Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(36)

I presume Lachlan will go ahead with the holiday as he loves skiing. Me, not so much. I’m much happier on a beach with a cocktail and a good book. I’d tried to fit in with Lachlan’s idea of a good time though, but the one time we’d gone skiing, I’d managed to knock myself out when I fell off the ski lift. How was I to know that it would just keep going around like some hellish merry-go-round?

That incident had definitely cooled his friends’ desire to ski with me. I grimace. There hadn’t been any sympathetic faces amongst that group. They treated me as some strange fancy of Lachlan’s—his brief foray into marriage. And because he was casual with me himself, they never bothered to get to know me, seeing me as some sort of strange trophy Lachlan had accidentally won. I’d hated every minute of the trip and had been trying to think of ways to get out of this one. I suppose that’s one thing the divorce has been good for. I don’t have to ski anymore.

I’m indulging in an ill-advised daydream of Lachlan on that holiday—his tanned body against the white sheets of our huge bed and his sleepy smile as he woke up beside me—when a disturbance at the door jolts me.

Rafferty appears, dishevelled and quite obviously wearing last night’s clubbing clothes right down to the stamp on his wrist. His shoulder-length, strawberry-blond hair normally falls in shiny waves, but this morning it looks as if he’s been standing in a wind tunnel, and his eyes are red-rimmed.

“Fucking hell, I’m dead,” he proclaims and collapses at his desk. Of course, everything that’s piled on it shudders and starts to slide off. He makes a grab for it, giving a piteous moan that we all ignore unsympathetically. Coordination fails him, and his folders sail into the bin.

“That about sums up your filing system,” Ingrid says.

I nod at his drink. “One vanilla latte for you.”

“You are a god amongst friends.”

“If I was, I rather think I might be one of those inclined to rain thunderbolts down on your head, Raff.”

“No need. The J?germeister has done the trick for you.”

Jed pokes his head out of his door. Arthur immediately brightens but Jed doesn’t notice. “Time for a quick staff meeting?” Jed asks.

We nod and Jed settles himself in the chair by Arthur’s desk. His face lights up as he looks at his assistant. “Alright?” he asks.

Arthur nods fervently. “Brilliant, thank you.”

Jed opens his huge desk diary, which has bits of paper sticking out from it everywhere. It looks chaotic, but he’s actually hyper-organised and knows everything about the workings of the office.

“Okay. I’m in Surrey tomorrow for two days and then Cornwall next week for the Frayne wedding.” He looks at Arthur. “Are you still okay to come with me for that one? Your help would be much appreciated.”

Arthur gives him a glowing smile so powerful that Jed blinks. “I can’t wait.”

Jed bites his lip, looking a little discomposed. “Well, I’m very grateful,” he says, giving Arthur the sweet smile he reserves just for him. He’s always gentler on Arthur than with anyone else. And he’s very protective of him. When Arthur slipped on the ice outside the office last year and broke his wrist, you’d have thought he’d died with the fuss Jed made.

Rafferty and I exchange a look. We’ve got bets on when Arthur breaks down Jed’s steely control, and he’ll have to admit he’s mad on him. I tap my watch, indicating my current bet still stands, and Rafferty rolls his eyes.

I look up and find Jed observing me. “I would like to enquire what’s going on but I have a healthy regard for my sanity,” he says.

“And that’s a very good thing,” I say fervently, and Rafferty snorts.

Jed looks at him. “Where are you this week?”

Rafferty taps on his phone to bring up his calendar. “I’m in Norfolk for two days for the Tennyson wedding and then I’m in the Cotswolds all next week because I’ve got both the Cranton and Phillips-Hayes weddings.”

“Good. Everything going okay?”

“Of course.”

Rafferty’s surprise is well earnt. He’s one of the best wedding planners in the business, mainly because he’s so funny, charming, and completely unflappable. His handsome, angular face never shows agitation no matter the circumstances. He’s glided through situations that would make most people find a dark cupboard to hide in.

Jed looks down at his diary. “Kat’s out of the office for the next three days, isn’t she?” he asks Ingrid.

She nods. “She’s in Jamaica for the Paley wedding.”

“Lucky her,” I say sourly.

Jed looks at me. “Are Janine and her sister coming in today?”

I nod, and everyone groans, even sweet Arthur, who hasn’t said a bad word about anyone since the noughties.

“I think I might go out,” Rafferty says.

Jed gives him a once-over. “Is it to get your time machine so you never come into work dressed like that again?”

It’s a mild question. Jed has a calm way of getting exactly what he wants. He never shouts, but his sarcasm is so dry he could make it an extreme sport.

“Sorry,” Rafferty says. “Although, this is primo designer clobber.”

“You sound like a Del Boy impressionist. Go home, get dressed in suitable clothes, and come back when you’re not smelling of tequila.”