Free The Morning After the Night Before: Love & Lust in the city that never sleeps! by Nikki Logan Page A

of the Year cover story?’
    His eyes narrowed and shifted, and not just because of all the natural light pouring down on them. ‘Media is not my preferred thing.’
    â€˜Tsk tsk, Harry,’ she purred. ‘That’s no way to get to the big leagues.’
    His jaw tightened visibly. ‘I feel certain that there are plenty of paths to the top that don’t automatically involve public exposure.’
    â€˜You’ve surprised me, Harry. I would have pegged you for a man who loves to get his face in front of the cameras.’
    In fact, she’d always thought him much more suited to a more public role than he had.
    One brow lifted higher. ‘Have you ever seen me do that?’
    It didn’t take much to get her Izzometer twitching. Something was off here. A man as arrogant and charming and…flashy…as Harry—even in that carelessly dishevelled Australian way he had—shouldn’t have been shy of media. He should have been right out there in front, loving the exposure.
    Hunting it. Playing up to it.
    â€˜No, I haven’t. Why is that?’ Unless he had something to hide?
    â€˜Media can be a circus.’
    â€˜Personal experience?’ Because avoiding the media sure wasn’t in any How To Get Ahead In Business manual she’d ever read.
    â€˜Direct observation,’ he hedged.
    â€˜So any media leveraging you do off Broadmore Natále’s sponsorship will be done by someone else?’
    â€˜Ideally.’
    â€˜Okay. Got it.’ She pushed back a damp lock of hair and resettled her spade in the muck. ‘Any other unwritten rules I need to keep in mind?’
    â€˜I’ll let you know when I think of them.’
    Before she could do more than open her mouth to quiz him further, the suck and squidge of gumboots sounded in the wetland behind them and Izzy turned towards a tense, interrupting voice.
    â€˜Izzy.’ Alex rested one hand on his hoe and the other on her nape. ‘What’s next on the list?’
    Which was, of course, man code for ‘want me to hurt him for you?’.
    Alex’s perceptive eyes locked hard onto Harry. And stayed there. Izzy hurried to mitigate any growing tension with introductions. ‘Harry Mitchell, Finance Manager at Broadmore Natále, our sponsor.’ She leaned extra heavy on that last word. ‘Alex Spencer, my…flatmate.’
    He hadn’t replaced Tori long enough for that to feel normal on the lips yet. In her head, Alex was still Poppy’s hot brother.
    â€˜Another one?’ Harry grunted. ‘Just how big is that place of yours?’
    â€˜Small enough to hear clean through the walls,’ Alex said evenly.
    Oh, God…
    She adored Alex, most days, even if he was far from perfect as flatmates—and even friends—went. But since an ex-soldier brought a heap more security to two women living alone on the fringes of Notting Hill, she’d made it her business not to complain when he moved in. Not about the toilet seat with obsessive orientation disorder, not about the stubble hairs that—like the sands of Afghanistan—seemed to get into everything in the bathroom she now shared with two people, and not about no longer being able to flit between the shower and her bedroom in her lacy smalls.
    But, every now and again, having a protective best friend with an ex-military rottweiler at her disposal twenty-four-seven became just a bit too much to bear. Like right now.
    â€˜Alex had some free time today,’ she rushed on for Harry’s benefit, then turned back to him. ‘Thanks again for coming to help.’
    â€˜I’m here on orders from HQ,’ he said. ‘I’d rather be sleeping.’
    Harry’s perceptive glance swung between the two of them, pausing for the barest moment on the gentle rest of Alex’s hand on her shoulder. ‘HQ?’
    â€˜My sister, Poppy.’
    â€˜Ah, yeah.