Page 36 of The Worst Guy Ever
Instead, I pull up LinkedIn, find Lawrence’s profile and start scrolling through his contacts until I find who I’m looking for.
David Morrison.
It’s so rare that I know their last names, but I wouldn’t forget the man in the profile photo staring back at me. I can’t remember when we met, or even how, but I can definitely remember that face staring down at me as I worked my magic on my knees. And now there it is in black and white,Marketing Director at Spirited. I jump over to Facebook and type in his name, clicking on the third profile, with a photo matching the one on LinkedIn.
This profile is far less professional, but filled – fucking,filled– with photos of him, a gorgeous brunette, and three children who all look to be under seven. Two boys and a girl. Pictures of them posing at what looks like someone else’s wedding. Pictures of them at the beach, selfies with his wife, there’s even one of David smashing through the ribbon at the finish line at a school sports day.
There’s no getting around it. David Morrison is a family man. And my new client. And I’ve shagged him.
You have got to be shitting me.I have never done anything in my life to deserve this level of karma.
My cheeks burn, and I shove my phone in my bag, picking apart the past couple of months. David’s employment dates line up with Brent leaving. Does he know who I am? Did he ask for me to be taken off the account? Has everyone been talking about me behind my back?
My heart pounds while I give the room another once over, adjusting all the candle jars a millimetre or so, as if that millimetre will help keep my life from falling apart. According to the wedding itinerary spreadsheet, it’s much too early to light them, but I’m fidgety and need something to keep my hands busy. I’ve got no idea how to work anything at the bar, but I pull a Sauvignon Blanc from one of the low fridges and drink the final glass straight from the bottle. At one end of the bar, a box of crisps calls my name. I was much too stressed to eat breakfast, and I need food in my belly before I puke up nothing.
I grab a packet and tear them open, walking back around the bar to scan the room for other imaginary imperfections I can fix before the guests arrive. When I hear the door swing open, I don’t need to turn to see who else is early.
Here we go.
Rob in a dark tweed suit, his hair styled away from his face, is truly a sight to behold. Christ, he has no business looking this good. Or smelling this good, a recent spritz of his favourite cologne filling my nostrils. It’s the best smell on earth and a million times better than the last time I saw him, the two of us drenched in river scum. Turns out a man clambering out of a body of water looks a lot less like Anthony Bridgerton than you’d hope.
I still don’t know what possessed me to jump into the river. Lately, I feel like I’m losing my mind, and being around Rob pushes me to my limits. I know it’s the stress from work, all this Lawrence nonsense getting to me far more than it should. Yep, I’m categorically blaming Lawrence for this one.
Rob storms across the bar towards me, and for a second I feel genuinely intimidated, backing up against the bar.
“What’s wrong?”
“What the hell are you eating?” he screeches.
“A snack.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? Cheese puffs! In your bridesmaid’s dress?”
Kara chose floor length multi-way dresses for me and Megan in a beautiful sage green. After the fifth attempt to get the dress wrapped around me in the exact way we’d practised, I figured I’d just leave it on rather than change when I got here.
“Rob, I know you don’t think much of me, but I am a grown woman who is perfectly capable of eating food without making a mess. I’m hungry. Just let me live my life.” I pop another delicious puff between my lips and crunch right through it.
“This is not proper food, Hattie. What about your breath? You can’t have disgusting cheese breath at your best friend’s wedding.”
“Oh, you must have not heard of this exciting new invention called mints.” I grab a handful of crisps and shove them into my mouth.
“Give those to me right now,” he reaches for the bag, but I snatch it away.
“Ha!”
“Give it to me.”
“I will not. Get your own.” Rob lunges out again, catching my wrist in one hand and the bag in the other. “How dare you? Let go of me.”
We tussle a little and when I finally manage to wrestle out of his grasp, the packet rips open. The remaining cheese puffs, along with the layer of bright orange crumbs from the bottom of the bag, go flying through the air.
Everything happens in slow-motion. Rob’s eyes widen and he tries to shove me out of the way, but it’s too late. Cheese puffs rain down on the front of my dress, streaking it with bright orange lines before they land on the floor.
I stare down at the mess, clench my fists and force a deep breath before I lash out.
“You fucking idiot,” I hiss through gritted teeth.
I run from the bar straight into the bathroom and quickly rinse my cheesy fingers before slipping out of my dress. I brush off what I can, but it’s definitely going to leave a stain.Fuck, fuck, fuck.I wonder if I can get away with wearing it inside out.
