Free Just Breathe by Janette Paul

swirls in her skirt. ‘I can’t sail or surf.’
    He nodded once, like it was a mental strike against that skill. ‘Will you be at the dinner tomorrow night?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘As a guest?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Probably safer that way.’
    She wanted to laugh out loud but followed his example with the sensible, low-key elevator speak. ‘I plan to avoid dessert altogether.’
    ‘And large platters.’
    The doors slid wide. He stepped out, watched her for half a second, straight-faced, eyestwinkling. ‘See you tomorrow night, Dee the TV Star.’

Chapter Eight
    Dee selected a glass of champagne off a tray and took a long gulp. She was standing alone on the edges of the biggest, swankiest party she’d ever been to, so nervous she had to keep the glass in constant movement to and from her mouth to stop the contents from spilling – and conscious that any sudden movement might expose a breast in the deep-V that was laughingly called a neckline.
    Where the hell was Lucy? Dee had walked the block twice hoping to be fashionably late and have Lucy waiting for her. No such luck.
    ‘Grab a glass of champagne,’ Leon had told her. ‘It’ll give you something to do if you have to wait for Lucy.’
    Now what? Two glasses of wine drunk leisurely over a meal was enough to make her silly and giggly. If Lucy took much longer, she’d be drunk and slumped in the corner before the night had even started. She raised the glass to her lips again and reminded herself to sip.
    ‘TV stars aren’t meant to drink on their own.’
    Dee turned and looked into the dark eyes of Ethan Roxburgh. She’d never been so relieved to see a man in a suit. Actually, he was looking every bit his tall, dark and handsome reputation in a crisp white dress shirt, black bow tie and dinner jacket. Her belly did an excited little flip – which was strange, really, considering how lowly she usually rated those qualities.
    ‘Just enjoying a moment alone before the rush of fans,’ she grinned, and felt herself blush as his gaze lingered momentarily at her plunging neckline.
    ‘Lucy’s chatting up a client so she asked me to find you,’ he said. ‘Come and I’ll introduce you around. But let’s get you another drink first.’ He signalled to a waiter and while he swapped her empty glass for a full one Dee hitched at her dress to force a bit more coverage into it andreminded herself about responsible service of alcohol.
    ‘You look lovely, by the way,’ Ethan said as he steered her through the crowd.
    ‘Thanks,’ she smiled, then almost fell as her heel became tangled in the hem of her dress. Oh no, boobs on the move. She grabbed onto Ethan’s forearm, spilling some of her champagne on his sleeve. ‘Oh, sorry, sorry.’ She didn’t know what to do first – wipe his jacket, tuck in her breasts or cover her embarrassment with a nonchalant swig of her drink.
    Ethan shook off the champagne like it was stray dust then cupped his hand under her forearm and held her eyes with his. ‘Relax, Dee, it’s a party.’
    Yeah, that was the problem.
    He stopped at a circle of guests who opened their ranks for him. ‘Leonard, I found your yoga girl.’ He turned to her. ‘Dee, do you remember Leonard Frost, director of Health Life, and his wife, Rosemary?’
    It was the same Leonard who watched her peel lemon tart off her face. She expected something condescending but he shook her hand warmly. ‘Congratulations on the ad, Dee. I hope you’re as pleased with it as I am.’
    She smiled tentatively. ‘Yes, I am.’
    ‘I’m tempted to take up yoga myself after watching you do all that.’ He stuck his hip out, raised a hand over his head in a bad imitation of one of her poses, getting a laugh from the others in their circle. Dee chuckled too, relaxing just a little.
    Ethan introduced her to the rest of the group, all Health Life executives. She shook hands, accepted more congratulations and drank happily in a toast to their new commercial.
    ‘Sorry, guys, she’s