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Midnight At Tiffany's
Sarah Morgan
Matilda is a New York waitress by day, but an aspiring author by night – and she loves to write about kickass heroines!So when she meets gorgeous millionaire Chase Adams, she decides to channel them and act on their sizzling attraction! One magical night later, she's living the dream, but will a trip to Tiffany's make it a reality?


Praise for Sarah Morgan (#ulink_d6703d26-ea48-5f67-96d8-1e984f10a649)
‘A gorgeously sparkly romance’
–Julia Williams
‘The perfect book to curl up with’
–Heat
‘Full of romance and sparkle.’
–Lovereading
‘I’ve found an author I adore – must hunt down everything she’s published.’
–Smart Bitches, Trashy Books
‘Morgan is a magician with words.’
–RT Book Reviews
‘Dear Ms Morgan, I’m always on the lookout for a new book by you …’
–Dear Author blog
SARAH MORGAN is the bestselling author of Sleigh Bells in the Snow. As a child Sarah dreamed of being a writer, and although she took a few interesting detours on the way she is now living that dream. With her writing career she has successfully combined business with pleasure, and she firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic, and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times.
Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children, who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isn’t writing or reading Sarah enjoys music, movies, and any activity that takes her outdoors.
Readers can find out more about Sarah and her books from her website: www.sarahmorgan.com (http://www.sarahmorgan.com) She can also be found on Facebook and Twitter.

Midnight at Tiffany’s
Sarah Morgan



Dear Reader (#ulink_fe0a3738-cc02-5e6d-a82f-cf4ccf4c8d9d)
New York is one of my favorite cities. I’ve been lucky enough to visit several times and each time I arrive in Manhattan and stare up at the skyscrapers I feel as if I’ve stepped onto a film set. It’s the setting for many of my favorite movies – When Harry Met Sally, One Fine Day, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, even the beginning of Sweet Home Alabama (remember that scene at Tiffany’s?).
It’s a magical place, and last year when I visited with family and explored the wonders of Central Park and admired the incredible view from Top of the Rock, I decided it would make the perfect setting for my new series.
Midnight at Tiffany’s opens the series, and I had so much fun writing this novella. It’s fun, sexy and unashamedly romantic and offers a peep at the characters you’ll meet in the other books. The heroine, Matilda, is working for an event company as a way of earning money while she pursues her dream of being a writer. She’s clumsy, awkward and a little bit shy and deep down she aspires to be as tough and sexy as the women in her books. She doesn’t believe love will happen for her in real life, but she’s about to discover that under the sparkling lights of New York at night, anything can happen.
I hope you love reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love chatting with readers and am active on most forms of social media so I hope you’ll join me on Facebook or Twitter, and if you’d like to see some of the pictures that provided inspiration while I was writing, follow me on Pinterest and Instagram.
Welcome to From Manhattan with Love. I hope all your dreams come true.
Love Sarah
xxx

Table of Contents
Cover (#uff0ec699-9297-5a3d-abdf-32ef2a14be0b)
Praise for Sarah Morgan (#ulink_e75e523d-fbcb-5413-801b-6429b13aef4e)
About the Author (#uc4616bc1-2a8b-57b3-a69e-b35ca6b60e71)
Title Page (#ucde385b2-856e-5d41-81f8-a0c8b539be01)
Dear Reader (#ulink_378fad35-7855-53b3-9261-89c3ea3e0321)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c9b363a1-71be-526d-b335-48e6b87a07f7)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_caf9d1f4-7c2f-5843-b0a3-ea5b4cd3f338)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpage (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_e807f58e-b4d7-5101-8d64-8b7ad2c621a3)
“CHAMPAGNE?”
Matilda circulated carefully among the glamorous crowd, trying to keep her eyes off the glittering view of the Manhattan skyline and concentrate on keeping the tray steady. The last thing she needed was another catastrophic spill. She’d already had one warning from her boss and even though, technically, her last disaster hadn’t been her fault she knew another accident would get her fired. Her brief was to be invisible, and she considered herself perfectly qualified for the job.
In a world where extroverts were celebrated, she was an introvert. She’d spent most of her life blending into the background. First in the playground, where she’d hidden away in books written by other people, and then at college, when she’d hidden in the books she’d written herself. Lost in her own fictional world, she became each and every one of her heroines and endowed them with qualities she herself coveted, namely courage, communication skills and coordination.
Her current creation was Lara Striker, small-town girl finally returning home and trying to live down her badgirl reputation.
Matilda stared through the crowd, her mind absorbed.
What would it be like to have a reputation as a bad girl? How would it feel to live a life of daring and adventure, full of wild affairs, and travel to far-off places? To walk into a room and know that people were nudging each other and whispering in awed tones “that’s her.”
“Matilda?! Matilda!”
Matilda blinked and returned to the real world.
There was only one person who used that caustic tone when addressing her. Her boss. Her nemesis.
Cynthia, Director of Events.
She gripped the tray a little tighter.
Over Cynthia’s shoulder she saw her colleague Eva pull a face and make the shape of a shark’s fin with her hands. It cheered Matilda up.
As always, Cynthia was wearing her corporate smile; the one she wore for every event along with her Star Events uniform. It sat there like an accessory, never reaching her eyes.
This, Matilda thought, was her reality. The closest she came to being a bad girl was thinking very, very bad thoughts about her boss.
“You’re staring into space,” Cynthia hissed between her teeth. “You’re here to work, not to gaze.”
Lara Striker would have punched Cynthia right in the middle of that fake smile and added another crime to her already impressive list.
Matilda simply nodded.
In fiction, characters could punch their bosses and get away with it.
In real life, you lost your job, and then you were dining on Cup-a-Soup seven nights a week instead of four. That was a fact of life, and at least this job allowed her to write.
Her colleague Eva was mouthing something behind Cynthia’s back. Matilda couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it made her feel better to know she wasn’t alone.
Apart from Cynthia, she worked with a great team of people, which was another reason she didn’t want to punch her boss. Working with Frankie, Eva and their team leader, Paige, was the most fun she’d had in her working life. She didn’t want to spoil that. When Cynthia was out of the office, they had fun. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she fitted. Not with the company, but with the group of women who were her colleagues. And friends, she reminded herself. As someone who was cautious with strangers and didn’t make friends easily, those friends were more precious than any of the jewelry on display tonight.
“I realize there are celebrities here,” Cynthia managed to speak without disturbing the smile, “but you need to look through them. I don’t employ you to stand there gaping like a goldfish.”
Lara Striker would know exactly where to put a goldfish.
Matilda bobbed her head again. Experience had taught her to agree to everything. The best way to stay employed was to fly under Cynthia’s radar. She liked to think of herself as a stealth plane, traveling through life undetected. Of course, she was the passenger, whereas Lara Striker would have been in the pilot’s seat, her focus absolute.
“I’m trying to keep the tray straight, Cynthia.” Someone with her coordination challenges might have been better choosing a profession other than waitressing, but this job gave her the perfect opportunity to people-watch. She was able to observe the world through the rising bubbles in the champagne glasses without being expected to speak or socialize.
Who were these people? What secrets were they hiding beneath silk, velvet and jewels? Who did they become when they returned home and stripped off the disguise they presented to the world?
Pondering those questions was the reason she loved the job.
That and the fact that she had access to some of the most exclusive venues in New York City.
Like this one.
The rooftop terrace offering panoramic views of Manhattan, far above the busy streets filled with discordant noise and the blur of yellow cabs. In another month or so, the pumping summer heat would be brutal, but for now a light breeze cooled the terrace. Everywhere you looked there were lights. They sparkled like the display in the windows of Tiffany’s, twisted through the elaborate greenery that adorned the edges of the terrace, adding more lights to a city that already had more than enough. High above there were stars in the sky, but it was as if they’d given up competing. At night, New York City felt like one big party. City of dreams.
They were other people’s dreams, of course, but Matilda didn’t mind that. She didn’t think about the hard grind that was her life, because there was nothing she could do to change that reality, and most of the time she lived in a fictional world of her own creation.
She could have stood and stared for hours, but even five minutes would have gotten her fired.
Before she’d taken the job, she’d been warned that Star Events was known for their ruthless attitude toward their staff. The economic downturn combined with a glut of staff meant that if you didn’t perform perfectly, you were out.
She couldn’t afford to lose her job.
Remembering that, she held the tray a little tighter.
“I’m concentrating, Cynthia.”
“Tonight is a huge opportunity for Star Events. This is our second event for the Adams Construction Group and it’s catapulted us into a different league. We need to impress. Business creates more business. That account is worth more to us in a year than all the others put together, and tonight I intend to meet the man himself. Chase Adams. Did you read that article in Forbes? ‘The Man Who Has Everything.’ He is richer than Midas.” Cynthia lowered her voice in reverence. “He is here somewhere.”
Probably hiding behind a curtain, counting his millions, Matilda thought, wondering if Cynthia actually knew what had happened to Midas. It hadn’t turned out so well for him. She hoped Chase was having better luck.
She didn’t mention to Cynthia that she was hoping to meet him, too, but for different reasons.
Chase Adams was a collector of rare books. He even had a library in one of his homes. She’d seen photos online and admired the oak cabinets and the books lined up in uniform rows, the lettering on the rainbow of spines offering tantalizing hints as to the worlds concealed inside.
Matilda couldn’t imagine a house big enough to include a library. If she brought more than two paperbacks into her apartment, she had to throw something out to make room.
Her main interest in meeting the legendary Chase wasn’t his library or his interest in books, though; it was his brother. Brett Adams ran a publishing company, and she was desperately hoping to find a way of getting her book to him. It made her shake even thinking about it, but she was just about desperate enough to push through her natural preference to hide from people and find the courage to speak to Chase.
To do that, she thought about her mother.
Never let fear stop you going after your dream.
Matilda lifted her chin.
She had a USB stick in her pocket, and a printed copy of the manuscript in her bag, stowed safely in the cloakroom.
“I hope you manage to find him, Cynthia. And I hope he continues to give us lots of business.” It crossed her mind that relying on one company for the lion’s share of business probably wasn’t great practice, but it wasn’t her place to say so.
Lara Striker would have said it, but it would have taken more than a man with money in the bank and a library in his house to impress Lara the lioness.
Matilda’s mind wandered as she played with a few ideas for tweaking her character. Should she add in a few idiosyncrasies? Give Lara a few endearingly normal traits to make her more human? Perhaps she could be clumsy. No, she wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
She realized Cynthia was frowning at her. “Is something wrong?”
“Your skirt! What’s happened to your skirt?”
Matilda looked down in alarm, but her skirt looked the same as it had when she’d dressed hours earlier in the cramped single room that was home. One of the things she liked about the Star Events “uniform” was that in her black skirt and shirt she looked the same as every other waitress working tonight. Just taller. And a little more clumsy and awkward.
“There’s something wrong with my skirt?”
“It’s shorter than the regulation length. You’re not supposed to turn it up.”
This same scenario had been repeated several times in her life and it never got any easier.
Handcuffed by the drinks tray, Matilda couldn’t even tug at her hem. “It is the regulation length, but I have long legs, so it sits in a different place. I usually wear a slightly lower heel to compensate.”
At school they’d called her Giraffe. She’d taken to sitting down whenever she could so that people didn’t tease her for being tall. She’d lost herself in books, because things happened in books that never happened in real life to tall, bespectacled, introverted teenagers.
“It’s barely decent. You need to do something about it.”
“My legs?” Matilda was bemused. “They’re—er—attached to me.”
Lara Striker would have smacked one of her long legs right into Cynthia’s head with an impressive martial arts turning kick that would have left the other woman dazed with a concussion. Then she would have pinned Cynthia to the wall and lectured her on the importance of fostering positive body image.
Matilda chose a different option. She tried to make herself smaller. She hated doing it, because it made her butt stick out.
All her characters were normal sized and delicate boned. They didn’t have any of these problems.
Cynthia’s smile vanished briefly. “Next time, wear a longer skirt. And if you see Chase Adams, don’t talk to him, and for pity’s sake don’t spill anything on him. Come and find me.” She stalked off before Matilda could point out that the likelihood of her identifying Chase Adams was slim, given that she had no idea what he looked like. His library, she would have recognized in her sleep, but as for the man himself, she had no idea. She was relying on someone else to point him out.
Glancing around the room, she tried to spot someone who might fit his profile. She assumed he was old and fusty.
The Man Who Had Everything.
She’d read the piece, but there had been no photo of the man himself. Just images of glass and steel—properties that he’d built. And the library in his house.
According to the article, he’d taken over his father’s company and grown it to ten times its original size. He was ruthless and focused. Matilda had shamelessly stolen aspects of his character for her heroine.
Why should drive and ambition be the sole province of men? In her opinion, it shouldn’t be. That was another thing her mother had taught her.
The only thing a man has that a woman doesn’t is a penis.
Paige appeared by her side. “You’re doing a great job, Matilda. I really appreciate the extra hours you’ve put in on this one. We’re so lucky to have you on the team.”
Matilda relaxed slightly.
Paige was the opposite of Cynthia. In fact, Paige was the reason that half the staff of Star Events hadn’t resigned. She soothed and smoothed, was energetic and organized. Nothing rattled her, and no matter how much pressure was piled on her head from her superiors, she never let it leak through. Cynthia showered people with so much stress their skin shriveled like grass under attack from acid rain.
“She hates me.”
“She hates everyone.” Eva appeared and flashed her a smile. “You should put her in a book and kill her off.”
“I don’t write that sort of book.”
“You should. It would be cathartic. I’ll provide the weapon. We can make it look natural. Frankie knows all the poisonous plants. I could bake her a really tasty muffin. It’s super easy to disguise the taste of arsenic in baked goods.” Eva studied Matilda from the side. “Are you constipated? Because I have the perfect recipe for that.”
Matilda squirmed awkwardly. “What makes you think I’m constipated?”
“You’re standing weirdly. As if you’re about to sit on the toilet.”
“I’m trying to be shorter.”
“Why would you want to be shorter?”
“Because Cynthia thinks I’m too tall. Or maybe my skirt is too short. I’m not totally clear about the nature of the offense, if I’m honest.”
“I didn’t realize height was stipulated in the contract.” Frankie joined them, her gaze roaming over the floral displays as if daring a single bloom to wilt on her watch. A floral designer, Frankie was wildly creative, a trait Matilda admired as much as her vivid red hair and fiery personality.
“You’re a perfect height,” Paige said. “You could be a model.”
“Except that most models are elegant, and I can’t put one foot in front of the other without falling over.” If she could change one thing about herself it would be that. She hated being clumsy. She longed to be delicate and feminine. Paige moved like a dancer, Eva bounced and Frankie stalked. None of them stumbled.
“Look at it this way—” Eva carefully straightened the tray Matilda was clutching “—you can look over the heads of all the over-made-up women, straight into the eyes of the taller men. There’s an advantage in every disadvantage.”
“Ignore her,” Frankie advised. “She’s a cup half full sort of person. It’s annoying.”
Matilda was also a cup half full person, but usually because she’d spilled the other half. She’d decided long ago that Eva was the kindest person she’d ever met. She envied the strength of the friendship between Eva, Paige and Frankie, who had grown up together on a small island off the coast of Maine. Paige always joked that they were small-town girls transplanted into the big city. They’d swapped rural life for the excitement of New York, and the three of them shared a brownstone in Brooklyn along with Paige’s older brother, Matt. Matilda had met him once and immediately used him as inspiration for one of her heroes.
Matilda had never told them, but she’d borrowed shamelessly from Paige’s, Eva’s and Frankie’s personalities when she was creating Lara. The result was a heroine who was the perfect mix of tough and sexy.
She’d chosen to give her heroine Frankie’s fiery red hair, but now she was wondering if she should have given her Eva’s golden curls. People invariably underestimated blondes, didn’t they? It would be fun to see someone underestimating Lara. That was a scene she would have had fun writing.
“I’m supposed to tell her if I see Chase Adams, but I have no idea what he looks like.” What did “the man who had everything” look like?
She didn’t reveal her real reasons for wanting to meet him. She knew it was a long shot. She didn’t need anyone to tell her.
Eva glanced around. “I know what he looks like—insanely handsome as it happens—but I don’t think he’s here. I do, however, see Jake Romano, and he gives Chase a run for his money.”
Matilda followed her gaze and saw a wickedly handsome dark-haired man laughing with an incredibly beautiful woman.
She sighed. “They seem totally in love.” She glanced at Paige, expecting her to agree, and noticed the brief flash of pain in her eyes.
“The only person Jake Romano loves is himself.”
There was a shimmer of emotion in her voice and Matilda knew she’d inadvertently stepped into dangerous territory.
Did Paige know Jake? Did they have a history?
The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Paige, and she was about to say something when Eva gave a quick shake of her head and changed the subject deftly.
“You wouldn’t like Chase Adams. They say he’s a ruthless moneymaking machine with no heart or soul.”
Matilda didn’t care about that. She did care about the fact he might be able to give her his brother’s email address.
“Of course he’s here. How can he not be here? What sort of man wouldn’t show up at his own event?”
Paige smiled, her natural good humor restored. “Probably a man who knows Cynthia is looking for him.”
So he wasn’t old and fusty, Matilda mused. Insanely handsome. He sounded like someone her heroine would be seeking out. Luscious Lara had no time for the conventional rules of relationships. She would never wait for a man to call. She was a sexually confident woman who went after what she wanted. The words regret and apology didn’t appear in her vocabulary.
Chase Adams might consider himself to be the man who had everything, but he’d never had Lara. If she walked into his life, he’d soon discover what was missing. Lara would give the ruthless, coldhearted Chase Adams a night he would never forget.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_70995a16-fc34-5810-83b0-0750e7c9c515)
TUCKED BEHIND ONE of the pillars on the terrace, Chase Adams stood staring over the Manhattan skyline. He scanned the building closest to him; fifty-four floors of winking glass and gleaming metal, now providing corporate headquarters for three Fortune 100 companies.
He was familiar with every steel bolt.
His company had built it, as they had at least four other buildings within his line of vision.
Buildings were his life. His world.
As a child he’d played with Lego. This was more satisfying. He was creating something permanent, something that became part of the city he loved.
“Chase!” A soft, feminine voice told him that his moment of contemplation was over.
He turned, resigned. “Victoria.”
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. There are people waiting to talk to you!”
Not because they were interested in him, but because they wanted something.
People always wanted something.
There were days when he felt every interaction he had was fake, including his relationship with Victoria.
His parents kept telling him she would be a perfect life partner for someone. It was obvious they were hoping he’d be that someone.
It was true that she was socially adept and confident. She would stand next to him at events like this one and make polite conversation with anyone and everyone from presidents to police chiefs.
There was only one problem.
The thought of waking up next to Victoria for the next fifty years chilled him. He’d never seen her anything but perfectly groomed, and never heard her utter a word that hadn’t been carefully edited. There were times when he felt like tickling her to see if she was capable of spontaneous laughter.
Chase wondered what she looked like in the morning when she hadn’t spent half the day being pampered. Did she sleep in makeup?
What would marriage to someone like Victoria look like? Would she rush to the bathroom before he woke? Their relationship would be strictly regimented. Dinner would be scheduled into their calendars, a stiff formal affair. What about sex? Would he be expected to book that in, too? Their future would be a sea of diary notes and reminders, with no room for spontaneity. Soon he’d be going on more and more business trips to avoid her.
“I was enjoying the view.”
She laughed—a carefully modulated sound, not too loud and not too soft—and linked arms with him in a gesture intended to remind anyone watching that they were intimate. Close.
Chase had never felt more distant from her than he did at that moment.
“You are funny. The view from your apartment is vastly superior, and you’re wasting time staring into space. You need to mingle. There are so many people waiting to meet you.”
Mingle.
The thought lowered his spirits as much as the thought of spending the rest of his life with Victoria.
Was he being unfair? The time they spent together was at events such as these, and there was never time to talk properly.
“Let’s get out of here, Vic.”
“Excuse me?” She frowned at the shortened version of her name, and he wondered what he was supposed to call her if they ever made it as far as the bedroom.
“Let’s leave. Go somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Let’s be spontaneous. Walk and see where we end up.”
“Walk? Leave your own party?” She gave a breathless laugh, as shocked as if he’d suggested stripping off and dancing naked on the table. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not joking. Let’s take off these stupid clothes, change into jeans and go for a walk in Central Park. Let’s talk. Really talk. Not about stocks, shares or the state of the property market. Let’s talk about life. I need air. I need—” I need to work out if I like who you are.
And he needed to work out if he liked who he was when he was with her.
She withdrew her hand from his arm, her smile a little cooler. “I don’t own a pair of jeans, and these ‘stupid clothes,’ as you call them, were custom-made. I know how important tonight is for you and I wanted to make a special effort.” If her smile was cool, her voice was deep-frozen. “I’m not one of those women who needs compliments all the time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate one when it comes my way, Chase.”
“You look great.” He wondered how many hours it had taken her to look that perfect. “But I want to spend time with you, not a dress.”
“You can. Right here.” Her voice was light. “There are important people here, Chase. People who want to talk to you.”
The problem was that he didn’t want to talk to them.
“If they all went away, if all this went away, would you still want to be with me?”
She stared at him blankly, as if he were speaking a foreign language and all she had to hand was a basic phrase book. “Chase, your company is booming. Daddy says he has never met a man with your business skills, and coming from him that’s a real compliment. You’ve turned your family business around. You’ve proved to your father that you can do it. What you have is never going away.”
“But what if I didn’t do this? What if I worked for the fire department or the police force, would you still want to be with me? What if I went back to building houses instead of paying other people to build them?” At the beginning he’d done that. He had the skills needed to build a house from scratch. He’d been interested in eco-designs, and sustainable features. He’d had plans; plans that had been derailed by his father’s first heart attack.
“Have you been drinking?” She frowned for as long as it took her to remember that frowning caused lines. “You’re not yourself.”
That was the problem. He was himself, but no one was interested in who he was. No one cared who he was, as long as he was still CEO of the Adams Construction Group. They wanted the man with the money.
He felt as if he were being suffocated.
He was the man who had everything, except the things that really mattered in life.
If he lost it all tomorrow, he knew he’d find himself alone.
Victoria’s presence had drawn attention to him, and people were starting to hover hopefully. His moment of peaceful contemplation was over.
“Chase!” Two men and a woman approached, but before the predictable flow of conversation could begin there was a massive crash from behind them as one of the waitresses dropped a tray of champagne. The sound echoed around the cavernous room and was followed by an appalled hush and a lone female voice.
“She’s ruined my dress!”
Everyone turned and stared. A few people moved closer and Chase pondered the darker side of human nature that meant they were so often drawn to gloat over another’s disaster.
He turned away, unwilling to feast on someone else’s embarrassment, and stared down the glittering canyons of Broadway and Seventh Avenue to the darkness and shadows of Central Park, that lush urban oasis that offered New Yorkers a world beyond glass and steel.
At the moment he was living in the penthouse of the apartment block his company had built, but not for one moment would he have called it home. The media had salivated over that particular project, and every unit had been sold before hitting the open market.
Chase was ready to sell but hadn’t yet decided where he was going to live once he did. His day was so busy it left him no time to think about it.
Taking advantage of the commotion, he turned and strode out of the room without looking back.
One phone call would have summoned his driver, but that would have meant being trapped inside a car. Tonight he was going to walk. Walking would clear his head.
Better to be alone and be himself than be someone else with a bunch of strangers.
Because that’s what they were. All of them. Even Victoria. Strangers. They didn’t know who he was and they weren’t interested.
Unobserved, he walked out of his own party without looking back.
MATILDA FOUND HER BAG, pulled out the emergency dress she always carried and dragged it over her soaking wet legs. It was nothing more than a long T-shirt, but it rolled into small spaces and was perfect for situations such as this.
The champagne had been vintage, apparently, so expensive that she was tempted to bend over and lick her own legs. It was the only way she was ever going to get close to champagne of this quality again.
Fired.
She’d been fired.
Crap.
It was bad enough that she’d lost her job, but worst of all she’d lost her chance to meet Chase Adams and engineer a way of sliding her manuscript onto his brother’s desk.
Maybe if she’d paid more attention to her surroundings and less to exactly what Lara would have been doing to Chase Adams in the bedroom, she might have seen the woman with the huge feathers sticking out of her dress. They’d caught the edge of a champagne glass and toppled the lot, like dominoes, only a great deal wetter.

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