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snapped. She had spent three miserable days pouring over her figures trying to cut everything to the bone. But the truth of the matter was that there was only bone left.
    ‘You might be a brilliant businessman, Mr Devlin,’ she said, ‘very plump in the pocket. But I have to tell you that you’re very thin in the heart.’ The man’s eyes did not even flicker, but in any case she was beyond stopping. ‘Well, I hope you’re happy counting your money. That it will keep you company when the Scrooge mentality has won, local radio is reduced to endless pop music and the pier has crumbled into the sea. Because it will be your fault. And I’ll make sure everyone in this town knows it.’
    For a moment after she had finished speaking there was utter silence. Then a slow hand clap from the door made her spin around and for a fraction of a second, it seemed, her heart stopped.
    Then it happened. Light the blue touch paper and stand back. Fizz. Woosh. Rockets. Catherine wheels. Roman candles. Her insides lit up like a firework display.
    The man whose square shoulders appeared to fill the opening was somewhat taller than average, six foot two, or three maybe and although still some way short of his fortieth year, there was no doubting the air of authority that sat on his shoulders as easily as the smooth cloth of his elegantly cut grey tweed suit.
    His hair, thick, straight, almost black, was brushed back from his face to expose a wide forehead, dark brows that jutted over a pair of slate grey eyes. His mouth, when it smiled, would be wide and the lines etched into his cheeks would deepen in a way that would warm the coldest heart.
    But he wasn’t smiling now. Although a certain sardonic glint in those eyes suggested that he might have gained just a little amusement from her indignant outburst.
    ‘Don’t call us and we promise we’ll never call you,’ he said, as he moved away from the door and walked towards her.
    Rooted to the spot, Fizz remained seemingly bereft of the power of speech while he walked slowly around her, apparently fascinated by the severity of her business suit.
    ‘You’ve dressed for the part, I grant you,’ he said. ‘But it takes more than a costume to play a part. And someone should have warned you that there’s no room for emotion in business. Tell me, Miss Beaumont, what production was that thrilling speech adapted from? Little Nell? Maria Marten and the Red Barn? It certainly had all the elements of melodrama.’ He paused and finally looked straight down into her eyes. ‘Or do I mean farce?’
     

 
    CHAPTER TWO
     
    ‘LUKE. Thank goodness. Will you explain to this young woman that I am not interested in her radio station. I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen.’
    ‘Don’t worry, Phillip. If you’ll give us a few minutes, I’m sure I can persuade her to listen to me.’
    Luke? This was Luke Devlin? Fizz paled, shivering despite the warmth from a more than adequate heating system. She had no idea who the small, grey man letting himself quietly out of the office might be, only that he was not Luke Devlin. And that she had just made an exceptionally large fool of herself, a fact the disturbing man at her side immediately confirmed.
    ‘I’m sorry that the bulk of your performance was wasted on the wrong person but Phillip is using my office while we decide the future of Harries Industries.’ He didn’t look sorry. ‘I have been told that your father occasionally broadcasts drama on Pavilion Radio. If that was a demonstration of the standard he aspires to, Miss Beaumont, then perhaps the sooner the franchise moves into more professional hands, the better.’
    Professional hands? What the hell did that mean? She made a supreme effort to close her mouth. Devlin was not the kind of man to be won over by her impression of a gold-fish out of water. But the fact that he had managed to deprive her of the power of speech twice in as many minutes was a bonus. She loathed rudeness and