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PHOEBE’S MIND RACED as she followed Mr Bogoni across the terrace towards the bar. What could possibly have happened now? And why did Alex have to be following quite so closely? In fact why did he have to be there at all? ‘There was no need for you to come too,’ Phoebe muttered out of the side of her mouth.

‘You think not?’ he drawled. ‘This is perhaps the most important night of my sister’s career. I’m interested in everything that goes on.’

‘Whatever it is,’ said Jo firmly, ‘Phoebe will be able to fix it.’

Phoebe shot Jo a smile of thanks for her vote of confidence and prepared herself for the worst.

But as she stepped into the bar her eyes were drawn up and she froze in absolute horror.

Oh, dear God. This wasn’t a problem. This was a disaster of gargantuan proportions, the likes of which nothing in her experience could have prepared her for. Compared to this, the Mark debacle was as insignificant as a tiny sequin on a full-length ball gown.

Phoebe blinked to check she wasn’t hallucinating, but no. This was no hallucination.

Every single one of Jo’s beautiful handbags was on fire. Multicoloured flames licked at the precious creations and the acrid smell of burning plastic and fabric filled the room. Sparks flew. Metal crackled. Then, as if cremating handbags weren’t bad enough, the individual light above each pedestal went out, the localised sprinkler system kicked in and tiny droplets of water rained over the charred remains. Smoke billowed and then whooshed up into the powerful air conditioning vents.

Icy panic flooded through her. How on

earth was she going to spin this? All the guests had edged to the sides of the room and every single one of them was staring up at the spectacle in utter amazement. Jo looked as if she was on the verge of tears; Alex’s stony expression told her he wasn’t amused in the slightest.

The dreadful silence gave way to a rumble of speculation that began to sweep through the room. Gasps of amazement were swiftly followed by murmurs about flammable fabric and toxic materials and Phoebe realised that if she didn’t do something in the next few minutes the situation would become unsalvageable and her business would fail barely before it had begun.

But what? For the first time in her life, she didn’t have a clue what to say. Terror clawed at her chest and a ball of panic lodged in her throat. Her head went fuzzy and for a moment she thought she was about to start hyperventilating.

No. She didn’t have time to hyperventilate. Not when Jo’s bags had all just exploded like firecrackers.

Phoebe’s heart skipped a beat. Wait a moment…firecrackers…

The idea that popped into her head was so outrageously crazy, so unbelievable, that it might actually work. It was a gamble, but if she showed she believed it, everyone else would too, and she’d have turned a major disaster into a fabulous finale.

Euphoric relief wiped the fuzz from her head and an unstoppable grin spread across her face. ‘Don’t worry about a thing,’ she said, leaning over to whisper in Jo’s ear and giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘It’s all going to be fine.’

So how was she going to wriggle out of this one?

Alex leaned against a pillar and folded his arms over his chest as Phoebe marched across the empty floor, stepped up onto the dais and tapped the microphone. All eyes watched her and the room filled with a sort of morbid excitement that reminded him of birds of prey circling an injured animal.

How could Jo ever have thought that hiring someone of her own accord was a wise thing to do? Especially someone who allowed the evening to descend into chaos.

As far as he was aware his sister knew nothing about PR. Whereas he’d worked with his team for years. So why hadn’t she come to him and asked for his advice on something so important? Alex ignored the twinge of hurt and made himself pay attention to what Phoebe was about to say.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she began, smiling broadly and waiting until every drop of focus was on her. ‘Rockets… Catherine wheels… Sparklers… And now handbags.’ She paused. ‘I think you’ll all agree that our grand pyrotechnical finale was much more original than a firework display. A little earlier than planned, perhaps, but no less spectacular.’

Alex’s jaw tightened. Hah. She was doomed. As if anyone was going to believe a story as ridiculous as that. With one ear on the rest of her speech, which continued in the same dubious vein, he surveyed the room with a sceptical eye. She’d never pull this off.

He was just beginning to congratulate himself on having saved Jo from a terrible career move, when to his utter amazement people began to smile and nod and whisper to each other. Surely people couldn’t actually be buying her absurd explanation?

‘And as that rounds off the evening’s events,’ Phoebe said finally, ‘I’d like to thank you all for coming, and hope you enjoy the upcoming launch of the debut collection of the fabulous Jo Douglas.’

Jo stepped up to her side and gave a little curtsey. Phoebe started clapping and as everyone else joined in the sound grew into a thunderous applause. The pair of them stepped off the dais, basking in glory, and Alex watched through narrowed eyes as a woman in purple cornered Phoebe and a crowd of people flocked around Jo.

OK, so that was a clever wiggle, he grudgingly admitted, still slightly stunned by the fact that everyone had apparently bought into her explanation. Her timing was impeccable, her imagination was extraordinary and she’d had her audience eating out of her hand.

Maybe Phoebe wasn’t as incapable as he’d originally thought, but that was tough. To his mind she was an enigma and that made her a liability. And what did Jo really know about her anyway? He’d bet everything he had that she hadn’t delved that far into her background and her experience, and had made little effort to see whether she was trustworthy. So it was lucky he’d shown up when he did.

Gradually the guests drifted off and Jo bounded over to him, grinning like a lunatic. ‘You see,’ she said triumphantly. ‘I told you Phoebe’d fix it. Isn’t she amazing?’

Alex grimaced. Amazing wasn’t quite the word he’d use to describe her. Beautiful. That was a good one. Sexy as hell. With a mouth that had been made for kissing and a body that seemed to have been created specially to fit to his.

The kiss they’d shared beneath the pergola slammed into his head and a savage kick of lust thumped him in the gut.


Tags: Lucy King Billionaire Romance