Page 39 of Famous Last

“For having a sick day?” asked Darcy after taking an appreciative sip.

“Spencer,” said Marshall, placing a warm hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “if you want me to call Muriel and explain to her why you weren’t in—”

“Don’t you dare!” said Spencer, handing the next drink to him.

“No fucking way,” said Darcy, at the same time.

Both of them chuckled at their similar responses, while Marshall rolled his eyes.

“I guess that’s decided, then,” he said.

For the next hour, they chatted like old friends. When pushed, Darcy spoke sparingly about developments over the weekend. Spencer felt sure she heavily edited the truth. Even so, she gave them a pretty harrowing picture of the pandemonium the story had caused, especially for the people close to Marshall.

Marshall inspired Bev when he elaborated on his earlier comment—virtuallypossible—about holding the client event virtually, not with guests in a room but with them attending online. At first Spencer doubted whether an online event could generate the same interest or fun as its physical equivalent, butMarshall enthused about a hugely successful virtual client event he had attended in September. The party for the launch of a new car by a world-class manufacturer had been organised by a company catering virtual parties and had included a link to a screen interface made to look like a racing track. Pavilions bordering the racetrack had represented different aspects of the launch, such as talks about engine specifications, video demonstrations and even computer driving games, all things happening simultaneously. Bev listened without speaking or interrupting—which Spencer had rarely seen—and guessed the seeds of an idea had already been sown.

Eventually Darcy checked the time and announced they had to leave. Beverley offered to wash glasses, while Marshall expressed his need to use the bathroom before they departed. Darcy invited Spencer to show her around the rest of the flat, an odd request and not difficult bearing in mind the single-bedroom affair. Once inside the bedroom, however, her real intention became clear.

“Okay, Spencer K Wyrrell,” she said in a lowered voice. “I want the truth. Are you playing him? Do you have an angle here?”

“An angle?”

“Don’t act dumb, dear. Are you playing Marshall? Are you snuggling up because you want an exclusive for one of Moresby’s magazines? Because if that’s the reason you’ve taken him in and why you’re being so nice, you had better be well-armed.Capiche? I play a mean fucking game, and I take no prisoners.”

“No, I—I just like him. There’s no ulterior motive, no angle, I promise. I don’t want an interview or a story. I’m a junior copy editor at the magazine, nobody important.”

“In which case, what’s this he just whispered to me about interviewing Muriel Moresby? At her magazine’s client event?”

Spencer’s mouth dropped open.

“That washisidea, not mine. If you’d rather he didn’t do it, that’s fine by me. As long as he’s okay. And honestly, if you need me to sign an NDA or something about him being here today, then I would be more than happy to do so.”

“You’d really do that?”

“If it makes you both feel more comfortable, then yes.”

She studied him for a long moment before visibly relaxing. Without taking her eyes from him, she unclasped her bag and put a slender hand inside.

“I’m sorry for being a bitch, but he’s been let down a lot lately. By people he thought he could trust. You’re the one on the roof, aren’t you?” she said, handing over her business card. “The one who talked sense into him that night?”

“I’m not sure you’d call it sense, but I did make him laugh.”

“Whatever you did, he’s a little smitten. But be careful with him. He has a fragile heart.”

“Something we have in common.”

Darcy appeared to be warming to him. She didn’t apologise again for her harsh words, but her tone softened. He didn’t blame her. Somebody needed to be firmly in Marshall’s corner.

“He needs his friends around him right now, Spencer.”

“I know, and I’m glad he has you. I’m also here, Darcy. Whenever he needs me. No angles, I promise.”

“Yes, I think I believe you. And, trust me, that does not happen often. There are a lot of ruthless bastards out there. That’s my personal number on the card. If you need to call me, for any reason, do so.”

“Thank you.”

“Not from inside this cave, of course.”

“Of course,” said Spencer, grinning.

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