Page 11 of That Secret Something

It wasn’t just that she’d named her child Herculerian Ragwort Thompson IV, or that she’d insisted this name was printed on the banner. It was the fact I’d had to painstakingly sew the name on there myself—a name that had kept me awake last night and left me grumpy and tired this morning—because the damn printer company had spelt it wrong.

All for her to screw the banner up into a tiny ball and drop it onto her plush white carpet.

She’d better not expect me to pick that up.

“So, yeah.” She fluffed up her shiny red hair and glanced about her immaculate living room before turning to me. “A proper baby blue and then these would be perf.”

I squeezed my fists together and blew out a breath, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “This is the baby blue that you picked from the swatches. Would you like to look at them again?”

Maggie’s perfectly tweezed eyebrows quirked together. “Or what about green? Green might be better. Green like the grass. That’s symbolic, isn’t it?”

It was diabolic. That’s what it was.

I sucked in another breath and smoothed down my white button-up shirt. “The thing is, Maggie, the silk you’ve chosen needs to be ordered in advance, and it’s cutting it a bit close when the party is this weekend.”

“Oh.” She placed a manicured hand on her hip and pouted. “I think we’ll go with the baby blue then. But not that baby blue. Proper baby blue. Know what I mean?”

By the time I left Maggie’s house, I was ready to drive my car into the nearest lamppost. There were few things I hated more than being late, but Maggie Thompson was edging closer to the top of that list with every second she breathed. As it stood, I was running late and on a full meter of Maggie Thompson’s ridiculous requests.

Can you arrange doves to spell out Herculerian’s name? No.

Could you get the local Waitrose to give a discount on his party food? Double no.

Would you like to bring someone to the party? There’s not a chance in sweet heavenly hell I’d put someone through that. Even if I had someone to bring.

I checked my watch for the fourth time as I pulled into the car park. I knew Lily would be forgiving if I was a few minutes late, but I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks, and I was really looking forward to letting off some steam.

I hurried across the street, careful to avoid the ice, and ducked into our favourite Mexican restaurant. The hot air from the heater above crept into my fingers, helping thaw the January chill while I waited at the door. The aroma of fresh garlic and spices made my stomach rumble; I’d missed lunch again.

Tristan, a waiter in a red striped shirt and nephew of the owner, greeted me with a smile. I cursed softly when he informed me Lily was here already as he led me to our table. Giant artificial palm trees loomed overhead, and red neon signs with various Spanish words hung from the ceilings. I’d struggled with languages at school; there were too many grammar rules, and I was afraid of getting it wrong. I could remember the basics to get by, though—dos tequilas, por favor.

I eyed the giant plastic tequila bottle fixed on the back wall. Maybe a shot wouldn’t be out of the question? It’d been a shitty day, after all, and some liquid courage would help me get through the rest of the week.

I spotted Lily inside a chunky red booth in the corner and gave her a wave. She waved back before returning to her conversation with a woman with a headful of dark hair.

I hadn’t realised somebody else was joining us. And Lily wasn’t one to keep surprises from me, either. She knew how much I hated them.

With the person’s back to me, it wasn’t until Tristan had walked us right up to the booth that I realised who it was. Ugh! What the hell is Rebecca doing here? Hot nervous energy covered me head to toe like lava.

“Hey, Grant,” Rebecca said, glancing up from their conversation. She pinned me in place with her gaze, her green eyes already glinting with mischief. That woman had far too much power embedded in her stare. She tapped the red leather seat, a smile playing on her lips. “Want me to scoot?”

Sitting side by side and feeling the heat of her body against mine? “No, no, that’s fine.” I waved my hand and looked away. Tonight is definitely a night for tequila.

I’d not seen Rebecca much since that night that won’t be mentioned. She’d been away at university and then had travelled across Europe, and I’d been busy with work. Our paths hadn’t really crossed, and it’d been easier to suppress those memories.

But now, they swam to the surface, trying to pull me back down into the dangerous depths of Rebecca Lawson. Her scent filled my senses. That familiar hint of cherry. How soft her lips looked.

Bloody hell.

I sat so quickly on the other side of the booth, I almost sat on Lily’s knee.

She cackled. “God, Jess. You could at least buy me a drink first.”

“Sorry, sorry. I just—”

Sitting opposite Rebecca, in retrospect, might’ve been the worse choice. There was no escaping those high cheekbones or her strong jaw. The way her chocolate-brown hair looked so soft to touch, shimmering like water under the warm lights. Why does she always look so flawless?

I brushed through my blonde ponytail with my fingers, trying to poke the loose hairs back into place. If I’d known Rebecca was going to be here, I would’ve dressed up—or dressed down, if my red skimpy dress was clean. It dipped in all the right places, accentuating my boobs in a way that seemed to defy gravity. The perfect confidence booster.

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