tugged the fabric of his trousers away from his lukewarm groin.
‘I’m terribly sorry, how very clumsy of me,’ she said with no trace of sincerity. ‘I’ll get you another one straight away.’
‘I don’t want another one!’ He glared down at her and then, narrowing his eyes a fraction, asked, ‘Hey, don’t I know you?’
She gave him a vacant look and began to turn away. ‘Sorry, but I think you must be mistaken. I have never met you before.’
‘You’re that girl…’ he stalled her with a very large, very firm hand on her arm ‘…the toilet-paper advertisement, right?’
Mia unhinged his fingers and dusted off her arm, shooting him an imperious look. ‘I’m sorry, but you must have me mistaken for someone else.’
‘I never forget a face and yours is certainly very—’
‘You are fired!’ Tony Pretelli bellowed as he strode towards them. ‘Do you hear me, Mia Forrester? F.I.R.E.D. Fired. Now. Right now as of this very minute.’
‘Mia Forrester?’ Bryn frowned.
‘Sorry, Mr Pretelli,’ Mia said, momentarily forgetting to employ her Irish accent. ‘I didn’t mean to do it. It just slipped out of my hands.’
‘I saw you, Mia; it didn’t just slip out of your hands. You poured it on the poor man! Get your things and leave immediately,’ Tony snarled at her and then, turning to Bryn, softened his tone to an obsequious level. ‘Please accept my sincere apologies for the appalling behaviour of my staff—er—ex-staff member. I will see to it that she personally pays for the damage to your trousers. I’ll organise another coffee for you immediately, and can I tempt you with a slice of our house speciality? It’s a tiramisu and absolutely delicious—on the house, of course.’
‘No, thank you,’ Bryn said with a cool little on-off smile.
Typical. Mia gave a little snort. He looks down his nose at everybody. What a pompous jerk.
‘But I would like a private word with your—er—ex-staff member,’ Bryn added, training his dark blue gaze on her.
Mia’s eyes widened in alarm and she started to step backwards. ‘But I’m just leaving…’
‘Not so fast, Miss Forrester,’ he said, capturing her arm once more, his long fingers like a vice around her slim wrist. ‘I’m sure your ex-employer won’t mind if you humour me for a moment or two.’
Mia looked to Tony for help but he was already on his way back to the kitchen, shouting out another order from table five.
‘I think I’ll leave you to it,’ the brunette woman said to Bryn before sending Mia a pleasant smile. ‘I’m Annabelle Heyward, by the way, Miss Forrester. I’m Bryn Dwyer’s publicist.’
‘Poor you,’ Mia muttered not quite under her breath as she took the older woman’s hand with her free one. ‘But I’m pleased to meet you. I’m sure you’re a very nice person despite the company you keep.’
‘Excuse me?’ Bryn’s dark brows met over his eyes.
‘I’ll call you later with the latest ratings, Bryn.’ Annabelle gave him a little wave as she left the café, her eyes twinkling in amusement.
‘Please let go of my arm,’ Mia said through clenched teeth. ‘Everyone is watching.’
‘I don’t care who is watching.’ He glowered down at her darkly. ‘I’d like to know why you think you can get away with tossing a cup of coffee in my lap.’
‘I didn’t get away with it,’ she pointed out with a pert tilt of her chin. ‘I got fired, remember?’
‘And so you deserved to be. What the hell is the matter with you? What have I ever done to you, for God’s sake?’
‘How can you ask that?’ she spat back, wrenching her arm from his, rubbing at her wrist where his fingers had been. ‘Not only have I been fired from here, but I’m also sure I’m going to be dropped from Peach Pie Productions because of what you wrote in this morning’s paper. It was my first real live theatre performance and you ruined it. The principal actor was sick and the director asked me to fill in for her and now my career is going to be finished because of you and your stupid opinion, which I’m sure is completely biased and—’
‘Oh, that Mia Forrester,’ he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Mia stared at him in outrage. What did he mean, that Mia Forrester?
‘So you got a bad review,’ he said dismissively. ‘Get over it.’
‘Get over it?’ She stepped closer and jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. ‘How about you get over this? You are the most arrogant, opinionated, chauvinistic smart alec I’ve ever met. You think you can say whatever you like or indeed write whatever insults you like but I am not going to allow you to get away with it. You have definitely picked the wrong person this time to make fun of. If I lose my understudy job over this, you are going to be very sorry. I will make sure of it.’
Bryn looked down at the little spitfire in front of him with increasing interest. When was the last time anyone had told him off, he wondered, really told him off, no-holds-barred? Most people—particularly women—bowed and scraped to his every whim, but she was something else again. She was all flashing grey eyes and swinging blonde pony-tail, looking more like a schoolgirl than the seductress she’d played so appallingly last night in Theodore Frankston’s new play.
‘You should stick to toilet-paper ads,’ he said. ‘Or have you ever thought about a career change?’
‘Have you ever thought about a personality change?’ she tossed back, her eyes like twin diamonds of sparkling fury.
Bryn suppressed a smile as he let his gaze run over her lazily. She had a neat figure, very trimmed and toned, and her skin had a healthy glow to it as if she was well used to outdoor activity. She wore no make-up but she had a fresh-faced beauty that was totally captivating. He couldn’t help thinking she might be just the type of girl his great-aunt Agnes would approve of. It would be the perfect solution to a problem that had been worrying him for quite some time.
‘Listen, Miss Forrester.’ He took her to one side out of the way of the hearing of table six. ‘I’m sorry you’ve lost your job here, but really, what’s a talented actress like you doing in a place like this?’
She scowled at him. ‘You didn’t call me talented in your article this morning. You said, and I quote: “A pathetic attempt at portraying a femme fatale from a clearly inexperienced actress.” Isn’t that what you said?’
‘It might have run something along those lines.’
‘What?’ She eyeballed him in fury. ‘You don’t even remember what you wrote about me?’
‘Look.’ He dragged a hand through his hair. ‘I had a deadline to meet and I’d been out and it was late…’
‘Are you telling me you were drunk when you wrote that column?’
‘Of
