Page 63 of Stuck

I jumped when the door opened without a knock, and the burst of adrenaline did not ease off when Bingley walked in looking tired and worried, because I knew I was about to make his day a whole lot worse.

“Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled. “Delays on the Eurostar. I would have called, but my phone ran out of juice.”

“Not a problem, you’re here now. Want to do this in here or your office?”

“Here. Your booze is better than mine.”

I chuckled darkly as I retrieved the bourbon and two of the glasses that I kept on the bookshelf and poured us each a measure. He took his jacket off and draped it over a chair at the meeting table, slumping into the seat next to it and setting his phone on one of the wireless chargers built into the surface. I joined him, sliding his drink towards him, and we sat, unspeaking, as we both took an appreciative sip. The calm before the storm.

“It didn’t go well,” he said after a while.

“We’ll get to that. There’s something more important we need to discuss first.” I ran my tongue over my teeth, trying to decide on my words. “Have you heard from Elizabeth at all today?”

Alarm flashed over his face. “No. Why?”

“I had to send her home this morning. I have cause to believe she’s been leaking company secrets. To George Wickham.”

He stared at me in disbelief, his mouth moving but no words coming out as a deep flush climbed up his cheeks.

“And—I’m sorry, there’s no easy way to say this—but there may be more to their relationship than IP theft. I saw them together. Last night. They were…” I sighed, remembering when I’d broken the news to him about Laura’s cheating and despising having to do it again. “Suffice to say they looked well acquainted.”

“No.” He was shaking his head. “No, Darcy, you’ve got it wrong.”

“She admitted it.”

“What?”

“I called her in this morning to ask her to explain why she was with him. I was suspicious, but I still hoped she’d have a rational explanation for it. Instead, she walked in here and straight up confessed to it. She tried to backpedal when I mentioned the lawyers⁠—”

“You’ve involved the lawyers?”

“I had to. There’s too much at stake to ignore the threat. You know this.”

He put his head in his hands and groaned. I wished I could make this easier for him, but he needed to hear the whole of it.

“She admitted never having been truly interested in you. I’m sorry, Bingley. She’s been using you.”

He mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like “What have you done?”

Before I could ask him what he meant, he let out another, louder groan and dropped both his forearms onto the table, leaving him all but lying across the surface. He raised his eyes to mine, the look on his face one of… contrition?

“She hasn’t been using me, Darcy. I’ve been using her.” He hauled himself upright, only to slump backwards in his chair, his chin tipped to the ceiling and his hands over his face. “Bloody hell. Jane’s going to kill me.”

A sliver of foreboding snaked its way into my gut. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen Bingley like this. He had a tendency to fall into a scalded-child persona when he’d screwed up.

“Who’s Jane?” I asked in as calm a voice as I could manage.

Slowly, he lowered his hands and lifted his head. There was a grimace forged into his features. He looked as though he was preparing himself to be bludgeoned. “She’s my girlfriend. And Elizabeth’s sister.”

The room fell into silence. The colour had drained from Bingley’s cheeks, leaving him ashen. I couldn’t imagine I looked much better. Elizabeth was not his girlfriend? Something, somewhere deep inside me, screamed that I should be elated by this revelation. The greater part of me sensed that this was in no way cause for celebration.

“Explain.”

Bingley sat fully upright, loosening his tie. He could barely hold eye contact with me, his gaze darting to mine and away again repeatedly. “Not long after Elizabeth started working here, her sister Jane came out on one of our Friday-night works drinks.”

My head began swimming with piecemeal memories. I knew Elizabeth’s eldest sister was called Jane. They lived together. The photo of Bingley on the fridge—it was hers. One of the four sisters who didn’t approve of Elizabeth’s involvement with Tom Bennet. The real reason she hadn’t wanted Bingley to know about it: he’d tell Jane. I’ve hated lying to you. Then why did she?

The tumult kept me quiet, and when I didn’t say any more, Bingley haltingly continued.