Page 9 of Stuck

“So you just forgot he’d be in the office today?”

“No! Well, sort of. I was distracted.”

I shook my head. “Whatever. You have to tell him. Now!”

“I was about to, but then he accused you of sleeping with me to get a leg up in the company.”

I recoiled. Darcy had seemed a bit judgy, but I hadn’t thought he was that much of a prick. “He did what?”

Bingley immediately looked as though he regretted telling me. “I don’t think it was personal—or anti-feminist. He’s not a misogynist or anything. He was looking out for me because, to be fair, my last two girlfriends did both turn out to be on the make.”

“Don’t make excuses for him.”

“I’m not. It was a ghastly thing to say.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But this is exactly what I was trying to explain to you. He’s been in town for less than a day, and already I’ve managed to screw up. He thinks I’ve got myself into another messy relationship—and if we were dating, he might have a point. But if I admit I lied to all the investors, he’s going to think I’m an idiot who can’t handle these negotiations. This always happens!” He let out a sigh and repeated the nervous gesture with his hand. “But you’re right, I have to tell him.”

I melted a little, not least because his hair had begun to look like he’d stuck his finger in a plug socket. It was precious how easily ruffled he got. In the few months I’d known Bingley, he’d morphed from boss to friend to definite brother-in-law material, and I had to admit, despite my current irritation, I’d grown fond of him. That he was this desperate to impress his friend was kind of sweet. I disliked Darcy intensely for making him feel as though he needed to, but I could understand where Bingley was coming from.

I let out a strangled sigh. “No, don’t tell him. Yet.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” It wasn’t as though Darcy had made a stellar first impression on me. What did I care if his friend wanted to string him along? “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a stupid idea and you’re bound to come a cropper at some point, because unless you’re planning to break up with my sister, he is going to find out eventually.”

“I am not planning on breaking up with Jane,” Bingley retorted almost angrily. “But I would rather wait until after I’ve secured the capital before I admit that I’ve misled everyone.”

“Then as long as nothing super awkward comes up, I won’t let the cat out of the bag while you’re away. But you can explain this to Jane.”

His smile disappeared. “Do you think she’ll mind?”

“Knowing her, I should think her main objection will be that we’re lying to your friend, but if you explain why, she’ll probably be fine.” I couldn’t resist the temptation to ask, “Are you sure Darcy’s a good enough friend to warrant this? It doesn’t feel right that he should expect certain behaviour of you. He’s not your dad.”

Bingley chuckled. “Sometimes it feels like he is—or at least a big brother. We’ve been friends since we were kids, but he’s four and a half years older than me. And I know that might not seem much now, but when you consider I was still at sixth form when he was graduating from university, you can see why it’s felt like a bigger gap at times. We’ve been through a lot together, though. I care deeply what he thinks of me.” He looked embarrassed as he added, “You must think I’m ridiculous.”

“Oh, I absolutely do, but I love a laugh, so I’ll play along. For now.”

I left to go back to my desk, passing the office that had apparently been Darcy’s the whole time—information it would have been useful to have prior to this debacle. These walls weren’t glass, and the door was shut, and that was fine by me because I’d already had enough of being glowered at by him for one day. I didn’t know what his problem with me was, but nobody had any business looking so lip-smackingly good while leaking disdain out of every pore.

After my last meeting of the afternoon ran over, I was late leaving work, when I’d really hoped to get home early to check on Jane. She’d taken the day off to recuperate, and I’d promised to cook her something restorative for dinner. Of course, by “cook” I meant “buy an obscene amount of pasta and garlic bread on the way home.” By the time I got out of the lift on our floor of the apartment block, my anticipation for the carb fest had reached unprecedented levels.

I didn’t ring the buzzer, not wanting to wake Jane up if she was sleeping, and was reduced to balancing the shopping, my laptop bag, my handbag, and my coat in one hand while I dug around for my keys and let myself in with the other. I redistributed the whole lot back into both arms on my way down the hall then stopped in the open door of the living room, baffled by the scene that greeted me.

Jane was not asleep but up, dressed, and… packing. Our sister Mary was sitting in one of our two mismatched armchairs with a glass of wine, vetoing every other thing Jane tried to shove into her suitcase.

“What’s going on?”

They turned to look at me, Jane with an excited smile, Mary with one eyebrow raised in a typically exasperated expression. It was how she looked in response to most things.

“I’m going to Edinburgh with Bingley,” Jane said, practically bouncing on her toes.

I came into the room and dumped my stuff onto a chair. “What?”

“I told him I was going to miss him while he was away, and he asked me to go with him.”

I slumped onto the sofa, making her suitcase dip towards me. I shoved it away with an elbow. “You two are killing me.”

“You must be livid that Jane’s going on holiday with your boyfriend,” Mary said with arid sarcasm.

I sighed. “Hi, Mary. How’s Tam?”