Accepting the Boss's Proposal

‘We both did,’ Rachel chimed in. ‘Except, of course, Jemima got a first, whereas I got a 2:1.’

Which rather begged the question—what the blazes was she doing working for little more than the minimum wage in a temporary secretarial job? It was none of his business, but his curiosity was piqued.

And, if he was honest, a little more than that. ‘So how come you’re temping? I’d have thought a first in English and French from Warwick would have led you in an entirely different direction.’

‘She meant to be an editor. But then she met Russell and…’ Rachel shrugged ‘…everything changed.’

‘So…you gave up everything for love?’

There was a toss of that incredible hair and then she met his eyes. ‘I gave up everything when I had my first son,’ she corrected him firmly. ‘Not that there was much to give up. I was only twenty-one and hadn’t had a chance to get started on anything.’

‘And now you’re picking up where you left off.’

‘Hardly,’ she shot back with a flash of those incredible eyes, her resentment shimmering across the table towards him. ‘When I left off I’d just got a job as an assistant editor with a small educational publisher. Now I’m a temporary secretary. If life’s a game of snakes and ladders I’ve just gone down that really big snake on square twenty-four.’

Alistair was wrong. Jemima Chadwick wasn’t brittle, she was angry. It seemed that life had hit her particularly hard. Alistair had described her divorce as ‘traumatic’, but then Miles had never witnessed a divorce that wasn’t.

In his circle the accepted opinion was that ex-wives were avaricious and bled their former spouses dry. This was the flip side of that, he supposed. His smile twisted. Jemima had been left with no career to speak of and two children to bring up alone. That was tough. No wonder she was angry.

Rachel topped up Jemima’s wine. ‘I still think you ought to think about—’

Alistair interrupted by carrying out a large platter of salmon. ‘Nigella Lawson swears this is the easy way to entertain. Just fork up what you want. The duck may be a disaster so I wouldn’t hold back.’

Rachel stood up and cleared away her central table decoration to make space. She looked around for somewhere to put it.

‘Put it behind me,’ Jemima suggested. ‘It won’t get knocked round here.’

Rachel handed over the stunning arrangement of white hydrangea, viburnum and tulips. ‘Thanks.’

‘You know this is gorgeous. You could do something like it for the wedding,’ Jemima suggested, deliberately steering the topic of conversation into a new direction.

In her opinion, Miles Kingsley had spent long enough enjoying himself at her expense. Even talking about weddings was preferable to the continual haemorrhaging of her private business. She pulled back her chair and placed the flowers carefully on the ground. ‘All these tea lights are very romantic too.’

Rachel sat down eagerly. ‘I was wondering about that. I think it would work really well with our theme—’ she sat back to add gravitas to her announcement ‘—which is going to be…medieval.’

Medieval. That wasn’t what Rachel had been talking about for the past four months. ‘What happened to “nineteen-forties Hollywood glamour”?’

Miles moved his chair. ‘Am I supposed to be understanding any of this?’

‘I find it better not to try,’ Alistair said, resting an arm along the back of Rachel’s chair.

His fiancée smiled at him. ‘We’ve managed to get Manningtree Castle. They’ve had a cancellation and slotted us in. It’s going to be beautiful.’

And an incredible amount of work, Jemima added silently. Manningtree Castle was probably the most romantic place on earth to get married, but it wasn’t a package deal by any stretch of the imagination. As far as she could recall from their initial research into the options, Manningtree Castle provided little more than the Norman keep itself and a grassy field with permission to erect a marquee.

‘Where’s Manningtree Castle?’ Miles asked.

Jemima glanced across at him. ‘Kent. It’s not so much a castle as a bit of one.’

‘And it’s not far from where Rachel and I bought our cottage. A couple of miles. No more than that,’ Alistair added. ‘They’re booked up a good eighteen months in advance so we were surprised when they called us to say they’d had a cancellation for the weekend we’d enquired about.’

‘Can’t you just imagine all those tea lights in the stone alcoves?’ Rachel’s eyes danced with excitement. ‘Or even big church candles. It’s going to be stunning.’

‘But your invitations—’

Rachel brushed her friend’s objection aside. ‘We’ll just have to resend them.’

Not to mention hire a marquee, find a caterer and local florist to decorate the keep, Jemima thought dryly. She sat back in her chair and made a determined effort not to let what she was feeling show. In her opinion, three months before a wedding was far too late to be changing the venue.

Jemima gave half an ear to her friend as she continued to lay out her artistic vision of a medieval wedding with a distinctly twenty-first century twist. No mention of the halter-neck dress in soft white satin she’d chosen four weeks earlier. What was happening about that?

She wanted to be excited for Rachel, she really did, but it all seemed rather pointless. So much effort for one day…

She speared a piece of salmon from the central platter. She was being selfish. Just because her marriage hadn’t been the happy ever after she’d hoped for wasn’t a good enough reason not to enter into someone else’s excitement. It was just difficult to summon up much enthusiasm for all this nonsense. That probably made her a horrible person, certainly a lousy choice of bridesmaid, but if she didn’t say it aloud, just thought it—that wasn’t so bad, was it?

Jemima glanced across at Miles and caught him watching her. She had the strangest feeling he’d been able to read her mind. That was impossible, of course, but…there was a definite look of…something in his blue eyes.

She turned back to concentrate on her salmon, feeling slightly shaken. Perhaps she’d been imagining it? On the other hand, perhaps they shared a mutual cynicism for big white weddings? She couldn’t believe he’d be particularly interested in the finer details of how Rachel intended to decorate the marquee.

Jemima risked a second look. He was listening to Rachel and, whatever his opinion of it all was, he was making a reasonable job of looking fascinated. He really was impossibly handsome. Strange how two eyes, a nose and a mouth could look so different from one person to another. He had a good chin too. Her mum would say it was strong and characterful, but what she particularly liked about it was the small indentation in the centre. It was kind of sexy.

Grief. What had made her think that? Jemima pulled herself up a little straighter. There was nothing sexy about a man who knew he was sexy. If that made any sense. Miles was too gorgeous. No woman wanted to be with a man who spent more time looking in the mirror than she did.

Actually that was unfair. Miles didn’t seem a vain man. He just was drop dead gorgeous. An accident of nature.

She really shouldn’t blame him for that. It wasn’t his fault any more than it was Verity’s that she’d inherited the enviable bone structure and the ability to survive on half a grape.

‘Jemima?’

She heard her name and looked up to find Rachel looking at her.

‘You’re off with the fairies. What are you thinking about?’

Thinking about? ‘Um—’ Jemima hunted for something to say ‘—um…’ Opposite her, Miles’s eyes were alight with laughter. Please God he didn’t know what she’d been thinking. She cast about for something likely. ‘Um…I was wondering what you were going to do about your dress? Surely it’s too late to change it now?’

Rachel smiled. ‘I was worried about that, but I rang the designer the second I heard Manningtree Castle was available. It’s not a problem. And she’s caught the vision absolutely.’ She gave a delighted laugh. ‘I’m so excited. It’s going to be perfect.’

‘As is my duck. I hope.’ Alistair began to gather together their plates.

Rachel picked up the central platter. ‘It had better be. He started soaking the apricots last night and he’ll be very sulky if it hasn’t worked.’ She followed Alistair back into the kitchen and Jemima was left alone with Miles.

‘Liar,’ he said softly.

Jemima looked up. ‘Pardon?’

Miles’s eyes glinted with wicked amusement. ‘You were not wondering about Rachel’s dress.’

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. ‘Did it show?’