He'd seen her around. Heard of her reputation. Miranda Blake was not to be trifled with. For years she'd been whispered about, treated with caution. She had no friends at work. Nobody knew if she had any friends outside of work. The latest news was that she'd been suspended for tipping piping hot chicken curry into the boss's lap. For now she'd cleared out of the office for the grievous offence of assault with a hot implement, investigation pending. She had been surprisingly elusive since then. Max was hoping to bump into her one day. Some people were relieved to see her go. She was a bit prickly. But Max hadn't minded her. She wasn't as obsessed with Spanish civil war military tactics as the previous HR manager and it had become a challenge to try and make her smile. So far he had not been successful but Max loved a challenge. He'd managed to engage her in conversation and had so far gathered that she was not English, but Welsh, hard to flirt with, found floral patterns prissy and thanks to a leaflet on her desk, possibly donated to save donkeys. She had a penchant for eating crisp sandwiches (only salt and vinegar with a medium cheddar would do apparently). She also had a nice arse but he was probably the only one who had noticed.