Chapter 3
It’s just after ten o’clock, the house settled into that in-between quiet when everyone’s retreated to their rooms, and I’m flat on my stomach on the bedroom floor.
My overstuffed belly protests the pose as I stretch my arm under the cream valance, fingers groping for my laptop.
No dust bunnies lurking beneath the bed, at least. Mum would approve.
The clack of my nails on the keyboard is cut short by a gentle knock. I freeze. A folder lies open beside me, papers spilling like evidence at a crime scene. How long can I stall before I’m caught?
“Rachel. It’s me.” Sam’s voice, thank god. Relief softens my shoulders. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I keep my voice light as I make a snap decision: I won’t try to hide this from Sam.
She’ll probably scold me for letting my work take over my life, for not resting enough, but I’ve heard that lecture before.
I’ll take a gamble that she won’t dob me in to Haley.
Maid of honour duties trump everything. Protecting the bride’s wellbeing is top of her list, well ahead of mine. My secret will be safe with her.
The door eases open. “Hot chocolate?” Sam thrusts a steaming mug at me. “Might help you sleep. When you eventually get around to it.”
“Thanks.” I take it gratefully as she flops onto the bed beside me. “How did you guess I wouldn’t be asleep?”
“The clattering, for a start.” Her glare flicks to the hastily discarded laptop. “These rooms may be redecorated, but the soundproofing’s rubbish. My pillow’s right through there.” She points at the wall behind me.
“Sorry,” I say. “Bloody work, I’m afraid. And I know—before you start—I shouldn’t be working so hard.”
“No. You haven’t come up for air since Pierre left.” Typical Sam, straight to the elephant in the room. “I get it—burying yourself in work helps block out the past—”
“It’s not the past, Sam. It’s the future I’m worried about here.”
“The partner’s seat?”
“Yes. Three weeks on Monday until they vote. And I wouldn’t be half so worried—I’ve got a great track record—except that fuckwit Marcus Thorne has thrown his hat in the ring too.”
She shudders. “Oh god, no. Not that jumped-up little shit who tried chatting Haley up at The Phoenix on quiz night?”
“One and the same.”
“They’d never make an idiot like him partner over you, Rache,” she scoffs.
“They might,” I sigh. “You’re only as good as your reputation with your latest client. And right now mine is one Marcus and I are both working for. Miranda thought it would be funny to put us on the same case—said if we’ve got what it takes, we’ll prove it by playing nice for the good of the firm.”
Sam’s brows knit. “And?”
“And Marcus gets to wine and dine the client in Hong Kong while I’m stuck here, sneaking onto midnight zoom calls.
He’ll talk golf, guy stuff, build all those cosy little bonds that count for far too much in corporate law.
Every minute’s another chance for him to impress the client—and, by extension, Miranda. ”
“Shit. That sucks. But you can do this, Rachel. You never lose.”
“Not usually,” I say. “Not until recently. When it involved a fiancé…”
She bites her lip. “About that. I know this must be hard—being at a wedding when you had to cancel your own. And I know you’ll never let Haley think you’re not coping. But you’re not.”
“Fuck off, Sam.” Bull’s-eye. She’s nailed it, but I’m not about to hand her the win. “What the fuck makes you think that?”
“That. For a start. All the f-bombs. Since you got here, every second sentence’s had one. And sure, none of us are too prudish to care about swearing, but I know you. When you’re nervous or struggling, it spikes. Tonight you’ve been on high beam—blazing bright. Too bright.”
And she’s right. I know it. This sharp, mouthy version of me is armour—the shield I throw up when I’m off balance. Sam should’ve been a psychologist, not a nurse.
I close my eyes, as if that could block out the truth. When I open them, Sam’s watching me, her gaze soft.
“Yeah. Maybe I was a bit full-on,” I admit. “Think it impressed Teddy Hargrove, though.”
“I know it did.” She grins. “The guy practically hangs on your every word.” Then her smile falters, concern flickering in her eyes. “But I’m more worried that he impressed you. After all, he’s got quite the reputation.”
“Now you sound like Haley, warning me off him.” I try for a breezy shrug. “Don’t worry. I can handle Teddy. I’ve seen his sort before.”
But I haven’t. Not really. I’ve met charming men, sure, but never one like him—famous for churning through women, yet somehow still making me want him. It’s like standing at the edge of a rip current, knowing it’ll drag me out into deep water, and craving the pull all the same.
“You’ll be careful?” Sam’s brows lift, her tone half-warning, half-plea.
“I’ll have fun. And be careful.”
“That’s exactly how it starts, Rache.” She leans forward, eyes concerned. “Telling yourself it’s just a bit of fun, that you’re in control. But guys like him? They’re experts at making you forget the rules.”
“Rules are kind of my specialty, Sam.” I meet her gaze with a faint smile. “Trust me—I’ll make them, I’ll enforce them, and I’ll stick to them.”