Why do I have a million notifications?
OMG! THAT’S MR BDE?!?!This from Heather via our company group chat, followed by a volley of messages from Miranda.
BOSS LADY, YOU GOT HITCHED?
WHEN?
HOW?
And I have messages—lots of them, their arrival like party streamers fluttering down my screen.
WTF Ols.This from Luke.
W00T!Another from Heather, along withBRING ME BACK SUM OF DAT WEDDING CAKE.
Girl, we need to talk!This from Reggie.
My levels of confusion are great.
‘I don’t understand,’ I murmur, my sense of abject confusion deepening as I press in my security code. ‘How could they possibly know?’ Confusion turns to horror as my phone suddenly chimes in my hand, showing a message from my gran.
Olivia, kindly explain what you mean by your Instagram post.
I swipe the icon, diving straight in.
One new post and one new profile image, though the pictures are the same.
A sparkling ring on a hand, cradling a handsome face.
Flushed cheeks, eyes open, whisky and green.
A kiss that is part smile and one-hundred percent genuine.
And words to go along with the post:
Wish me congratulations.
Beckett asked, and I said yes.
Guess who just took a trip to the courthouse?
The post even has the use of appropriate hashtags, the last one a company creation we’ve tried to make popular.
#OlsandBecks #EngagedForOnlyADay #NewlyWeds #HePutARingOnIt
#ISaidYes #WeLoveNYC #WeAreLove
#FindYourPersonEvolve
The post has had over nine hundred likes already. But even with the distant possibility of this being the result of some post-sex induced wave of euphoria or memory blackout, I know I’m not responsible for this.
How? Because of the post’s perfect grammar.
It turns out Beckett posts as he speaks, even when he’s pretending to be me.
Chapter 24
BECKETT
