Page 8 of Stuck

“No? You didn’t think Laura would⁠—”

“I’ve already told you not to compare her to Laura,” he snapped.

“Why not? She’s barely been here a few months, and already she’s found her way into bed with the CEO.”

I immediately regretted the low blow, but before I could take it back, Bingley let out a sharp puff of air, angry in a way I didn’t often see.

“Wow,” he spat, his voice laced with bitterness. “You really do have a low opinion of my ability to maintain a healthy relationship, don’t you?”

I winced, but I wouldn’t lie. “You can’t deny that you have a proven track record of picking relationships that will cause you the most emotional, financial, and reputational damage—both in business and on Instagram.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets and fixed his eyes on the floor, nodding as he worked through what he wanted to say. I waited. When he met my gaze, his expression was unreadable.

“If it’s my reputation you’re worried about, you ought to know that King is expecting her on my arm at his gala on the twenty-fourth. I wouldn’t want to have to explain to him that I’m incapable of keeping hold of a good woman.”

He was right, we didn’t want to give the notoriously old-fashioned, nuclear family-focused financier any reason to change his mind about investing in us. Not at this stage. But I was right that Bingley had terrible luck with women. Still, I hadn’t meant to be such a dick about it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply⁠—”

“Yes, you did. But you’re going to have to start trusting me at some point.”

I opened my mouth to try again, but he talked over me. I’d never seen him so annoyed.

“Leave it, will you, Darcy? We’ve got a job to do. Let’s focus on that.”

We held each other’s gazes for a moment. He wasn’t going to back down. And I didn’t want to think too hard about why I’d seized so vehemently onto this excuse to make him. It probably wasn’t that problematic for him to discreetly date a contractor for a few months. I’d unquestionably kicked up more of a stink than it warranted—and insulted his girlfriend for the second time in twenty-four hours in the process.

“You’re right. Let’s say no more about it.”

He visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping. “Thank you. I’ll see you in a bit. The first meeting’s been pushed back to ten, but I’ve got a few things to wrap up before then.” He turned to go but paused at the door. “Stay out of Elizabeth’s way as much as you can while I’m out of the office, will you? I don’t want you making her feel uncomfortable.”

And that was when it finally sank in that, for the foreseeable future, Elizabeth and I were going to be working together. It was extremely unfortunate, therefore, that the shape of her—previously hidden beneath an ugly, knitted dress but revealed moments ago in all its glory by her tailored trousers, satin blouse, and tightly fitted tweed waistcoat—was now burned into my retinas.

Yep. I was well and truly screwed.

5

ELIZABETH

Bingley had been dating my sister for almost two months, and in all that time, I hadn’t had a negative thought about him. He never kept her waiting, made her smile like she’d forgotten what day it was, and put the loo seat down behind him. I had zero complaints.

Right then, though? I could happily have kneed him in the balls.

“What do you mean you’re going to Edinburgh?”

This was the news I’d been greeted with when he summoned me to his office to explain the fiasco in the kitchen. Not an apology for forgetting to mention that his glowering sentinel of a friend was not just a financial backer but worked here. Not the happy tidings that he’d owned up about our idiotic fib. No, the intelligence my boss had kindly imparted was that he was buggering off to Scotland, leaving me alone to deal with his mess.

As if sensing the danger to his nads, he dropped down to perch on the edge of his desk and leant forwards, shrugging. “It’s been in the diary for ages.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a contractor in your legal department, not your Executive Assistant. I am not familiar with your diary.”

He blushed, looking even more uncomfortable. “I meant Jane’s diary. On the fridge.”

“I’m not her assistant either!” We were in his office with the door shut but had been feigning easy body language and talking quietly because his office wall was entirely made of glass. But my fists were now clenched, and my whisper-shouts were escalating perilously close to real shouting. After a deep breath, I replied in a calmer tone, trying for a natural smile that may nevertheless have looked as though rigor mortis was setting in.

“If you’d told me you expected me to carry on this charade for longer than a few hours, I would never have agreed to play along.”

“I swear, I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. I didn’t think beyond last night at all, if I’m honest. I just wanted to avoid making a scene at the reception and didn’t think it through.”