Her heart was racing like a steeplechaser. What should she do?
She needed help. Fifty/fifty? Ask the audience?
She felt a rush of relief.
Phone a friend.
Stepping into the lift, she pulled out her mobile. It was four in the morning here, which made it two in the afternoon in Barbados. She would let it ring three times and then hang up.
Anna picked up on the second ring.
‘Hi, you. This is a surprise...’
She paused, and for a moment Nola could almost picture her friend’s face, the slight furrow between her eyes as she mentally calculated the time difference between the Caribbean and Australia.
‘Have you been pulling an all-nighter or did you just randomly get up to watch the sunrise?’
Anna’s voice was as calm as ever, but there was a brightness to it that Nola recognised as concern. And, despite everything, that made her feel calmer.
She swallowed. ‘Neither. Look, I’m not hurt or anything, but...’ She breathed out slowly. ‘I’ve just done something really stupid. At least I think it was really stupid.’
There was the shortest of silences, and then Anna said firmly, ‘In that case I’ll get Robbie to make me a Rum Punch and you can tell me all about it.’
* * *
It was not the daylight creeping into his office that woke Ram. Nor was it the faint but aggravating hum of some kind of machinery. It was Nola.
Or rather the fact—the quite incredible fact—that at some unspecified point in the night she had gone.
Left.
Done a runner.
Hightailed it.
He felt a sudden sharp, inexplicable spasm of...of what? Irritation? Outrage? Disappointment?
No. A twitch ran down his spine and, breathing out, he sat up slowly and ran his hand over the stubble already shadowing his jaw. It was shock. That was all.
Sitting up, he stared in disbelief around the empty office.
This had never happened. Ever. And, despite the evidence proving that it had, he still couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
His heart started to beat faster. But, really, should he be that surprised? Every single time he thought he’d got Nola Mason all figured out she threw him a curveball that not only knocked him off his feet but left him wondering who she really was.
Who he really was.
He scowled. In this instance that should have been an easy question to answer.
He was the one who dressed and left.
He was always the one who chose the venue, and he never slept over.
Spending the night with a woman hinted too strongly at a kind of commitment he’d spent a lifetime choosing to avoid.
His face hardened. That didn’t mean, though, that women upped and left him.
But, squinting into the pale grey light that was seeping into the room, he was forced to accept that on this occasion, with this woman, it did mean exactly that.