He gave me a little scowl. “You’ll be very handsomely compensated, we’ll see about the clothes, and I’ll call you when I know more details.”

“Coolio,” I said, and turned to try and catch the barman’s attention. I needed a drink to celebrate. It really was turning out to be my lucky week. I had new job offers coming out the wazoo. Before I knew it, I’d downed a rum and Coke, and Bradley was dragging me and Karla back to the dance floor. At one point, a brunette wearing a skintight shirt sidled up to Bradley and began what can only be described as booty popping at him. He continued dancing and arched a brow as she turned to face him, shimmying her boobs.

“Oh, you are so barking up the wrong tree, love,” he sighed, and grinned.

I didn’t think she heard, because she was now rutting against him. I snickered my laughter and grabbed a hold of Karla’s hands, swaying her to the music. I was a happy, sweaty, dancing mess when I felt my phone begin to vibrate inside my bag. Stepping outside for a moment, because the music was too loud for a phone call, I glanced down at the screen and recognised King’s number. Eleanor had me programme all the required numbers into my phone on Monday, and similarly, she’d passed my number on to King if he ever needed me.

I was curious, and yes, too tipsy to be answering a call from my boss, when I hit “accept.” “Yo.”

King’s voice came down the line. “Alexis? Is that you?”

I grinned and leaned against the wall of the building. “The one and only. What can I do for you, boss?”

He cleared his throat, and there was a beat of silence, as though he was considering whether to continue the conversation. Finally, he went on, “I apologise for disturbing you outside of office hours, but I need someone to go collect some folders from Monty, and both Eleanor and Gillian are busy.”

“Monty as in Burns?” Yep, definitely tipsy.

I heard the smile in his voice when he responded. “No, Monty as in Montgomery Charles. He works for me at the bank. He’s drawn up some certificates, and I need the originals. Are you free to collect them for me?”

I sighed internally, knowing my night of fun was at its end. “Not exactly, but since you’ve allowed me to requisition your office bathroom this week, I suppose I do owe you one.”

“Great,” said King before rattling off where I had to go, alongside his home address, and told me he’d leave a key with the doorman. He also told me to keep my travel receipts for reimbursement. I went back inside, told Karla there was a work thing, and swiftly flagged down a taxi. Monty turned out to be a twenty-something guy with a big smile and a distinct eagerness to impress. He was adamant that I deliver the papers directly to Mr King, no detours. It was probably the way I was dressed that had him concerned, like I was some crazy leopard print–adorned lady pretending to be Oliver King’s assistant.

The taxi was idling by the side of the road, waiting for me, when I returned and we continued on to King’s place. It turned out his apartment was located close to the Thames, in a building that screamed money.

The doorman was expecting me and handed me a key card as I looked around the stylish modern interior. There were about ten floors, and King’s apartment was at the top. Choosing to take the lift, since I had enough stairs to contend with in my own building, I hit the button for his floor.

I was fully sober as I walked down the long corridor to his apartment and let myself in. At first the place seemed quiet, but then I heard the music. Someone was playing a piano.

As I stepped around a tall column and entered the spacious lounge, I saw him. His back was to me as he sat in front of a black baby grand, his fingers skimming the keys as he played something classical. The tune was soft and hard at the same time, so intricate and beautiful. I knew I’d heard it before, maybe in a film, but I couldn’t pinpoint where.

It made my pores grow tight and my lungs feel a little bereft of air.

There was something that was just so unexpected about seeing him like this, and it hit me square in the feelers. In the office I’d seen him professional, efficient, confident, and in control. But right then he was vulnerable, artistic, and totally absorbed in the music. And he was good, crazy good, so good I didn’t understand why he was a banker when he could be playing music like this for a living.

The song became passionate, and his fingers pounded the keys right before my phone went off with a text. I had no clue who it was from, but I stood still as King immediately stopped playing and twisted around to face me. He seemed taken off guard, surprised to see me there even though he knew I was coming over. It was clear that he’d been completely lost in the music.

A moment of heavy, unexplainable tension fell between us.

Then he did a slow perusal of my body, and I swear he was holding back a grin. All in an instant, the tension was gone, and he wore a humorous expression.

“Oh, go on, say it. You know you want to,” I sighed.

King let out a breath like he’d been holding it, and his voice was full of amusement. “What on earth are you wearing?”

“Hey, what I wear outside the office is my own prerogative.” I scowled at him playfully. “But if you must know, I was out clubbing with some friends when I got your call, hence my fan-bloody-tastic attire.”

He pursed his lips in an effort to stay his grin. “Well, in that case, I apologise for interrupting your night. Please, come and sit down. Do you have the receipt for your taxi and the certificates from Monty?”