CHAPTER ONE

      NEW YORK is paradise for insomniacs, thought Natasha Lambert. It never sleeps. Let’s hear it for New York!

      She pressed her nose against the window of her hotel room and looked down twenty storeys. The November sky was as black as midnight. It was five in the morning. But cars’ headlights still swooped along the rain soaked street and there were people on the sidewalk.

      Who were they? People going to work? People coming in from all-night clubbing? Natasha could see a couple emerging from the awning of the hotel, while a porter put a mountain of baggage in their cab.

      A couple…In spite of the hotel’s admirable central heating, she found she was shivering. Stop that, she told herself.

      Quickly, she went back to the high-concept executive desk that was the reason she had booked this luxury suite in the first place. Not that she looked like a high-concept executive at the moment, thought Natasha, grinning. Not in her sweats and beloved furry slippers with cat faces.

      Her laptop stood open in a pool of light. Natasha sat down at it and wriggled her toes in their comforting fur, debating what colour to turn her presentation slides.

      Blue? Too cold. Red? Too aggressive.

      Just like me, she thought wryly. Her last boyfriend had delivered a comprehensive character analysis before they had stopped seeing each other. Heartless, he’d called her. It had driven him mad when she’d cheerfully agreed with him.

      ‘It’s not a compliment,’ he yelled.

      ‘Maybe not to you. I’ve worked hard to get like this.’

      That was when he left, fuming.

      Now the phone rang. Not taking her eyes off the screen, Natasha scooped it up.

      ‘Yup?’

      ‘Can I leave a message for Natasha Lambert, please?’

      Natasha grinned. ‘It’s me,’ she said ungrammatically. ‘Hi, Izzy.’

      There was an anguished screech. ‘Oh, no.’

      Natasha’s grin widened. Izzy Dare was her very best friend.

      ‘Flattering,’ she remarked. ‘Aren’t you talking to me any more, Izzy? What have I done?’

      But Izzy was too full of remorse to laugh. ‘I was trying to leave a message with the desk clerk. I never meant to wake you up.’

      ‘You didn’t.’

      Natasha swirled a pie chart round on the screen. Both red and blue maybe? After all, cold and aggressive were often an advantage in business. Heartless, she might be, but she was very successful.

      It was a long time since she had cared what people said about her. Anything was fine, as long as they also said she got the job done. And they did.

      She stopped playing with her pie chart. ‘What can I do for you, Izzy?’

      But Izzy was still worried. ‘You’re sure I didn’t wake you? But I thought New York was five hours behind London. What on earth is the time there?’

      Natasha detached her eyes from the screen and cast a rapid look at her discreetly expensive platinum watch.

      ‘Just after five.’

      ‘And you’re up?’ Izzy was horrified.

      ‘Lambert Research never sleeps,’ said Natasha smugly.

      ‘But why?’

      ‘Breakfast meeting with the Head Honcho. They slipped it in at the last moment, so I’m reworking the presentation.’

      ‘Is he nice?’ said Izzy, temporarily sidetracked.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘The Head Honcho.’

      Natasha choked at the thought. ‘David Frankel is a short, fat workaholic with a nasty sideline in groping if you let him get too close,’ she announced. ‘He’s also focused as a needle.’

      ‘Sounds horrid.’

      ‘That’s