Turning the Good Girl Bad. Avril Tremayne

to choke on it as she rounded the corner from the lift lobby.

      Max was sitting in her chair, eyes glued to her computer screen.

      Ohhhhhhhh.

      Not much of a thought, but all she could manage initially.

      She reminded herself that she’d turned everything off, that the flash drive was in her drawer, the printed pages shoved in her briefcase, and there was no way he could be looking at Passion Flower. He was probably looking for the Queensland report to make some changes.

      So breathe. Breathe and be normal.

      ‘Is there something you wanted urgently?’ she asked, forcing herself not to run to her desk but to walk slowly, calmly.

      Max raised his head and looked at her—slack-jawed, marvelling, astounded.

      And Catherine knew.

      Max’s voice, when it finally came, was unbelievably husky. ‘You wrote this?’