‘For fuck’s sake.’ The words slip out before I can stop them and I slam my phone down on the bar top. Seriously? I don’t freaking believe it.

Unbelievably, and by a cosmic quirk of coincidence, those same words, at the self-same moment, emerge from the mouth of the guy next to me. ‘For fuck’s sake.’ This is the guy whose eyes I’ve been studiously avoiding even though our bar stools are practically wedged up against each other in the crowded hotel bar.

We look at each other, bemused.

‘Date stood you up?’

I want to scowl at him because I hate the way that he immediately assumes my issue is that minor but he’s got a sympathetic smile on his face.

‘No.’ I sigh. ‘My sister’s just texted me to tell me she’s engaged.’

He frowns. ‘And that’s not a good thing.’

‘Not when it’s to my ex, no.’

‘Ouch, that’s pretty bad…’ He pauses. ‘I’ll raise you ten.’ Amusement wreathes his wide mouth and I find myself drawn to his lips. It takes me a second to wrench my gaze away to look down at the phone he’s nursing in one hand.

‘We’re playing my bad is worse than your bad?’ I ask.

‘Yup.’

‘I doubt it very much –’ I arch a haughty brow. He’s the sort of guy you need to keep on his toes ‘– but go on then.’

‘My business partner has just pulled the plug.’

I look at him in faded jeans hugging brawny thighs and a soft white Henley T-shirt clinging to a very broad chest and unbuttoned to show a smattering of dark hair. What sort of business could he be in? He exudes masculinity with a capital M and has those flirty, I-know-I’m-hot-shag-me-now eyes. They’re bright blue with an irresistible twinkle.

And he’s not my type at all. Even as I’m telling myself this, there’s a small part of me that wonders what he looks like naked because you’d have to be visually impaired not to see that he’s got muscles in all the right places and he knows how to use them. I pull myself up sharply, narrowing my eyes at him. I do not have thoughts like this.

He grins at me as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

I swallow. Am I that easy to read? My type of man wears a sharp, tailored suit, he’s clean shaven with short hair and he does a fine line in crisp white shirts, tasteful silk ties and unassuming cufflinks. Never trust a man in novelty cufflinks. I regard it as a barometer of arseholery. Like Andrew.

Again I try to imagine what sort of business he could be in. Dressed like that, he’s no one’s idea of a businessman. Not with that thick, too long hair that skirts the top of his shoulders, several days’ growth on his chin, and strong, large hands that are oddly elegant but also look as if they might have done a fair bit of labouring in their time.

‘That’s tough,’ I say, trying to be totally business-like and ignore the ridiculous flutterings in my belly. If they’re butterflies they can sod off back home, this is not me. I lift my chin. ‘Presumably in your contract there are termination and dissolution clauses. I’d expect there to be some contractual notice period.’

He raises one eyebrow and his crooked smile comes complete with dimple. Aaargh, it’s cute. ‘You need to speak to your solicitor,’ I add quickly and very primly. I don’t do cute young men or cute older men for that matter.

The dimple deepens as if I’ve said something really amusing.

‘It was a … business person’s agreement.’