My eyes drift to the bags, a sinking feeling growing in my stomach. “Did you go on a celebratory shopping spree on Oxford Street or something?”
“What? Oh, god no!” She laughs, adjusting her messy blond ponytail perched on top of her head. “The theater was going to toss all these incredible vintage pieces, but the hot props guy let me raid their stash.”
I peek into one of the bags, wondering where on earth she’s planning to store all this stuff. Her room is tiny, which is whyI charge her next to nothing for rent. “So, naturally, you took everything.”
She shrugs. “One woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure, right?”
I gingerly extract a monstrosity of a dress from the pile, all flounces and ruffles. “Where exactly do you plan on wearing thisBridgertonreject?” I ask, holding it at arm’s length.
She grins. “Maybe some posh fancy dress gala? Oh! Or a Regency-themed hen do!”
“Right, because you’re just drowning in invitations to those.”
“You never know.” She waves a hand dismissively, already rifling through the rest of her haul with a gleam in her eye.
It’s times like these that I’m reminded of just how different Lizzie and I are. I’m the type who needs everything in its place. Lizzie thrives in chaos. It’s a miracle we haven’t murdered each other yet.
“What should we watch?” she asks, snatching up the TV remote. “I’m thinking something mindless and binge-worthy, with some nice eye candy.”
I exhale, my eyes already straying to the cluster of open tabs on my laptop. “As much as I’d love to rot my brain with you, I need to get some work finished.”
“Again?” Her face scrunches up. “Seriously, Gem? This is getting out of hand.”
“Yep,” I sigh, popping the P aggressively. “Just pick something, I’ll watch while I work.”
“Gemma.” She uses her stern voice. “It’s past eleven. This is ridiculous. I’m seriously worried about you.”
“It’s just a rough patch at work. It’ll pass.”
“You always say that, but it never does. It’s not a ‘patch’ if it’s a permanentstate of being.”
I can’t argue with her assessment. She’s spot on. I’m lagging years behind on my must-watch, must-read, must-listen lists, forever playing catch-up with the rest of the world.
Every aspect of my life outside work feels neglected. Like finding a kind, moderately fit bloke to settle down with, maybe having a child before my ovaries call it a day, actually planning real holidays instead of sad, last-minute Airbnb weekends, or even just buckling down to finally get that stubborn ingrown toenail seen to at the podiatrist. At this rate, I’ll be getting my next Tinder match at my retirement party.
“Fine,” I grumble, slamming my laptop shut.
CHAPTER 4
Liam
“Aren’t you just abig grump tonight?” the blond purrs, her manicured claws scraping my tux like we’re old friends. Her hand settles on my chest, thumb grazing my nipple in a move so brazen, I’d be drowning in lawsuits if I tried that shit.
“This is just how I look,” I say gruffly.
She pouts, those glossy lips glistening like they’re lubed up for action. “But everyone else is having a great time. And here you are, all alone and grumpy at the bar.”
“Long day at the office,” I reply coolly, capturing her wrist before she can continue her handsy exploration. “Not really in the mood for socializing.”
She giggles, apparently blind to my irritation. “Then maybe you’re in the wrong place.”
Ain’t that the truth.
I should’ve stuck to my original plan—gone to the coast, taken the boat out, let the sea air clear my head. Instead, I’m surrounded by plastic smiles and bullshit small talk, at yet another charity ball, pretending to be a semi-functional member of polite society.
There’s only one reason I’m here, and that reason is a no-show. Sir Sebastian Whitmore—the elderly owner of Trafalgar Lifestyle Stores. TLS, as the public knows it, is a British shoppinginstitution. Born back when Queen Vic was still alive and kicking, bearing the proud Whitmore family crest. It’s got a stranglehold on every high street from London to Glasgow, a true titan of British retail.
It’s also the company I’ve been meticulously lining up to acquire, for the last six months. Hence why I’m gracing this ego-stroking charity soirée with my presence.
