Page 25 of Something Borrowed

I roll onto my back and rub eyes that are suddenly hot. I need Stan back. It’s a deep-seated ache that’s always there, making my heart hurt.

But I don’t know how togethim back. It feels like all our old paths that led to each other are overgrown and covered in thorns.

Chapter

Four

Rafferty

Holding tightlyto the cardboard box full of wedding stationery, I nudge the door of Confetti Hitched open and stagger into the reception area.

“Quick,” I gasp. “Clear the desk, Grid.”

Ingrid, the receptionist, looks up from her phone. “What’s in the box?”

“The last person who asked that was Brad Pitt and it didn’t go well.”

“What?”

I shake my head. “You need to watch something other thanReal Housewives.”

“They’re valuable indicators of the shift in society’s values. And I’m sure it was you discussing the New York format last week.”

“It’s just not the same without grown women wetting themselves and falling into the shrubbery.” I groan. “You’ll see the contents of the box close up very soon, if you don’t move that crap on the desk. The bottom’s about to go out of it.”

She jumps up and clears the files out of the way, and I set the box down with a grateful sigh. “Cheers, babe.”

“It’s not crap anyway,” she says thoughtfully. “It’s Jed’s annual job reviews.” She smirks at me. “Shall I destroy yours?”

“The damage was done when we met to discuss the review. He has very piercing eyes. He makes you confess all sorts of things you don’t want to. Dark secrets were spilled.”

“I can’t imagine what you’d have hidden, knowing all the crap you get up to quite openly.”

“I’m still emotionally and mentally scarred.” Jed’s voice comes from behind us. He’s leaning against the door, holding a bunch of files in his hand. “Staff meeting in ten minutes.” He eyes me, and his lip twitches. “We can discuss the Hollis wedding.”

“Or we could chat about world peace. That’s surely a more worthy subject.”

“But not as entertaining. Ten minutes.”

He vanishes back into the office, and I blow out a breath, slumping against the desk. “Shit. I need a vodka.”

“It’s nine in the morning, Colin Farrell.” She settles next to me. “Will it cheer you up if I tell you about the Foston-Halls?”

I turn to her. Ingrid is the eyes and ears of London. Nothing happens on the marital circuit that she doesn’t know about. “Possibly. I still shake when I think of their wedding arrangements. My partner was disturbed mid-shag at two in the morning by her mother ringing me to tell me the napkins were the wrong shade of teal, which still gives me flashbacks.”

“Did you stop shagging?”

“Not likely.”

“You carried on having sex while talking to hermother? The woman who makes Medusa look like a fluffy bunny rabbit?”

I shrug. “My partner’s pleasure is my priority. Men could learn from me.”

Joe appears at the door. “You should have that printed on your business cards.”

“Then I’ll leave the wedding business behind me and open a commune. I will wear a sheet at all times, and men will feed me grapes.”

“Knowing your exes, they’d probably try to choke you with them.”

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