“Thank God you’re here,” Laura said as she approached. She dropped her voice so that only Josie could hear. “I was dreading having to make small talk with Accounts.” She jerked her head behind her where two women and a man stood huddled together. Laura took the glass of Prosecco that John handed to her and took a glug. She was wearing a very un-Laura-like dress, black, sparkly, and floor length, which worked because of her enviable flat stomach. “It’s my sister’s,” she said, noticing Josie’s appraisal. “Thought I’d best make an effort what with all our shareholders here.” She fluffed up her hair, then, sparing no more than a nod for Oliver, smiled at Max. “Sorry, I’m Laura, I’m in the PR team at Peacock’s with Josie.” She had her formal work voice on, all brisk and efficient.
“Max.”
“And which company are you with?”
“Actually, I’m with Josie,” Max said easily, toasting Josie with his Prosecco as he did so.
Laura’s blue eyes, as usual framed only with mascara, turned appraisingly. “Are you now?” Laura raised her eyebrows at Josie, and Josie shook her head, giving her a look to tell her she’d explain later. She hadn’t told Laura ahead of time that she might be bringing someone, in case he hadn’t actually shown up. Laura smiled at Max. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. This is my fiancé, John,” she said, indicating the tall, just-as-blond man beside her. Luckily, John was more olive-skinned than Laura’s pinky tone, and had brown eyes rather than her blue, otherwise they might well have been mistaken for siblings.
“At least I’m not the only tagalong,” John said, grinning through his beard, his Glaswegian accent still strong despite his years in London. Max and John struck up an easy conversation while Laura sighed, nodding to where Janice was waving her over.
“I’d better go see what she wants.” Laura headed off at that same clipped speed, leaving Josie alone with Oliver. She tried to take a sip of Prosecco to distract herself, but found her glass empty. John was now explaining to Max that he worked as a freelance journalist, and Josie tried to think of something to say to insert herself into the conversation, but she wasn’t fast enough—Oliver grabbed her wrist and pulled her away a step.
“Josie, I really need to talk to you.” He glanced at Max and John. “Privately.”
Josie shook her head. “Not now, Oliver.”
“Please.” He looked at her with those big Bambi eyes, adopting the puppy-dog look he always used to try to get his own way. “It’s not about what you think, I promise. I just…I don’t want you to hear it from someone else, that’s all.”
Josie’s stomach twisted, making her feel a little sick, and, like she was somehow a beacon, Cara was immediately obvious. She was standing toward the stage area and, like a taunt, was wearing that same red dress she’d worn to the Christmas lunch, the one that showed off a slim, perfect figure and toned, tanned legs—even if the tan had to be from a bottle. Cara’s gaze flicked toward Josie, then away quickly, and Josie felt sure she was watching them, waiting to see her reaction.
At that moment, Max laughed at something Scottish John had said, and Oliver scowled over at them. “Seriously, Jose,” he muttered, “who is that guy?”
Before Josie could say that it was none of his business, that he had no right to look so angry when he was surely about to tell her that he and Cara were an item now, that he could very much go to hell, Janice got up from the table and swept over to them, her stiletto heels clicking on the wooden panel flooring.
“Josie, don’t you look wonderful?” Janice said, barely sparing her a glance. “Oliver, a quick word?” She left him no option, gripping his forearm and steering him away from Josie and back toward the entrance.
Josie hesitated, feeling the need to check Max was OK.
“You’re kidding!” John was saying to him as she rejoined them. “One of my old school friends is an architect. Erin Fuller—don’t suppose you’ve ever come across her?”
Max was shaking his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re mates with Erin?”
Deciding they were getting along well enough and sufficiently engaged in a game of Kevin Bacon, Josie silently walked over to the table where Laura was sitting, now alone, and collapsed down next to her. Laura frowned. “What’s up?”
Josie hesitated, then shook her head, but couldn’t help the scowl toward Cara even though she knew she should be more pissed off at Oliver than at her. Still, she didn’t have to make it so damn obvious, did she? They could at least have waited until after the Christmas break, was that really so much to ask? Laura grimaced sympathetically. “Ignore Cara Drama, she’s just trying to get attention because she’s bored and knows she’ll never amount to anything more than a mid-level exec, and therefore knows she needs to lock in a guy before she loses her looks and they figure out that’s all she’s got going for her.”