Free The Couple Behind the Headlines by Lucy King

practice had bestowed on her, got out. She flashed a blinding smile at a loitering photographer and then made her way up the wide stone steps and through the huge glass doors.
This was an important night for the trust, she reminded herself, holding her head high as she shrugged off the stole and handed it to the waiting attendant. Stashing the ticket she received in return in her clutch bag and giving the attendant a beaming smile of thanks, she walked across the black-and-white-chequered marble floor towards the handful of people who’d already arrived. The annual Valentine’s Day Ball raised thousands, if not millions, for good causes, and she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise that.
She’d given herself a string of hearty pep talks and gone over how she’d behave and what she’d say a thousand times. Should she happen to bump into either Max or Connie, or heaven forbid the two of them together, she’d resist the urge to claw their eyes out and instead would be charming, witty and chatty. The life and soul of the party, in fact. She’d show everyone that she couldn’t care less about what they’d done, or how much they’d hurt her, because she was over it.
‘Imogen?’
At the sound of the familiar female voice behind her, Imogen froze. Her heart thumped and her blood roared inher ears before shooting to her feet. As if in slow motion, she turned.
And there they were. Max and Connie. Standing right in front of her, arms linked, clinging to each other like limpets and grinning like maniacs. Connie’s hand was wrapped around Max’s arm and the whopping diamond on the third finger of her left hand sparkled as if on fire.
Feeling as if someone had walloped her in the solar plexus and then sucked all the air from around her, Imogen looked from Connie to Max and back again. And to her horror, her vision blurred, her throat closed over and her head went completely and utterly blank.
Aha, thought Jack with a surge of satisfaction as he scanned the lobby of the hotel and spotted Imogen. There she was. Over there by the fireplace. Standing next to a tall, dark-haired man and a short blonde woman.
Excellent.
It seemed that his mother, for once in her shallow, flaky life, had actually come up with the goods.
Calling her to make discreet enquiries about when and where he might find Imogen had been something of a last resort. However, despite assuring Luke he’d manage perfectly well alone, tracking Imogen down had proved trickier than he’d thought.
After lunch he’d gone back to the office, his mind trawling through the options and discarding each one almost as soon as it entered his head. Chasing around London on the off chance of bumping into her he’d deemed inefficient and unlikely to result in success. Obtaining her contact details and sending her an email or giving her a call would give her the chance to ignore him. And if he’d pitched up on her doorstep, her stalking accusation might actually have held some merit.
Which had left him with no alternative but to try his mother. He’d figured that no one knew the London socialscene better—with her penchant for partying ‘til dawn with men younger than he was, she’d had enough practice—and if anyone knew where Imogen was going to be it was her.
Not that he’d needed to be subtle when making his enquiries, he thought, adjusting his bow tie as he weaved his way towards Imogen. His mother was so self-absorbed she’d never spare the time to wonder why her son would be asking about the whereabouts of a girl.
Of course, there wasn’t anything particularly newsworthy about the fact that he had. His wanting to track Imogen down wasn’t a big deal. So what if he’d never cared in the past about who knew who he was dating? And so what if he’d previously sought a girl’s contact details from friends and acquaintances without a care for the gossip doing so might generate?
With the possibility of Imogen’s resistance being a large obstacle in his intention to