Page 1 of The Bad Wedding Date

Prologue

FRASER SCOTT

Charlotte Anne Grant

Age: 24

Birth Date: January 10th, 1998

Height: 5ft 6inches

Parents: Mitchell and Laurie Grant (Decadence Ltd, Springs Hotels Ltd, and Ava Rose Planning Ltd)

Siblings: Emelia Grant (soon to be Mrs Lucas Williamson)

Education: Harewood Mount Private School, Junior - Sixth Form

Employment: AMEY Care Home - Care Worker

Care worker.

“Wade?” I said to my second in command. I pointed to her employment status, unable to take my eyes off it. “Are you sure that’s right?”

“I’ve included photos at the back to prove it,” he said, followed by a clearing of his throat from behind me. “You need to see her.”

“Not yet. You know me better than that.” I preferred to study a person before I put a face to their life, but my attention peaked even further when I saw a name that I recognised in Charlotte’s dating history. “She hooked up with Penn Ridgeley for two years? I didn’t think that idiot was capable of a monogamous stint.”

“He wasn’t.”

I shook my head and trailed my finger down the paper. “High society women and their need to stay with guys who treat them like shit.”

Wade didn’t respond, and I didn’t need to look up at him to know he’d be standing there like a true soldier wearing his black cargo pants and black T-shirt, his hands behind his back, and his legs apart as he waited for me to give him an instruction…or at the very least an observation he hadn’t made yet.

The file had details about Charlotte’s relationship with her family—almost non-existent—as well as courses she’d taken and fields she specialised in.Nothing about her made sense given her upbringing, but I took a shot at her being a hippy rebel, fighting against the patriarchy to hug trees, defy her parents, and dye her hair a mixture of colours every Sunday evening while watching reruns of Blue Planet. It was only when I turned the page and saw the first photo of her that I realised how wrong I’d been.

Charlotte, in her early twenties, was slim but curvy, with a youthful, pretty face and caramel-coloured hair that fell below her breasts. In the first photo, she looked across a car park outside a health centre, squinting against the sunlight. Wearing a long navy skirt with a slit up to her thigh, brown flat sandals, and a white vest top that hugged her curves, she was easy on the eye. I turned to the next photo of her in her baggy work uniform. Her hair was tied back and plaited as she dug around in her backpack for something while wearing purple nylon that did nothing but hide her figure away from the world.

In the other photographs in front of me, Charlotte always seemed to be with strangers. In the park, a picture of her had been taken bending down to stroke a dog while she looked up at the old man who was clearly the owner. The smile on her face lit up the photo, and I quickly turned to the next one to see her helping a kid untangle his earphones from his backpack. The next picture showed her helping a resident from their family car outside the care home. Again, she smiled like helping people made her happy. Like caring was what got her off. Yet, she was the daughter of Laurie and Mitchell Grant—two of the most selfish creatures within central London.

What the hell was that all about?

I came to a picture of Charlotte in her work uniform outside of AMEY Care Home, and the smile she wore while walking beside a decent looking guy made it obvious that she adored him.

“Who’s this?” I asked Wade.

“Her co-worker, Jonah Cannon.”

“Her lover, too?”

“We believe he’s the plus one that’s been assigned to her for the wedding, but that’s it. The facts of Charlotte Grant’s life somehow manage to be a little bit harder to pin down than the rest of her family. It seems she values her privacy.”

“No socials?”

“None.”

“Not the usual trait of a Grant.”

There was something about this woman I couldn’t put my finger on—it unnerved me—and that didn’t happen often in my world. I usually had our targets figured out in a matter of minutes.

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