Her Man in Manhattan. Trish Wylie

      ‘Good morning, Grace.’ She saw the surprise in the older woman’s eyes when she appeared outside her father’s office. ‘Is the mayor in?’

      ‘He’s having breakfast with the chief of police.’

      ‘Where is my mother?’

      ‘I believe she’s still in the morning room.’

      When she turned on her heel Grace grabbed her file, rounded her desk and rushed down the hall after her. ‘You have a nine a.m. appointment in Brooklyn at—’

      ‘Not now, Grace.’ It was rude and she was sorry for that but they both knew the morning briefing was more habit than necessity. Miranda knew where she was going days in advance—weeks for the functions that required more forwards planning. If she didn’t how was she supposed to know what to wear or find time to research things she knew nothing about so she could hold a conversation?

      Two sets of eyes looked across the morning room as she entered without knocking. ‘Could you give us a moment, please, Roger?’ Once the door shut behind him Miranda took a deep breath. ‘I won’t be held prisoner in this house.’

      ‘Sit down, darling.’

      ‘I don’t want to sit down,’ she said without moving. ‘What I want is to be treated like an adult.’

      ‘Start behaving like one and you will,’ her mother replied with the infinite patience that drove her daughter insane when she was upset about something. ‘Now take a seat and tell me what’s wrong.’

      ‘You knew, didn’t you?’

      ‘Knew what?’

      ‘About the changes to my security detail.’

      ‘It’s hardly the first change of personnel since we took up residence.’ Her mother raised a brow. ‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?’

      ‘When they were brought in specifically to keep me out of trouble in case I prove an embarrassment to you during the campaign?’

      ‘Well, obviously we would prefer to avoid any negative publicity this close to—’

      ‘I’m more than aware of the responsibilities forced on me since my teens, Mother. I don’t need a reminder.’

      ‘Yet your father and I are being given increasingly regular reports of your acts of rebellion.’ She gracefully folded her hands together on her lap. ‘We were elected to set an example. People expect more of this family. That’s the life we live.’

      ‘We weren’t elected,’ Miranda reminded her. ‘Dad was. I didn’t choose to run for office and I wasn’t elected to the position of your daughter. Doesn’t the fact I’ve lived someone else’s life for half of mine count for anything?’

      ‘Like it or not, you’re still the mayor’s daughter. This is his last term in office and—’

      ‘If he’s elected or are we taking that for granted? Throwing pots of money at the campaign isn’t an automatic guarantee of success.’

      ‘We’re a family, Miranda. We stick together through everything. Once the election is over—’

      A small burst of sarcastic laughter left her lips. ‘I’m supposed to do what—wait until he decides whether he wants to confirm the rumours and run for Governor? Why stop there—what about the White House?’

      ‘That’s your father’s decision.’

      ‘And how I choose to live my life is mine. If you want me to act like a grown-up you have to allow me to be one. How am I supposed to learn from my mistakes if I’m not permitted to make any?’

      ‘Your argument might carry more weight if there was any evidence to support it,’ her mother replied. ‘We gave you more freedom at NYU and you repaid our trust by having your picture splashed across several tabloids.’

      Miranda’s frustration grew. ‘I love dancing and got drunk when I turned twenty-one—how does that make me worse than any other college student in America? I could have been running around in a wet T-shirt during spring break or got arrested at student protests. I could have experimented with drugs or slept with guys who were happy to make a buck selling all the gory details to the press. I didn’t but none of those things matter any more than the long hours I work. Did it occur to either one of you that turning this place into the equivalent of Alcatraz would make the need for escape more necessary? Why do you think Richie chose to attend a college on the other side of the country?’

      ‘There’s no need to raise your voice. If you would learn how to state your case calmly and sensibly the way your brother does—’

      Miranda shook her head. No matter how often she tried to communicate with her mother every conversation left her feeling like a petulant teenager. The truth was her parents didn’t know their son any better than their daughter. While they had disappeared off to countless business meetings, charity benefits and met with people who were keen for her father to launch his political career their daughter had become a surrogate mother.

      She’d read her baby brother bedtime stories and made sure he did his homework. She’d put Band-Aids on cuts, watched cartoons when he was sick and held his hand when they’d had to face a world filled with curious eyes.

      No one had done those things for her.

      ‘I’m done,’ she said flatly. ‘I’ll stick around for the election but once the votes are counted, I’m out. No more public appearances, no more smiling for photographers and no bodyguards following me everywhere I go. I never wanted one to begin with and I don’t see why the taxpayer should suffer because my overprotective parents want to control my every move.’

      It meant breaking the pact she’d made with her brother but it couldn’t be helped. Not when another eight months felt like a life sentence.

      There was a heavy sigh as she turned away. ‘Miranda—’

      ‘I’m going to be late for my first appointment.’ When she yanked the door open and stepped into the hall her gaze lifted and crashed into cobalt-blue eyes.

      Her breath caught. Tyler.

      With her heart still beating hard as a result of a long-overdue parental confrontation she experienced the same difficulty she had the last time his name echoed in her mind. She couldn’t break eye contact, was frozen in place and her brain seemed to have turned into mush.

      He broke the spell with the blink of dense lashes and held out a sheet of paper. ‘I told Grace I’d make sure you got this.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She took the schedule with one hand and closed the door behind her with the other.

      ‘You ready to go?’

      ‘I need a couple of minutes.’

      He nodded. ‘I’ll be outside.’

      Miranda turned the sheet of paper in her hands as they walked down the hall. When she stole an upward glance at his profile she saw the corner of his mouth lift.

      ‘Bye, Grace,’ his voice rumbled.

      ‘Bye, Tyler.’

      Her gaze shifted in time to catch a glimpse of what looked like a hint of warmth on the older woman’s cheeks. In all the years she’d known her, she’d never seen Grace blush. Or be flustered enough to feel the need to shuffle the papers on her desk. Had he just winked at her?

      The thought was surreal.

      When she stole another glance as they approached the top of the stairs he caught her doing it. Adopting the same impassive expression he was wearing, she simply blinked and looked away. If there was one thing she’d learnt about him it was when he had something to say he didn’t have any difficulty opening his mouth. Keeping it shut on the subject of anything he might have heard through the door would be her advice.

      When he remained