust when he walked onto the court. He’d been just a boy in those days—extremely good-looking and alluring but immature. The man sitting on her left in the Mercedes was much edgier. His square jaw and defined cheekbones gave him a handsome, rather than pretty, face, and his body was masculine and toned from all those hours spent on court.

Despite the predicament she found herself in—and the small problem of him hating her guts—she itched to touch him. His skin was smooth and tanned, his hair wavy and thick. What she wouldn’t give to bury her hands in those soft curls.

Except she never would—and the article wasn’t the only reason. Tally leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. However he chose to deal with her, she probably deserved it.

When the car stopped, she lifted her head and turned to face him. Cash had unclipped his belt and was staring at her. “We’re here.”