The Wealthy Man's Waitress. Maggie Cox

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      ‘Why did that man tell Lorenzo you and he were engaged if you’re not?’ Cradling her much-needed cup of coffee, Liz Morrison sat across the cleared table from Emma in the now empty restaurant, endeavouring to get to the bottom of the most surprising thing that had happened all evening.

      ‘Oh, he was just playing stupid games.’ Emma shrugged, momentarily shielding her expression behind her own coffee-cup. I’m not playing, he’d said, but clearly he’d lied. She really had no idea why he’d taken the trouble to come to the bistro and find her and nor did she buy the reason he had given—that he was somehow ‘intrigued’ by her. So ‘playing stupid games’ was all her befuddled brain could come up with.

      ‘He was rather gorgeous all the same. When Lorenzo came into the kitchen and told me I sneaked a look while you weren’t looking. Where did you meet him?’ Liz asked conversationally. But behind her employer’s deceptively casual tone, Emma knew there was a wealth of curiosity just bursting to get out. Liz was always trying to fix Emma up with some suitable male or other but was continually frustrated by the younger woman’s inexplicable lack of interest.

      ‘Oh, he’s a friend of a friend.’ Hoping to brush him off as just that, Emma prayed they could now change the subject. Piers Redfield’s name and presence had simply dominated her day too much. It was time to get back to reality. Not always easy, but at least it was a devil she knew.

      ‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’

      ‘Liz!’ Aghast, Emma stared at the other woman as if she had just confessed to some heinous crime.

      ‘You know very well I love Adam, but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate another man’s good looks, does it? And your friend of a friend was certainly worth taking a second look at. Loved the suit too. Bet that cost a pretty penny.’

      ‘I wouldn’t know.’

      ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Emma! You’re a beautiful young woman and you’ve got about as much interest in the opposite sex as somebody who’s gay!’ Her hazel eyes suddenly narrowing, Liz lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘You’re not gay, are you, darling?’

      ‘No!’ Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Emma put down her coffee-cup and licked the cream from her top lip. ‘I can assure you I’m not gay.’ It was the second reference to her sexual proclivities that day—first Lawrence’s hurtful jibe, now her friend’s concerned probe. So what if she didn’t have a relationship? Why did everyone seem to believe that coupledom was the only important choice in life? Couldn’t they see that most people’s relationships fell apart on a regular basis? Who needed the grief? All she had to do was remember how heartbroken her mother had been when Emma’s father had walked out on them when Emma was only nine. She’d never really recovered and they’d never set eyes on him again. They’d heard from a friend of his who’d come around to the house once that he’d emigrated to Australia soon after the divorce he’d insisted on, but after that…nothing. He never even kept in touch with his own mother—Emma’s beloved Gran. He’d obviously wiped out the memory of his previous life with heartless precision and had disowned them both. So who needed a man? Certainly not Emma—not right now, and probably not ever.

      But just as she reaffirmed her decision to remain single to herself, an uncalled-for recollection of Piers Redfield’s crystalline blue eyes sliding hotly down her body brought a flush of warmth to parts of her anatomy that hadn’t experienced that sensation in a very long time…

      ‘Men are a hassle. I have enough to deal with without getting screwed up by some relationship. Stop worrying about me, Liz. I’m really quite happy in my single state.’

      ‘So tell me a bit more about the guy who came in earlier.’

      Smiling in spite of her exasperation at Liz’s tenacity where Piers Redfield was concerned, Emma got up, pushed her chair into the table, and went to collect her coat from the nearby coat tree. ‘Trust me. You won’t be seeing him again.’ If Liz even had an inkling of who he was, she wouldn’t let Emma leave the restaurant until she’d told her everything and Emma had had enough embarrassment for one day, thank you very much.

      ‘You and your fiancé had another fight?’ Lorenzo shook his head in deep disapproval as he came through the swing doors with his leather jacket on. He being true to his Italian blood, the one thing he held in high esteem was amore. ‘Emma, Emma! What did you say to make him leave? He didn’t even stay to eat!’

      ‘Once and for all, Piers Redfield isn’t my fiancé!’

      As Liz Morrison got to her feet, her surprised glance sprang to the younger woman with all the speed of an arrow hitting the bull’s-eye. Her husband read the financial pages of his chosen broadsheet every day and she knew only too well where she’d heard that illustrious name.

      ‘That was Piers Redfield?’ she yelped. ‘The Piers Redfield?’

      Emma’s body turned hot then cold. Nonplussed, Lorenzo glanced from one woman to the other and back again. ‘Is he famous?’

      ‘Not in the sense that Brad Pitt or Hugh Grant is famous but the guy’s on the UK Rich List, that’s for sure. Emma, you dark horse! What on earth is going on?’