Page 60 of Stuck

I almost stormed in to confront them, but I was too angry. I couldn’t think straight, so I strode away. A car honked at me as I ploughed into the road without looking, my hands laced together behind my head and my vision blurred with rage. I got two streets away before spinning on my heel and marching back again. Forget waiting, I needed to know what they were planning, what they already knew, how much time we had to stop whatever they’d put in motion.

But they were gone. I pushed my way into the bar and searched every table, the toilets, the private event room, everywhere—they were nowhere to be seen. Back on the street, I pulled out my phone and turned it on, watching a stream of missed calls and texts from Bingley pop up, asking me to call him. I did, only to discover that now his phone was turned off.

“Damn it!”

“You all right, mate?” a lad in a do-rag and low-slung jeans asked me as he passed by on the pavement.

Great. Reduced to being pitied by gangly teenagers. I nodded. He did, too, before loping away, but I’d lied. I was the farthest thing from all right. The implications for Bingley’s business aside, what I’d just witnessed was still burning like acid through me. I hadn’t thought anything could hurt more than watching Elizabeth with Bingley, but I knew better now. Now, I’d seen her with Wickham, and that hurt so much I could barely breathe.

26

ELIZABETH

By Monday morning, my hair was in dire need of washing, but with Jane still away, I had to do it without assistance, one-handed, in the shower, to keep my dressing dry. Unable to wrangle the hair dryer, I had no choice but to let it air-dry afterwards. After that battle, I had an appointment at the hospital to have said dressing changed and my stitches checked. Which was why I got to the office an hour and a half late and looking a lot like a startled porcupine.

“I’m here,” I let Don know as I passed his open door. I’d emailed him about my appointment, but I wondered whether he’d forgotten when he looked up from his work with a deep frown and called me into his office.

“Shut the door please, Elizabeth.”

Once I had, he got up and came out from behind his desk to lean against the front of it, a weird look on his face.

“Is something the matter?” I asked warily.

“I don’t know. Darcy has asked to see you in his office as soon as you get in. I wanted to ask you whether anything was wrong before you spoke to him. He seemed uncharacteristically worked up. You don’t often see that man angry.”

A frisson of emotion twisted my insides tightly. Which emotion, I couldn’t determine. I’d wanted Bingley to fess up, but now that it had clearly happened, I was suddenly nervous. I’d known Darcy would be upset, and I was deeply sorry for that, but I’d also been certain he wouldn’t take it out on me at work.

“Do you have any inkling what it might be about?” Don asked.

I sighed. I couldn’t explain it without undermining the respect Bingley had earned as CEO or making myself look less than exemplary. It had only ever been meant as a little white lie between friends, not a company-wide hoax.

I had no choice but to lie. Again. “No. I can’t think of anything.”

“Right, well, would you like me or a member of HR to come with you?”

“Oh! Um… I’m sure that’s not necessary. I’ll go and see him now and fill you in afterwards.”

He didn’t look happy, but he agreed. I didn’t bother dropping my things at my desk and headed straight for Darcy’s office, my heart tripping over itself with nerves.

I knocked on the door and listened anxiously for his instruction to enter. As soon as he saw me, his expression turned thunderous, and his voice, when he spoke, was glacial.

“Miss Bennet. Take a seat.”

Miss Bennet? Blimey, this was worse than I thought. I lowered myself into the chair he pointed at and put my bags and coat on the floor next to me. He didn’t speak straight away; he didn’t seem able to. Don was right, he was livid. He held a retractable pen in one hand and was turning it over and over, clicking the button on every pass. His other hand was resting on the desk in a tight fist, and he was staring down at the empty space between them.

Just my luck, given my own distinctly unpolished appearance, he looked extra handsome today, his hair a little more ruffled than usual; no jacket, waistcoat, or tie; and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He was head to toe in black, making it feel even more like my funeral.

I watched him for what felt like eons but was probably less than a minute before I caved, unable to bear the tension. “I’m assuming you know, then?”

His head came up lightning fast, and his eyes bored into me. “You’re not even going to bother denying it?”

He looked every bit as hurt as I’d feared he would, although I wasn’t sure I’d have seen it if I hadn’t been looking for it, because it was masked behind a glare of truly alarming contempt. Even so, his question had me on the back foot.

“What would be the point?”

His lips pressed together, and his jaw tensed as he sucked in air through his nose, his fury palpable. “None, I suppose, but I thought you might feel some measure of remorse.”

“Of course I do. I’ve hated lying to you. I never would have agreed to it if I’d known how much it would upset you.”