Page 20 of Stuck

“What?” I shrieked. “Nobody mentioned a gala!”

“Didn’t they?” Jane asked weakly. She smiled sheepishly and added, “I hear there’ll be fireworks…”

“Don’t you try and sweet-talk me, missy!” I held up a finger in her face. “Even if—and it’s a big if—I agree to go to that as Bingley’s plus-one, there’s no reason Darcy couldn’t know the truth beforehand. He’s a big boy. He can keep his mouth shut, I’m sure.”

She was shaking her head before I finished speaking. “Bingley said he hates deception. He’ll despise being made to lie to anyone else even more than he’ll hate having been lied to.”

“Seriously? Can you hear yourself, Jane? You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend’s girlfriend because—what? Bingley would rather carry on lying than have an awkward conversation with his best mate? You know Darcy is a rational adult, right? What does Bingley think he’s going to do, hospitalise him?”

Jane’s face fell, and she took a deep breath, shaking her head. “He thinks he’s going to be disappointed in him.”

“More so the longer this goes on, surely!”

An uncharacteristically reproachful look glinted in her eyes. “It matters to him, Lizzy. A lot. This company buyout is as much about proving himself to Darcy as it is honouring his father. He wants to at least sort out the investment before he deals with the fallout from this mess. And really, it’s only a very teeny white lie. It’s not as though you’re pretending to be married. Can’t you just give him a little more time—if not until after the gala, then at least until he gets home, so he can explain face-to-face?”

Gritting my teeth, I flopped back against the sofa cushions. “This is so stupid!”

Jane didn’t reply. I rolled my head to look at her, expecting to see contrition or worry on her face, but instead was met with a sappy grin.

“I think I am stupid for him,” she admitted. “He makes me do crazy things.”

“No, he makes me do crazy things! He treats you like a queen.” Jane’s smile widened, and I sighed, because I couldn’t hate anyone who made her that happy. “But I suppose, since it looks increasingly likely that the idiot is going to end up being a long-term addition to the family, I ought to be more loyal to him than his grumpy friend. Even if I do think you’re both doing Darcy dirty.”

Jane bumped me with her shoulder. “Thank you.”

I told her it was okay, and perhaps thanks to the four Brambles still sloshing around my bloodstream, I mostly believed it would be. I’d just have to make a more concerted effort to avoid him.

10

DARCY

I looked up from my screen and squinted at the sunlight coming in diffuse shafts through the windows. It was a beautiful afternoon, and I was hit with a fleeting desire to be outside, enjoying it, instead of sitting at my desk, trawling through dense technical documents. Two days in, and this week was set to make the previous jam-packed one a holiday in comparison. I’d barely had a minute to think straight, let alone take notice of what was going on beyond the high windows of the Hydro Crops offices.

I might not have time for wistfulness, but I did, I decided, have time for coffee. I stood up, stretched a few cracks out of my spine, and made my way to the kitchen. Someone else was already in there, using the machine, so I got a mug from the cupboard and leant against the counter to wait.

I didn’t recognise her from behind, and she didn’t respond to my “Afternoon,” keeping her back to me as the machine whirred. Fine; I was content not to chat if that’s what she preferred. Except, when the machine fell silent and the coffee stopped dribbling into her mug, she still didn’t move. Then she let out a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

“Is everything all right?” I asked quietly.

She nodded, clearly not wishing to talk. I was about to leave to give her some privacy when she shuddered, shook her head, and began to cry in earnest. “Sorry. Ignore me.”

“I’m not going to do that,” I said as gently as I could.

She glanced at me, her eyes going wide before she looked quickly away again. “Oh no, it’s you! I’m sorry, Mr Darcy! This is so embarrassing.”

Now that I’d seen her face, I recognised her from the pub on Friday. “Fiona, there’s no need to be embarrassed. Is there anything I can do?”

She whimpered a quiet “No,” her distress unabated.

I wasn’t fazed by crying; bringing up my teenage sister had rid me of any discomfort on that score. Fiona’s embarrassment, on the other hand, was a more pressing concern. “Is there someone else you’d like me to fetch for you? Someone you’d be more comfortable talking to?”

She didn’t seem able to answer and was frantically wiping her cheeks and nose with her sleeve as she wept. I looked in the cupboards until I found a pack of paper napkins and passed her a couple. She hiccupped a thank-you as she pressed them to her eyes.

“Is this a work-related issue or a personal matter? Because if something’s upset you at work, you can rest assured that we’ll deal with it.”

“It’s not work.”

“Okay. Well, if you need to go home, that’s fine. I’ll clear it with your manager.”