Page 5 of Stuck

He gave a nervous approximation of a smile. “Er… um, yes… this is… this is Elizabeth.”

I couldn’t contain the little laugh that escaped me when he splayed both his hands towards me as though I were a museum exhibit and he was revealing me in a “ta-da” moment.

“And what a delightful young lady she is,” said Forster, one of the other investors. “You’re a lucky fellow, Bingley. With a woman like this behind you, you can’t fail to succeed.”

I might have said something about women having successfully stepped out from behind men in the last century, but I was distracted by Darcy’s expression. His gaze was flicking between Bingley and me, and he was unmistakably, one hundred percent, scowling. Which was rude. And Bingley was returning his gaze like a puppy that was about to roll over and show his belly in submission. Which was weird.

I was suddenly a lot less amused. Who was this guy to judge his friend’s partner on first sight? It annoyed me enough that I did what I hadn’t done all night—because, frankly, it felt icky. I stepped close into Bingley’s side and grabbed his hand in both of mine, smiling sweetly at him as I might at a real boyfriend. “Of course he’ll succeed, but he doesn’t need my help. Do you, honey?”

Bingley shot me a panic-stricken look, and I nearly snorted. I wasn’t sure why he was so rattled—we could tell his friend the truth as soon as we had a private moment. Still, Jane wouldn’t thank me for giving him a heart attack, so I stopped pressing my boobs against his arm and put some space between us.

“You’re dating?” Darcy asked us. He looked revolted by the idea.

Bingley stopped staring at our still-clasped hands and looked at his friend, smiling in a vaguely affirmative way. Darcy was silent for longer than was comfortable. I wondered what on earth was going to come out of his mouth after such an ominous pause, but in the end, he merely offered a bland “Congratulations” and told the blatant lie that it was nice to meet me before turning to talk to King.

What a guy.

It was a shame, because he was hot. The sort of hot that almost certainly involved heavy weights and Viking genes, judging by the way he filled out his suit. He had dark wavy hair, a killer jawline, eyes that looked almost black in this light… All the sorts of sweeteners that made his being an arsehole exponentially more disappointing.

He didn’t spare me another look, and I returned to smiling asininely at the other men in the group and offering the odd piece of flattery where I thought it would help. It was tedious in the extreme, and even though being an arm ornament was why I’d come, now that Mr Tall, Dark, and Ornery was here, too, I felt a lot more self-conscious about it.

We eventually lost him as we milled about the reception, but I saw him again later, after I excused myself for another toilet break. He was sitting at the bar when I passed it, and for some reason, the sight had me slowing my steps. It wasn’t as though he was morosely nursing his drink or anything, so I don’t know why the thought occurred to me, but there was something about his straight-backed posture and slight frown that gave him a troubled air. He looked oddly lonely, as though he was shouldering some weighty problems and doing his best not to bow under the strain.

I thought I might as well take the opportunity to relieve him of one source of misery and tell him I wasn’t actually sleeping with his friend. I hadn’t gone more than a few steps in that direction when I felt the brush of a hand on my lower back, and I was nudged towards the nearest exit.

“I need to talk to you,” Bingley said in my ear.

I was too weirded out by his intimate touch to object, and before I knew it, we were out of the event room and in the brightly lit lounge at the front of the venue.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, removing his hand. “Had to make it look convincing.”

“Oh. That’s okay, but why? I think the only person who saw us leaving was your friend at the bar.”

“Yes, that’s who I was trying to convince.”

I’d been looking around, blinking as my eyes adjusted, but on hearing this, I whipped back to face him. “Huh?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think he believed us.”

I laughed. “We don’t need him to believe we’re together, you numpty. It’s all right—I get the impression he’ll be thoroughly relieved when you explain it to him.”

“About that. Do you think we could… not tell him?”

I narrowed my eyes and peered at him, but I wasn’t struck with any new clues as to what in the actual fudge bucket he was talking about, so I opted instead for another “Huh?”

“Can we sit? I’ll explain.”

We found a couple of empty armchairs looking out over the road, and I watched with increasing alarm as Bingley fidgeted and grimaced but didn’t begin his promised explanation. And, as with my questionable wardrobe choice for the evening, I suddenly couldn’t remember why I’d ever thought it was a good idea to agree to fake date my sister’s boyfriend.

“Exactly how worried should I be?”

“Sorry—just trying to work out where to start. It’s kind of embarrassing,” he admitted with a rueful grin. “You know what I told you earlier about my ex?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that wasn’t exactly the whole story. Laura did more than make a few unpleasant remarks. She ran a whole smear campaign against me, lost me some friends, embarrassed my family… Things went to hell in a handcart for a while. I took my eye off the ball at work, with some almost disastrous consequences.”

“Yikes.”