Read Before He Was Gone: Starstruck Book 2 for Free Online Page A

their hands and even though they decline the cookies I take one myself - if only to stop my teeth grinding against themselves. I’m so anxious I’m about to puke.
    My bag is waiting under my desk. My passport’s in it, my Prada flip-flops (a gift from a press launch), a summer dress and a sarong. I really don’t have time for this meeting. I want to head back to my desk and look up more survival skills on the Internet. I have a list of them ready to rock, even though each time I commit one to memory I get another thought rush in and take over it, like what the hell I’m going to do without tweezers or a razor.
    ‘Thanks for having us, guys,’ one of the clients says, meeting my eyes as he sits down.
    I had a total mental block when it came to packing. They probably won’t let me have half the stuff I want or need, so in the end I just went with the basics. Originally I wore a necklace that Sebastian gave me, but when I Skyped with Chloe last night she made me take it off. ‘Do you want him to see you on the TV, obsessing over him?’ she said.
    She was right. But I see his face every time I close my eyes… the way he made love to me the night of the wedding, tangling his hands in my hair as he drove into me drunk on champagne.
    God. I sit up straighter in my chair. My life is about to change. I won’t have to think about all this when I’m in Indonesia and I’m fighting for survival; the same way I won’t have to think about K-Lame and these pointless meetings.
    The screen is on, blaring our presentation. The two clients are nodding in apparent interest and one is fiddling with his big brown Colorado beard. My nerves are making it way too warm in this room. I’m wearing a pantsuit – a navy-blue Calvin Klein tuxedo blazer and my favourite classic-fit pants to be precise. But I’ve stashed a low cut Zara sundress in my desk drawer so I can change right back into it after this meeting. 
    I don’t care if it’s November and freezing outside - there’s no way the network spies are marching in later and dragging me off to the jungle in a pantsuit and heels.  I’m prepared. I keep all kinds of outfits here in the office anyway. I never know - knew - when Sebastian might call me up for an after-work impromptu flight out of Denver.
    The door opens again. ‘Alyssa?’
    ‘That’s me,’ I say as everyone looks to the stranger standing in the doorway. My heart wedges in my throat. He has a camera. ‘No…’ I start.
    The bearded guy pulls off his beard. ‘Yes,’ he grins, flashing a set of pearly teeth that look way too white to be real. I know those teeth. I know that face.
    ‘Ed Bernstein,’ I say, ramming my hands through my hair and lowering my forehead to the table. ‘Awesome.’
    ’Awesome,’ Megan parrots.  She’s smiling like the cat that got the cream when I look up, and so is Kenneth. The world moves in slow motion as Ed - the man who won ‘sexiest host of a TV show’ three years running - steps towards me. ‘This is no ordinary meeting, Alyssa Joannou,’ he says. ‘Or should we say Alyssa The Greek?’
    ‘I didn’t think orphans in Cambodia were really your style,’ Kenneth cuts in, leaning back in his seat smugly and folding his arms. I frown at him. I hope the camera catches his coffee stain.
    ‘All set?’ Ed asks, eyebrows arched and I nod, trying to smile as I stand up. ‘How well do you think Alyssa here will do on Deserted? ’ he asks Kenneth.
    ‘I can answer that,’ Megan jumps in. ‘Alyssa is the brains of this company and she’s going win this competition, I know it!’
    I feel my cheeks flush crimson but I’m being shooed out the door now and my pulse is throbbing. On wobbly feet I walk to my desk on my too-high heels and as I reach for my bag I see my sundress poking out of the bottom drawer.
    Crap.
    ‘I was going to change my clothes,’ I say, spinning round and almost banging into a lens protruding in my direction. ‘Can I just go put my dress on real