Chapter Three

Baby—The Surprise Guest at Upcoming Gigs!

Fans of Swallow Johnson will be delighted to know that she is expecting her longed-for child. The global superstar who sold out her Blaze tour in minutes was spotted in London's Mayfair with husband Mario. It's clear they're overjoyed as they ducked into a cab, no doubt heading to Harrod's baby department.

Celeste finished her article and sent it to Ezra. This time she cc'd Roland on it. Which apparently had been a mistake, because when she ducked into the kitchen to make a coffee Ezra followed her.

"Think you're clever, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Copying Roland on your submission."

"Made sense, all things considering." She raised her eyebrows at him and poured boiling water into her mug. She glanced around for the sugar.

"It's petty."

"And changing my name yesterday wasn't?"

He sighed exaggeratedly. "It was a mistake."

"Yeah, right. Where is the sugar?"

"Here." He pushed a small tub toward her.

"Thanks." She dolloped a spoonful into her coffee and stirred. "Is that all you came in here to do? Moan at me?"

He said nothing, just watched as she put a healthy glug of milk into her drink then took a big sip.

The flavor was disgusting and she banged the mug down, splashing the liquid, then spat into the sink. Salt. She'd added salt, not sugar.

He laughed.

"You arsehole." She gasped and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. "What are you? Ten?"

"Your face." He chuckled. "You really shouldn't be so trusting, Celeste."

"Clearly." She tipped out the drink and wiped the counter. What an idiot. That was something else her brother would have done. Luckily for her brother, she loved him and forgave his pranks. But not this idiot. He was taking great pleasure in tormenting her.

Well, she'd get him back. He'd messed with the wrong chick.

****

The next two days went by without incident. Celeste managed a few more celeb gossip stories, nothing as big as Raif and Swallow but good enough to earn her a nice commission.

She had pizza with Jane on her third evening after work, learning she was planning a trip to Malawi where she would do voluntary work and hopefully cover some political corruption stories too.

Midmorning on Friday, she spotted Ezra heading out of the office with the colleague she'd seen him with in the pub. When she saw he'd left his laptop open she had a sudden idea.

After a furtive glance around, she stole over to his desk. Quick as a flash, she took a screenshot on his computer. He only had one main folder titled, "In Progress," and she moved it safely to his Documents file. She then set the screenshot photograph as his desktop wallpaper.

She had to stop herself from giggling at the thought of him getting frustrated when his file didn't open, and she whizzed back to her desk.

Soon she was immersed in writing a story about an American billionaire who'd been spotted at The Savoy with two beauties half his age when his wife had just been celebrated as an older woman on the cover of Vogue magazine. The photograph was damning, he certainly seemed to like gripping slender young thighs.

"What the fuck?" Ezra's loud voice bellowed around the desks. "Stupid computer."

"What's up?" his friend asked.

"Damn thing is broken. Look, file won't open." He was tapping and clicking furiously as he leaned over his laptop. "Everything is in there. All the stories we've got for the next few days. Bugger."

Celeste giggled as his face reddened.

"Of all the…" He picked the laptop up, looked underneath.

"What are you doing?" his friend asked.

"It was fine when we left for lunch. What the heck?" He glanced over at Celeste.

She ducked her head and tried to hide her mirth.

She clearly didn't hide it well enough.

"What have you done?" He stomped over to her. "Have you any idea how much trouble you're in? This is a sackable offense."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She tried to pull the edges of her mouth into a straight line.

"Don't give me that shit, I can tell. What have you done?" He slammed his hands onto his lean hips.

"Try it again," she said. "I'm sure it's just frozen or something. You really shouldn't leave it on when you go out, you should set it to sleep mode."

"Frozen!" He slammed his hands onto his hips. "So, unfreeze it."

"How would I…?"

"Now." He pointed at her and then the laptop. "I know your sort. Sneaking around, prying, messing with other people's stuff."

"And I know your sort. Stealing other people's work, switching sugar for salt."

"Oh, take a joke, woman."

"Don't woman me! And why don't you take a joke?"

"That's a lot of hard work you've destroyed and … and…"

He looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel, so Celeste stood, brushed out the creases of her little pink skirt, then walked over to his desk. In one quick move she pulled his "In Progress" folder from Documents and set it on the screen. "Here, try this one."

He eyed her suspiciously, then did as she'd asked. It opened immediately. Realization crossed his eyes. "Think you're clever, huh?"

She didn't answer, just gave him a smug smile and walked back to her desk.

"She got you there, Ezra." His friend chuckled.

"Shut the fuck up, Toby."

For the next few hours irritation was coming off Ezra in hot red waves—or at least it felt that way. But Celeste couldn't help thinking she'd evened up the game. Not that she really wanted to play. She wanted to do her work, make her salary and more, and then think about a trip to somewhere hot and sunny when the rain and gray came to London.

Bali perhaps. Or maybe the Florida Keys. She wasn't sure.

She went to charge her laptop and found her charger wasn't working. She guessed it was the fuse that had blown. There must be one she could borrow. But the office was half empty. Her new colleagues clearly had a short-day-Friday rule she didn't know about. Jane was still working, though, as was Ezra. Roland's door was closed, so she had no idea if he was in there or not.

She wandered over to Jane. "Hey, do you have a spare charger? I think the fuse has gone in mine."

"I haven't, but there's a bunch in the stationary storeroom, at the back, in a box. Help yourself. Watch out for the door handle, it's dodgy."

"Cheers."

She remembered where the storeroom was and made her way there. It was more than simply storage. It was a small room with a high window, pipes all around it, and a tiny sink in the corner. Two walls were lined with shelves holding file boxes, tubs of pens, notebooks, and a bunch of old monitor screens. The room was hot, perhaps the pipes were full of heated water.

After finding the light switch, she stepped in, easily spotting the cables she needed. The door slammed behind her.

"Should do the job," she said, picking up a cable and studying the end. She turned, walked back to the door, and tugged the handle.

Nothing.

She tried it again, harder.

Suddenly the entire thing came off in her hand, seeming to snap where it was joined to the door and leaving a sheared slice of brass.

"Damn it!" She stared at the useless part in her hand and tried not to let a wave of panic take hold—the room which had seemed a reasonable size suddenly felt small.

Poking at the shard of handle, she stooped to see if there was a way she could lever it and open the door. She couldn't. And she didn't have her phone with her. Clenching her fist, she banged. Sweat popping on her brow.

"Help. Please, someone open the door." She paused. Nothing. She banged again. "Please, let me out. Help!"

Suddenly it pulled open.

"Oh, thank goodness," she said, pressing her hand to her chest.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ezra stood there, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Thanks." She held up the cable. "I was just getting this for my laptop and the—"

"That won't fit your laptop, it's a completely different make." He took it from her hand. "You need to find a … oh, I'll show you. It will be easier." He sighed as though it was a complete waste of his time trying to explain, then stepped in. "Here, look." He took hold of her elbow and steered her to the back of the room.

"Wait! No…" Before she could finish the sentence, the door slammed for the second time, a heavy clunk that made her heart skip. "The door is broken."

"What?" He released her and turned to it.

"Why do you think I needed help?" She held up the handle. "This came off in my hand. Now we're both locked in, dumbass."

"Fuck." He stepped up to it and did exactly the same as she had done, stooped and poked at the broken bit of metal. "Stupid thing has sheared right off."

"If you'd bothered to listen to me instead of judging, I would have told you…" She swallowed and glanced up at the window. "About the handle."

He glared at her, then balled his fist and banged on the door, hard, several times. "Let us out. Toby. Jane. Anyone." He banged some more. "Anyone there?"

"The office is clearing out," she said. "There's only a handful of people left and unless they go past here to the kitchen—"

"Damn!"

"Do you have your phone?" she asked.

"No, it's on my desk."

"We'll be here all—"

"We will not be stuck here all weekend, so don't say that." He ran his hand through his hair and it stuck up at various angles. "We can't be."

"I agree." She stepped up to him and hammered on the door. "Help! Let us out. Save us."

"Save us? You're not drowning, you know, don't be so dramatic."

"It feels like it, being in here with you, of all people. I do need saving."

His eyebrows pulled low and his lips tightened. "I don't exactly want to be in here with you either." He whacked the door a few more times.

"What exactly is your problem with me?" she said, stepping back and placing her hands on her hips. "I haven't done anything to you other than be offered a job here that I am qualified for."

He turned, leaned his back on the door, sighed, and closed his eyes.

"Like seriously, you've done nothing but act like a big bully since I arrived, Ezra."

"Bully?" He opened his eyes. "Ha, that's rich coming from you when you sabotaged my computer."

"Now you're the one being dramatic, I didn't sabotage it. A little payback for being a dickhead, that's all."

"What did you call me?" He puffed his chest out and took two steps forward, bringing himself right up close to her.

"A dickhead." She stared into his eyes as his body heat radiated from him. His irises burned bright and flashed with emotion. She could smell his cologne again and annoyingly found it heady and seductive.

"Dickhead. That's not very nice," he said quietly. "Kind of rude actually."

"You know all about rude, don't you?" She swallowed, her throat tight, her skin prickling with heat.

"I know all about girls like you."

"But you don't know me."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"There's no point, you won't be here long."

"I will be." She shrugged. "Get used to it."

He bit on his bottom lip as though holding in more words.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to fathom the emotions flashing over his face.

"Nothing."

"Tell me. What have I ever done to you?"

His eyes narrowed as he studied her the way she was him. Then he lifted his hand and took a curl of her hair between his fingers. She hitched in a breath, the action sudden and intimate, he was so big and he was crowding her. What was going on?

He fanned her hair between his thumb and finger, watching his own movements. "You," he said quietly, "Are…"

"I am what?" she whispered.

"Fuck." He dropped her hair and stepped away. "It's too damn hot in here. What is it, a sauna?"

Suddenly he banged on the door again. "Someone open this damn door!" Then in one swift movement, he bunched his t-shirt between his shoulder blades and dragged it over his head.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes roaming his broad back that was lined with muscles.

"I hate being overheated," he muttered and poked at the broken handle again.

She moved to the wall, pressed her shoulders on it, then sank to the floor. Ezra was much louder than her. He could do the shouting. Besides, he was right, it was hot, really hot now.

"What are you doing?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Waiting for this torture to be over."

"You think this is torture? Try being lost in a war zone." He turned. His sternum had a smattering of light-brown hair that led down to his navel and then lower, to the waistband of his jeans.

"No, thanks." She forced herself not to stare at his naked torso. He'd probably get the wrong idea and think she was admiring him. Which she wasn't, even though his body was pretty much perfect. "War zones are not on my to-do list."

"See, that's what I mean," he said.

"No, no, I don't see, Ezra, so why don't you just explain?"

He came and stood at her side, then he mimicked her and slid down the wall to a sitting position with his hands dangling over his bent knees.

"Tell me," she said gentler. She had to get to the bottom of this. There was more to his bad behavior than just being brought up wrong, she was sure of it. "What is it?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"I might. I'm actually quite a compassionate person, not that you would know."

He hesitated as though pondering whether or not to tell her something, then, "That desk, the one you've claimed, it belongs to a guy called Jacob Matthews."

She hadn't claimed it, she'd been told to use it, but instead of arguing Celeste waited for Ezra to go on.

"He's in Ukraine, reporting … and…"

"And?"

"We haven't heard from him in over three weeks."

"Shit, I'm sorry." She paused. "And he is your … boyfriend?"

"What? No, fuck off, I'm straight." He frowned.

"Sorry." She held up her hands. "Just checking." Luckily, she managed to hold in a little smile at his reaction to her question. "So, he's a friend, a colleague."

"Yeah, and usually he gives us an ‘I'm alive' message every day or drops in a story. But they've just stopped. Nothing. Nada. He's unreachable."

Patrick came to mind. She'd hate it if his messages stopped arriving.

"When he comes back," she said, "I'll find a new desk."

"If he comes back."

"Think positive."

He didn't reply.

Celeste wiped her brow. "Why is it so hot in here?"

"I think the pipes are to blame."

"It's making me feel giddy."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it's horrible." She fanned her face with her hand.

He stood, rummaged in a box, and withdrew a white cloth. Then he walked to the sink and soaked it with water. After sitting next to her again he held out his hand. "Give me your wrists."

"What?"

"Here." He took her right arm, then her left and wrapped the cold cloth over both her wrists, binding them together with it. "This should help." He pressed his hand over it, as though sealing the cool in. "It will reduce the temperature of your blood."

It was soothing and she let out a shaky sigh. "Thank you."

"A trick I learned in Iraq," he said. "Air-con isn't really a thing out there."

There was a softer note to his voice which made her curious about him. "How long did you spend out there?"

"Four years on and off, the Middle East that was, didn't just report from Iraq."

"And you enjoyed it? The action?"

He frowned at her. "Getting shot at, worrying about bombs, attacks, no, that wasn't enjoyable."

"So, what kept you there?"

"Reporting the truth. What was really happening."

"And that's important to you."

"Of course." He moved his hands, pressing on a different section of cloth and cooling her forearms.

Weirdly, the caring, almost tender act, was strangely sensual. She stared at his big fingers, the fan of hair that spread from his lower arm onto the back of his hand, and two freckles beside his right thumb. "So … if celeb reporting isn't something you really want to do, then why are you here?"

"I have responsibilities." He looked at her, his face close once more. "That keep me here."

"Children?"

"No." He huffed. "That would really tip me over the edge."

"I know what you mean."

"You do?"

"Yes, not something I want in my near future either."

"But eventually?"

"I think so. With the right guy." Why was he looking at her so intently, as though he was trying to see into her soul, read between the lines of her words? It was disconcerting but also compelling.

"So, no right guy?" he asked.

"No, only wrong ones." She huffed.

"You don't have to worry," he said. "The way you look, you must have guys falling over themselves to take you out."

"You really think that?"

"Yeah, my ex looked like you. Pretty, great body, and—"

"Wait? Did you just say I had a great body?" Her eyes widened.

He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "You know you do, it's why you wear what you do."

"I wear clothes I like, that are comfortable."

He rolled his eyes. "As I was saying, my ex looked like you and took every offer from every other guy behind my back."

"Ouch. That had to hurt."

"It pissed me off, yeah."

"But…"

"What?"

"You are a grumpy bugger most of the time, maybe she needed some smiles."

"I smile." His mouth downturned.

"Only when you're being cruel."

"You think I'm cruel?"

She nodded and stared at the shelf in front of her, her eyes settling on a jumbo box of paper clips.

"Celeste." He released her arm, touched her chin, and turned her to face him. "I am not cruel, just realistic."

He was so close she could see each dot of stubble over his top lip, each eyelash, each fleck of blue in his eyes. "I disagree, you're cruel, Ezra."

"Maybe I'm being cruel to be kind."

"If that's what you think, it's warped."

"Warped?" The right side of his mouth twitched, as though she'd amused him, and he leaned in closer. "Tell me what you know about warped."

Her heart stuttered. With any other guy, any other situation, she'd be waiting for a kiss. But Ezra wouldn't kiss her. He'd made it perfectly clear he thought her an airheaded bimbo.

So, why was his breath warming her face, his bare chest pressing against her arm and sending strange tingling sensations to her nipples? She parted her lips, her throat constricting, a million thoughts pinged around her brain.

Suddenly bright light filled the room.

"What are you two doing in here?" Jane stared wide-eyed at them from the doorway.

"Oh, thank goodness." Celeste jumped up, the cloth falling to the floor. "You're a star, Jane. Like really, thank you, we've been trapped in here."

"I was looking for you, it's wine time." She glanced at Ezra who was now standing and reaching for his t-shirt. "And I remembered you were coming to get a cable."

"Cheers, Jane," Ezra said gruffly. "I'm going to put in a request right now to get this door fixed. It's a hazard."

"How long have you—"

"Long enough," Ezra huffed and stepped past Celeste. "Long enough."