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My falling heart splinters painfully, remembering a very different man from last night. An accepting man. A loving man. The man sitting opposite me now is confounding. I’ve never seen Miller Hart lose his temper. I’ve seen him get agitated and I’ve heard him curse – mostly when something isn’t Miller-perfect – but the look in his eyes right now tells me I’ve seen nothing. That coupled with his serious warning also tells me I really don’t want to.

I stand abruptly, my body seeming to engage before my brain does, and walk away, letting myself out of his apartment and taking the stairs to the lobby. The doorman nods as I pass through, and when I emerge into the fresh morning air, I let out a heavy sigh. The smell and sound of London doesn’t make me feel any better.

‘I was talking to you.’ Miller’s annoyed tone hits me from behind, but it doesn’t prompt me to find my manners and turn to acknowledge him. ‘Livy, I said that I was talking to you.’

‘And what did you say?’ I ask.

He appears in my line of sight and stands in front of me, regarding me closely. ‘I don’t like repeating myself.’

‘I don’t like your mood swings.’

‘I don’t have mood swings.’

‘Yes, you do. I don’t know where I am with you. One minute you’re sweet and attentive, the next you’re cold and short.’

He’s thinking hard about my words, and it’s a good few moments of staring at each other before he finally utters some himself. ‘We were getting too close to personal.’

I pull in a long breath and hold it, desperately trying to stop myself from shouting at him. I knew this was coming from the second I opened my eyes this morning. But it still hurts like hell. ‘Is this anything to do with your business associate, or is it just me and my sordid history?’

He doesn’t answer, choosing to watch me silently instead.

‘I should never have given you more of me,’ I whisper quietly.

‘Probably not,’ he agrees without hesitation. It cuts too deep, and I force myself to walk away before I lose control of the building emotion. I will not cry on him. I plug my ear buds in, select random on my iPod and have a quiet laugh to myself when Massive Attack’s ‘Unfinished Sympathy’ fills my ears, keeping me company all the way home.

‘You don’t look any better, Livy,’ Del says, giving me the once-over with concerned eyes. ‘Perhaps you should go home.’

‘No.’ I force a reassuring smile, but struggle terribly. Nan is at home, and I need to be distracted, not interrogated.

She was all smiles when I walked through the front door this morning, until she registered my face. Then the questions started, but I quickly escaped to my bedroom, leaving her pacing the landing outside my room, tossing the odd question through the door, all of which I brushed off. I shouldn’t feel annoyed with Nan; I should reserve it all for Miller, but if she hadn’t poked her old nose in and invited him to dinner, then last night wouldn’t have happened and I wouldn’t currently be in turmoil.

‘I feel much better, honestly.’ I escape the kitchen and dodge Sylvie at the till, who’s been trying to nail me down all morning. Luckily for me, we’re busy, so I can evade all interrogation for the meantime and busy myself clearing tables and serving coffee.

On my break, I accept the tuna mayo sandwich that’s handed to me by Paul, but choose to eat it on the go, knowing that taking a timeout will lure Sylvie over to press me for answers. It’s cunning, but my head aches with constant thoughts of him and talking will certainly spur tears. I refuse to cry over a man, especially a man who can be so cold.

‘Are you enjoying that?’ Paul asks on a smile, tossing some wet lettuce leaves in a colander.

‘Hmmm.’ I chew and swallow, then wipe my mouth of any stray mayonnaise. ‘It’s delicious,’ I say truthfully, looking over the other half that I’m yet to eat. ‘There’s something different about it.’

‘Yes, but don’t ask me what because I’ll never tell.’

‘Secret family recipe?’

‘You’ve got it. Del will never let me leave as long as the Tuna Crunch is his bestseller and I’m the only sucker who knows how to make it.’ He winks and scatters the lettuce between the prepared mixed seeded bread slices that have been coated with Paul’s secret recipe. ‘Here. These are for table four.’

‘Sure.’ I push my back through the swing doors of the kitchen, skulk past Sylvie and head for table four. ‘Two Tuna Crunch sandwiches on seeded,’ I say, sliding the plates onto the table. ‘Enjoy.’

Both businessmen express their gratitude with a thank you and I leave them to eat, meeting Sylvie in the kitchen when I push my way back through the swing door. She has her hands on her hips. It’s not a good sign.

‘You don’t look better, but you’re not ill,’ she snipes, moving slightly to let me pass. ‘What gives?’

‘Nothing.’ I sound way too defensive, and I immediately chastise myself for it. ‘I’m okay.’

‘He followed you out.’

‘What?’ My shoulders tense. I know full well what Sylvie is talking about, but it’s not an area of conversation that I want to indulge in. I feel raw, tender, and speaking of him will only enhance that.

‘After you nearly passed out and Del sent you home, he followed you out. I would’ve come to find you, but I was kind of rushed off my feet. What happened?’

I still don’t face her, choosing to take my time loading the dishwasher. I could leave, but that would mean facing her and I won’t hold my breath that she’ll let me pass. ‘Nothing happened. I walked away.’