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Chapter One

The only person Alli Williams counted on was herself. She certainly wasn’t about to count on a snot-nosed little barista with an attitude problem.

“Oat milk with an extra shot and a sprinkling of cinnamon,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the barista. “Sure you’ve got that?”

The barista smiled. “Not a problem, ma’am,” she said.

Alli glared at her but didn’t say anything. As much as she hated the stupid Americanisms that had seeped into her life over time, and as much as she hated the implications behind the word ‘ma’am’, the barista simply wasn’t worth her time.

Nor, Alli knew, was she in any way correct. Thirty-two was not ‘ma’am’ territory. Thirty-five, maybe. But definitely not thirty-two. And by thirty-five she’d be making so much money that she’d have her own damn barista and wouldn’t be patronizing coffee shops, no matter how upscale or trendy they might be.

“Your coffee, ma’am,” the barista said with a smile.

Alli took it with a muttered thanks and turned to leave, almost hitting a tall man in a dark suit as she did so.

“Watch where you’re going,” she growled, skipping a step backward. The last thing she needed was scuffs on her new Blahnik’s.

He smiled easily. “That could have been a disaster.”

“You’d have been paying the dry cleaning bills,” she said tartlybefore striding out of the coffee shop.

It took a minute for the irritation to die down. She wasn’t the type to take long deep breaths, and definitely not the type to take whatever poisons her doctor had prescribed to calm her down. Calm her down. As though she was an over-anxious labrador.

Calming, in Alli’s world, was not a good thing. Being eager, sharp, aggressive when necessary, all those were good qualities. All those were qualities that had put her firmly on Warren and Colman’s executive track. A track that one day would mean an office at the very top of the glass and steel building she was now walking into.

She pushed her way into the lift and pressed the button for thirty-two. Same age, same floor. It wasn’t quite the top floor, not yet, but it was some kind of sign, she was sure of that. She’d been working her backside off and this was her year, she could feel it. A vice president spot was opening up and it was going to be hers.

Which was definitely going to make the late nights and early mornings and skipped lunches and boozy dinners and all the rest of it all worth it.

Not that she had anything else to do with her time.

Pets, boyfriends, kids, they were all for suckers and Alli was no sucker. She was confident, skilled, and very happy alone, thank you very much.

“Morning, Ms. Williams,” chirped her assistant as she walked past.

Alli didn’t bother to reply. The girl would be gone within the month, they always were. There was no work ethic these days, that was the problem. People couldn’t just grit their teeth and get on with it. She dumped her bag on her chair and looked at her desk. And people definitely couldn’t follow instructions.

“You, in here,” she barked.

The assistant appeared in the doorway, looking like she was entering the dragon’s den. “Is there something I can do, ma’am?”

Fucking ma’am again. “Yes,” Alli said. “You can put my damn mail in the inbox where it’s supposed to go rather than splayingit across my desk like it’s a prize on a game show. Think you can handle that?”

With trembling hands, the assistant gathered up the post and slid the bundle into the tray beside Alli’s computer. “Yes, sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”

Probably because she’d be working for a crappy little bakery or baby toy company by this time next month, Alli thought. Some place that prided itself on being a family business, where the only hopes for advancement were an extra week of holiday. “Out,” she barked.

The assistant scurried off and Alli dumped her bag on the floor and was switching on her computer when there was a brief knock at the door. She looked up, ready to scowl, and switched to a smile when she saw a lanky, dark-haired man leaning on the doorframe.

“Scaring the peons off already?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Incompetent,” Alli said, leaning back in her chair.

“Terrified is more like it,” said Darren. “Which might work in the army, but it’s not the recommended management style in the corporate world.”

“I was never in the army,” said Alli. As if. All that marching around and shouting. Actually, put like that, maybe she should have considered it. She could shout. She could probably march, given different shoes. The pay would be awful though, she assumed.

“Shame,” said Darren, sliding into her office. “You’d make a cracking sergeant major.” He sat in the chair on the opposite side of her desk and eyed her. “What time did you get out of here last night? You look like death warmed up.”