How to Get Over Your Ex Read Free Page A

risked.
    Pause.
    ‘Alekzander Rush. With a K and a Z , he says.’
    As if that helped her in the slightest; although some neuron
deep in her mind started firing.
    ‘Now he says he’s not a journalist.’ Tyrone sounded annoyed at
being forced into the role of interpreter. His job was just to check the ID of
visitors passing through his station, not deal with presumptuous callers.
    ‘OK, send him through. I’ll meet him in the visitor centre.
Thank you, Tyrone,’ she added before he disconnected.
    It took her about seven minutes to finish what she was doing,
sanitise, and work her way through three buildings to the public visitor centre.
It was teeming with weekend visitors to Wakehurst all checking out the work of
her department while they were here seeing the main house and gardens.
    She glanced around and saw him. Tall, dark, and casually but
warmly dressed, with something draped over his arm. The guy from the elevator at
the radio station. Possibly the last person in the world she expected to see.
Relief that he wasn’t some crazy out to find The Valentine’s Girl crashed into
curiosity about why he would be here. She ignored two speculative glances sent
her way by total strangers. Probably trying to work out why she looked familiar.
Hopefully, she’d be back in her office by the time the light bulb blinked on
over their heads and they remembered whatever social media site they’d seen her
on.
    She walked up next to him as he stared into one of the public
displays reading the labels and spoke quietly. ‘Alekzander with a K and a Z , I assume?’
    He turned. His eyes widened as he took in her labcoat and
jeans. That was OK; he looked pretty different without his pinstripe on,
too.
    ‘Zander,’ he said, thrusting his free hand forward. She took it
on instinct; it was warm and strong and certain. Everything hers wasn’t. ‘Zander
Rush. Station Manager for Radio EROS.’
    Oh. That wasn’t good.
    He lifted his arm with something familiar and beige draped
across it. ‘You left your coat in the studio.’
    The manager of one of London’s top radio stations drove fifty
kilometres to bring her a coat? No way.
    ‘I considered that a small price to pay for getting the heck
out of there,’ she hedged. She hadn’t really let herself think about the signed
document on radio network letterhead sitting on her desk at home, but she was
thinking about it now. And, she guessed, so was he.
    The couple standing nearby suddenly twigged as to who she was.
Their eyes lit up with recognition and the girl turned to the man and
whispered.
    Zander didn’t miss it. ‘Is there somewhere more private we can
speak?’
    ‘You have more to say?’ It was worth a try.
    His eyes shot around the room. ‘I do. It won’t take long.’
    ‘This is a secure building. I can’t take you inside. Let’s
walk.’
    Conveniently, she had a coat. She shrugged into it and caught
him as he was about to head back out through the giant open doors of the visitor
centre.
    ‘Back door,’ she simply said.
    Her ID opened the secure rear entrance and deposited them just
a brisk walk from Bethlehem Wood. About as private as they were going to get out
here on a Saturday. It got weekend traffic, too, but nothing like the rest of
Wakehurst. Anyone else might have worried about setting off into a secluded wood
with a stranger, but all Georgia could see was the strong, steady shape of his
back as he’d sheltered her from prying eyes back in the elevator as her world
imploded.
    He wasn’t here to hurt her.
    ‘How did you find me?’ she asked.
    ‘Your work number was amongst the other contacts on our files.
I called yesterday and realised where it was.’
    ‘You were taking a chance, coming here on a Saturday.’
    ‘I went to your apartment, first. You weren’t there.’
    So he drove all this way on a chance? He was certainly going to
a lot of trouble to find her. ‘A phone call wouldn’t suffice?’
    ‘I’ve left three messages.’
    Oh.
    ‘Yes,