‘Oh!’ I yelp, dropping my bag as I lose my footing, tumbling to my knees and sending an expensive leather briefcase skidding across the marble floor. Pain shoots up my arm when my palm smacks the marble in an attempt to stop my head from hitting the hard surface, my tears beyond my control now. Shocked gasps ring out through the air as I stare at the flecked marble floor. Then it falls silent. Everyone is looking at me.

‘Are you okay, darling?’ A big hand appears in my downcast vision, the deep, grainy voice pulling my eyes up to the crouching form in front of me. I find a mature man in an expensive suit.

I gasp.

He recoils.

I scramble from my knees and fall back, landing on my backside. My heart rate has lost control. We both stare at each other.

‘Olivia?’

I scoop up my bag and struggle to my feet, not knowing how much more shock I can take. It’s only been seven years, but his salt and pepper-flecked temples have greyed completely, as has the rest of his hair. He’s shocked to see me too, but his face still holds that softness and his grey eyes are still sparkling.

‘William.’ His name falls from my lips on a shocked rush of breath.

His tall body rises, his eyes roaming all over my face. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I—’

‘Olivia!’

I swing around and see Miller come flying down the stairs, fighting his way into his suit jacket. He looks dishevelled and untidy, a complete about-face from my usual finicky, fine Miller. The lobby is silent, everyone looking at the girl who’s just taken a tumble and now at the man who’s pelting down the stairs while dressing himself. He hits the bottom and halts dead in his tracks, his stare cast over my shoulder, his eyes wide. It prompts me to slowly turn until I find William staring as intently at Miller. The men are in a staring stand-off, me in the middle.

They know each other.

My simple little world has been turned upside-down and has now just exploded on me. I need to escape. My legs kick into action, leaving behind the only two men I have ever loved.

William is a ghost to me and should stay that way.

But Miller is the heart beating in my chest.

Every pound of my feet on the steps jolts an image of him. Every inhale of breath spurs a memory of his words. Every thump of my heart spikes the absent feel of his touch. But nothing is worse than the imprint of his beautiful face on my mind’s eye as I run away.

Escape from him.

Hide from him.

Protect myself from him.

This is unquestionably the right thing to do. Everything indicates that I’m being wise – my head, my body . . . everything.

Except my fallen heart.