“I would love that, Blair.”
“Does everyone understand what the little girl is saying. I would be exhausted,” Jasmine interjected, derogatorily speaking about Blair, completely unable or unwilling to read her audience.
Blair pretended not to see what Jasmine had said, choosing to finish off the last few chips on her plate. Daniel, Ciar, and Dagr looked stonily in Jonathan’s direction, and Mags could tell he was about to tell his date off when she stood on her own.
“I’ve got to run. I’m meeting my bestie for massages. Call me later, Jonathan, and I’ll come over. I haven’t been to your place for weeks.” Jasmine tee-heed and was gross enough to wink. “Oh, and Margaret, though I’m sure your clients are…rustic, designers are usually more put together than,” she waved her hand up and down, indicating all of Mags, “whatever this is.”
Jonathan stood abruptly, his face red and his fists clenched at his sides.
“Jasmine, would you open your phone and go to your contacts for me?”
She was all smiles as she handed him her phone, opened to contacts like he’d asked.
He must have clicked on his, because the idiot woman actually cooed and said, “Oh, babe, if you’re going to change your name, make it something like Lover.”
He tossed her phone back, forcing her to fumble it before it almost hit the floor. “I deleted my contact information. Don’tever come near my friends or me again.” When she hesitated, her mouth opening and closing but thankfully mute, he added, “Leave now.”
She finally stormed off with a huff. Jonathan remained standing to address the group. “Sorry about that, everyone. She asked me to do something today, and I told her no because I was meeting my friends. I stupidly told her where we were meeting, though. She was waiting for me when I got here. I’ll be smarter in the future.”
There were a few halfhearted “Whatever’s” to his apology. It seemed the group was over Jonathan’s bad taste, and Daniel’s, to be fair. Since the focus was off her flat, Mags decided to get while the getting was good.
Stepping past Jonathan, who was still stiffly positioned at the end of the table, Mags cheerily announced that it was past time she headed out.
“It was great to see everyone. I’ll let you know if my client adores my first commissioned piece.”
“The bitch better,” Gray said.
“If she doesn’t, I want her name,” Bébhinn added. “My mom and aunts taught me how to make a person suffer regrets.”
Blair got up then and elbowed Jonathan out of the way. She shocked the hell out of Mags by hugging her close, leaving just enough room to sign privately. “You’re hiding something. I’ll give you time, not much, but I’ll give you time to come clean. I’m your friend, or I’m not. You trust me, or you don’t.”
Mags could only nod once, too stiff with shock and denial. There it was, though. She should have known that nothing would get past Blair. When they separated, Dagr stopped her once again.
“I hope you can still make it to Gray Eyes Thursday night for Bébhinn’s charity dinner to raise money for Dublin’s orphanages,” he said while hugging his wife close. “Everyone’sinvited, including plus ones. Feel free to bring a date, Mags. Bébhinn thinks you have a secret boyfriend. We’d like to meet him if that’s the case.”
“I am so excited,” Gray cheered. I have a new evening dress that I’ve yet to wear outside my bedroom.”
“Since I know you like the menu, Mags, I’ll expect you to be there,” Ciar smirked.
Mags had to smile despite the panic slowly stiffening her muscles. She’d made Ciar buy her dinner at his fancy pub months ago while he extracted information from her about Gray.
She had three distinct problems with the event. First, she didn’t own a black-tie dress. Second, she couldn’t afford even a potato at Gray Eyes, though it was her fervent hope that there would be plenty of free hors d’oeuvres. Third, and it was surely redundant, she had no money to give to such an amazing cause.
Mags had known about the dinner for weeks. The miracle she’d been praying for to get her out of it had yet to present itself.
If she worked every spare moment, meaning no sleep at all, she could finish the last of the embroidery on Mrs. Lark’s blazer and hopefully deliver it late Wednesday night instead of Thursday like she’d originally planned. If she could manage that, then after her shift at the chippers on Thursday, she could wrangle a bit of free time to get all fancied up.
Perhaps she could take a small percentage of her earnings to go to one of the swanky secondhand stores to find an appropriate dress. Many well-to-do women dropped off gowns that had been worn only once or twice.
Fingers crossed.
Before she escaped Murphy’s, some invisible devil on her shoulder had her saying, “I might bring my guy if he isn’t busy. No promises though.”
Oh shit. Mags, you idiot.
five
JONATHAN
