Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Stella
I stared into the glass of wine Florence had put in front of me. She’d found an excuse to be passing by my office every day since she’d told me about Matt and Karen, which meant I wasn’t drinking alone.
The same bar. A fresh glass of wine.
The last three weeks had been like being stuck in a fog where I couldn’t see anything, think about anything other than Karen and Matt. It was the fog of betrayal.
I’d been going into the office, but I didn’t remember doing anything other than logging on at the beginning of the day and logging off at the end of the day.
I still didn’t have the answers to any of the endless questions I had.
“You two should go and then you can report back on how awful it is and how tasteless her dress is,” I said.
Poor Florence. Doubtless she was bored of my endless rumination about what had happened.
I wanted to snap out of it. To think about something else.
But I was just stuck in this awful no-man’s-land where I tortured myself with a thousand imagined scenes of Matt and Karen over and over.
Creeping around behind my back.
Laughing about how stupid I was for not realizing it was her he loved. Not me.
Hunched over a calendar trying to find the perfect Saturday to get married.
Putting together a wedding list.
Choosing wedding invitations.
Kissing.
Fucking.
I grabbed my glass of wine and gulped down a mouthful, hoping it would dull my imagination.
“Maybe you should go with a hired hot, sexy stud—like in that film,” Florence said. “The one with the woman from Will and Grace.”
“The Wedding Date?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Seriously. There must be an agency in London. You could even pretend you’re engaged. That way you get to ruin Karen’s big day by shaming her. First for stealing your boyfriend and second for inviting you.”
“What did they put in that wine?” I asked. Florence was an accountant and always dreaming up alternate, more exciting realities for herself. “You know I couldn’t do that.”
“But you should. Karen’s stolen your boyfriend and you don’t want to embarrass her? You need to start putting yourself first. You’re always so focused on everyone else; you need to put your needs at the top of the list.”
“I’m pretty sure Dermot Mulroney isn’t for hire, and that film didn’t take social media into account. People would just look up a hired boyfriend. Find out he charges by the hour, and I’ll look like a total idiot. So really, I am thinking about myself.”
“Yeah, maybe. He needs to be some hotshot international businessman or Hollywood actor or—”
“At least know how to wear a suit,” I said.
“Speaking of,” Florence said, staring over my shoulder.
I turned and saw what Florence was fixated on. Or more accurately, who. He wasn’t her usual type. Tall, yes, but Florence usually went for blonds. Thick, dark hair, olive skin, and the square jaw was more my type. In theory, anyway.
In practice . . . Well, Matt hadn’t been short exactly, but we were the same height when I wore heels. He was handsome—to me anyway. But he wasn’t the kind of guy you’d particularly notice.
But this guy wasn’t a man anyone could ignore.
He caught me staring and grinned. Instinctively, I smiled back. I turned to Florence as the man swept past our table and up the stone steps flanked with bay trees and into the bar.
“You need to be dating someone like that and take him to the wedding,” Florence said.
“That guy is either married or gay. And if by some miracle he’s neither, then he’s a psychopath.
Men are a no-go zone for me. I don’t trust myself.
If I’ve been wrong about the man I’ve been sharing a bed with for the last seven years, then I’m no doubt wrong about a lot of other stuff and everything to do with people with penises. ”
“Ladies.” A waiter approached our table with an ice bucket and two champagne glasses.
“We didn’t order this,” I said, eyeing the bottle of Dom and wishing we had.
“It’s from the gentleman at the bar,” he replied, nodding toward the window.
Turning, I locked eyes with the dark-haired stranger who had knocked me out of my wallowing for just a few seconds.
“We can’t accept this,” I said as the waiter poured the champagne into glasses. Something about the way my smile had come so easily made me uneasy. If he could coax a smile from me with the mood I was in, he definitely couldn’t be trusted.
“Of course we can,” Florence said, raising her full glass at the stranger.
I rolled my eyes and took a sip, determined not to look at him again. “So, you think I should ignore the invitation or RSVP no?”
“I think you should RSVP with a letter bomb or say nothing at all,” Florence replied.
“It would be nice if I had an exciting reason to say no, other than the obvious,” I said.
“Just don’t reply. Or make up a reason. Say you’re in the Maldives for work.”
“Yeah, no one’s going to believe I flew to the Maldives for work. I’m a recruitment consultant, not a supermodel.” The only travel I’d done since I started two months ago was to our head office in Wiltshire, and I wasn’t sure a day trip to Swindon was going to make anyone jealous.
“I guess. But at least you can talk about your promotion.”
“Again, head of professional services at a recruitment consultancy isn’t going to get anyone’s attention.” My quick promotion had been welcome, but it hadn’t filled my heart or satisfied my soul. It had paid the mortgage.
“Have you totally given up on the interior design thing?”
Florence’s question should have had an easy answer.
When Matt had moved out, I’d been building up my business, but I wasn’t making any money and I had bills to pay, so I’d had to be sensible and take the first job that came along.
I still wasn’t convinced it had been the right thing to do, but I’d clung to the flat we’d shared, insisting I stay in it, so he’d signed it over to me—mortgage and all.
At the back of my mind, I’d thought he’d come back—come home to me.
“Recruitment provides a steady income I need to pay the mortgage.”
“I can’t believe you gave up your business and moved to London for him, then he turned around and did this to you.”
“I didn’t move to London for him.” That made me sound weak, and I might have been cheated on and betrayed, but I refused to become a victim.
“You’d still be in Manchester if he hadn’t had that job opportunity.”
“I know, but we were a couple, a team, and it was his dream job.” My interior design business had been thriving.
I’d started getting repeat business, and every job I got led to another.
Matt’s job offer had been his dream—and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
“He was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. I wanted him to have the job he always wanted.”
“So you put him first, like you always do.”
“I chose our relationship—I chose the dream of a future together. I thought I’d be able to build an interior design business in London.
” The first few months had been spent settling in and establishing contacts.
But when Matt had left me, I’d had no clients to speak of and a mortgage to pay.
I’d done the only thing I could do—applied for everything I could find whether or not it was design related.
“But you hate recruitment. You said it was just temporary, and that you’d do it while you were building your client list.”
“Yeah, but then life happens.” Recruitment was long hours.
Since I started the job, I didn’t feel like my life was my own.
My boss seemed to think she owned me. Last Wednesday she’d called me at ten-thirty at night.
I’d been in bed with my iPad, watching The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, hoping to stumble across a spell to turn my life around.
She didn’t even mention the time, as if it was totally reasonable to call and ask whether the interviews for one of our big clients had gone well.
“The only way I could go back to interior design would be if I landed a single client who could keep me busy for, say, six months. That way, I’d have guaranteed money and an up-to-date portfolio that would lead to more work. ”
“Can’t you get a job at an interior design business? At least you’d be doing what you loved.”
“There just aren’t many jobs and when they do come up, the pay is terrible because it’s full of trust-fund kids. They don’t need the money.”
“Excuse me.” The very deep, male voice made the soles of my feet vibrate and my skin pebble with goosebumps.
I looked up into the sunshine and found the hot suit who had bought us champagne standing by our table. My smile overtook me as if elbowing my brain, which knew better, out of the way. “Erm, thank you for the champagne,” I mumbled.
“I couldn’t help but notice you as I passed by, and I wanted to get your attention.”
I didn’t say that he’d managed that just by walking by. “It’s a welcome treat after a shitty day,” I replied. He smiled, and for a split second it was as if a ten-foot wall had appeared, surrounding us, blocking out the rest of the world, leaving just the two of us staring at each other.
“I’m sorry to hear that you’ve had a bad day, but I’m pleased I could improve it,” he said, flashing me a smile that I felt in my knees.
His broad shoulders, the warmth that bubbled beneath my skin when he spoke, a cupid’s bow so sharply drawn I’d like to follow its curve with my tongue all said the same thing—this guy was all man.
“Please, join us,” Florence said, and I wanted to kill her. She knew I was now sworn to a life of celibacy. I didn’t need Sex-God Suit waving temptation in my face. Plus I was wearing a splash of the miso soup I’d had for lunch—more proof I wasn’t ready to flirt. Date. Interact with men.
“You two have fun,” I said, bending to pick up my bag. “I’m going to head off.”
I knew Florence was scowling at me without even looking at her. But I didn’t care. Okay, so men didn’t hit on me all the time, but today wasn’t the day. I wanted to go home, get into my pajamas, watch Made in Chelsea, and eat my body weight in frozen yogurt.
As I stood, Hot Suit put his hand on my shoulder.
“Five minutes of your time? I have a proposal for you, Stella.”
I froze, a chill running down my spine as I tried to figure out how the hell he knew my name.