Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(31)

I trace my finger over the shiny surface of the passport. Maybe this is my chance to make it right. If I take it to him, we can talk before he leaves for the airport. I hate the idea of him being out in the world with my horrible words being the last thing he heard from me.

I grab the passport and head out to flag a taxi down. Luckily the traffic is light, and I make it to the office in twenty minutes. A few lights shine in the office windows, but the building is largely in darkness. I nod at Phil the security guard as I come in.

“Evening,” I say. “Is Mr Moore still here?”

“Hello, Mr Moore.” I don’t bother to correct him. Lachlan and I never got around to formalising our name changes. We couldn’t even work out how to meld ourselves let alone our surnames. “It’s been ages since I saw you. Yes, he’s still here. The car is booked in ten minutes, though.”

“No problem. Is it okay for me to go up?”

He nods and I head into the lift. It shoots upwards and I take the opportunity to calm my wayward hair and appear a little less like someone who’s just had a tantrum on the bed.

Elliott’s office is the gateway to Lachlan’s office. Beyond Elliott’s desk, Lachlan’s door is ajar. It’s very quiet. Ominously quiet and I feel suddenly uneasy. My heart hammering, I swallow hard and push the door open. And then my heart stops altogether.

They’re standing near Lachlan’s desk, and there’s a good reason for why they haven’t seen me. Elliott’s arms are around my husband, and he’s kissing him.

I stand, unmoving, my breath coming quickly. My first thought is that it’s now obvious why Lachlan kept insisting we use condoms despite my suggestion we stop when we got married. And then I realise that we never actually discussed monogamy. I’d just presumed we were exclusive, because marriage vows mean something to me.

All of that seems so silly to me now. He married me drunk. Nothing about our wedding had screamed long term or fully committed.

I note with horrified amusement that Lachlan and Elliott look good together, Elliott’s blond slenderness pressed tightly against Lachlan’s big, muscled body. Elliott clenches Lachlan’s hair as the kiss continues, and my stomach turns over.

The thought that I might be sick is enough to galvanise me.

I turn and leave the office, dropping his passport on the floor as I go. I don’t look back.





Present





Six Months Later





Chapter

Seven





Joe



The wind hits me as I step out of my flat. I huddle into my black overcoat, pulling the collar tightly to my neck, before dashing to the waiting taxi. I fall into it. “The Langham hotel please,” I say, and the driver grunts before setting out.

After pulling off my gloves, I retrieve my diary from my messenger bag. I’d had a mishap last year where my phone—and its calendar—had died at a crucial moment. Since then, I’ve relied on a paper diary. Although my phone calendar never had an elastic band for holding in all my crap.

I open it gingerly, catching a few stray invitation samples, and scan my day. It’s a busy one. An appointment with Erica to run over the final details before we all head to Scotland for her wedding. I have one meeting in the office, and then two appointments with new clients, followed by a meeting with the chap who does table arrangements. Tomorrow is Sally’s wedding—one I’m looking forward to, as it will mean I’ll never again have to solve her cake problems in the early hours.

The taxi stops at some traffic lights, and I glance out the window. My body jolts with a shot of electricity. Lachlan is there.

He’s getting out of a car with a woman in a business suit. I greedily absorb the details of his appearance. It seems eons since I saw him—years of painful loneliness rather than a few pitiful months. He’s wearing the Tom Ford pinstriped suit I used to love on him. Over it he has on his navy coat, and his dark hair is a little windswept as if he’s been running his hands through it, an unconscious gesture he performs when he has a lot on his mind. I used to treasure my knowledge of such quirks.

He shoots a glance in my direction, as if sensing my gaze, and I immediately slump in my seat, cursing myself for staring. It’s no good though. His grey eyes fasten on me like a heat-seeking missile and recognition slams into him. His mouth opens on my name and his companion looks around.

“Shit,” I moan as Lachlan comes towards me. “Erm, you might want to start driving,” I croak.

The driver frowns at me in his mirror. “Only if I had a tank to get over the traffic in front of us, mate,” he snaps, rolling his eyes.

“Thank you so much,” I call. “Well, on your own head be it, if the Spirit of Joe’s Misspent Past catches up with us.”

Lachlan is nearly at my door when the lights change, and the taxi jerks forward. As we pass, Lachlan’s companion stares, open-mouthed, and then we’re off, merging into the morning rush.

“He was keen on talking to you,” the driver says in a tone of voice that suggests he can’t imagine why.

“Some people are,” I croak. “I’m a very popular person.”

He grunts, and that’s it for the rest of our conversation. A relief, because I need all my concentration to get my pulse under control. Part of me had wanted to open the door and punch the cheating wanker, but mostly I was desperate to just talk to him again.