Joker in the Pack (Blackwood UK #1)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

I TOOK ANOTHER sip, okay, gulp of wine as I rued the choices I’d made over the last two years. Of course, dating Edward was my biggest mistake, but that had led to a whole host of smaller problems. I’d become too reliant on him.

“Let’s go out for supper with Ferdinand and Petronella,” he’d said all too often. Other days, it was a trip to the opera or drinks in Chelsea, and he’d always expected me to be available at the drop of a hat to accompany him.

I’d secretly loved that. I enjoyed going to the opera too. Well, apart from the singing. And sitting still for two hours. Fine, I liked having ice cream in the interval and being seen out with Edward, who nobody could deny was heart-stoppingly handsome.

So, when work contracts came to an end, I hadn’t worried about replacing those clients with new ones. Parties with friends had won out, and despite that, I hadn’t heard a word from Petronella and co. since three days post- incident . I groaned at the mere thought of that encounter.

Edward had still been insisting that his little indiscretion had all been his PA’s fault. She’d come on to him, he claimed. She was only supposed to be in his townhouse to work on a profit-and-loss analysis. And I’d been racked with self-doubt—perhaps he’d strayed because I’d put on a few pounds or hadn’t put enough effort into cooking lately? Which was why I’d gone to the gym that Friday afternoon. As if twisting my ankle on the treadmill hadn’t been bad enough, I’d been changing in the farthest corner of the locker room when Petronella and an acquaintance walked in. And they were talking about me .

“Apparently Olivia finally found out about Edward and Becki,” Petronella said.

“I heard. When I spoke to Becki after yoga, she said Olivia looked totally shocked.”

“Really? I’m only surprised it took so long. After all, she didn’t notice when he was messing around with the waitress from Norton’s every Thursday night.”

What? Edward had told me Thursdays were team night at work. A bunch of guys getting together to discuss deals and compare their golf handicaps.

“Or his tennis coach. How long did that affair last? Five months? Six?”

“And don’t forget that thing Edward had with that Thai masseuse.”

“Pai?”

“Yes, her.”

“I always thought she was a man.”

“Whatever. She’s great at working the kinks out of my shoulders.”

I sagged back onto a bench as their voices faded away. How could he? I must have been the laughing stock for months. And worse, if the seminar on web coding I’d been due to attend one fateful Tuesday hadn’t been cancelled, and if I hadn’t decided to surprise Edward with a nice bottle of burgundy and a selection of Marks & Spencer’s finest, I’d still be in the dark.

Only one of our joint friends had phoned me since the split. Beth, my sometimes doubles partner at badminton, a petite brunette married to the CEO of a bathroom design firm. But once I’d finished optimising her lifestyle website for search engines, she’d stopped returning my calls, and when I bumped into her outside the wholefood store a week later, she’d studiously looked the other way.

After that, I’d avoided the gym and the wholefood store—in fact, going out at all. Waitrose delivered the essentials, and apart from my foray back into Edward’s apartment with Maddie, I hadn’t left the house.

But darn it! That meant Edward had won, and the very thought made me sick.

I couldn’t even cook properly. Normally, I loved baking, and barely a day passed without me turning the oven on and making a cake or a quiche or a batch of cookies. But I’d spent the last month living on junk food.

Well, no more. Tomorrow, I’d begin getting my life back. I’d make soup for lunch, advertise for new clients, and go out in the evening.

Tomorrow, Olivia mark two would be born.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Maddie asked the following afternoon.

I’d put my phone on speaker while I got ready, and I paused, mascara wand in mid-air.

“I can’t let Edward overshadow the rest of my life.”

“But if you wait until the weekend, I can come with you.”

Four days? No, I had to get this over with.

“Maybe we can do something on Saturday evening too, but I need to go out tonight.”

I poked myself in the eye, dammit, and it started watering. Not tears. No, not at all.

“Well, okay.” Maddie sounded doubtful. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Fine. Fine in the same way as I told Edward I was fine when he cancelled our holiday to Switzerland because of a client meeting. Fine in the same way as I told my mother I was fine when she insisted I forgo Maddie’s thirteenth birthday party to attend a ballet lesson because all little girls should learn grace and poise. If I recalled correctly, I’d tripped over my own feet that day and spent the evening getting six stitches in my eyebrow. You could still see the scar in the right light.

I pushed thoughts of them out of my mind as I curled my hair. If I had the money, I’d get it highlighted again. The colour had darkened over the years, more of an ash blonde now than the platinum I’d been born with. At least my aquamarine shift dress matched my eyes perfectly.

By the time I slipped my feet into a pair of heels and headed for the door, my toes were feeling decidedly chilly. But I pushed on because Edward would not win .

I didn’t feel brave enough to venture far, but I’d been to the Wild Orchid in Clerkenwell a few times with Edward and our friends, and I wouldn’t look completely out of place on my own. Even better, I could walk there and save a cab fare.

Music played softly in the background as I shuffled in, and a group of men glanced up. One smiled. I smiled back, but inwardly I was cheering. Maybe I still had it after all? Then a skinny brunette pushed past me and kissed him on both cheeks. Darn it.

I slunk off to the bar and perched on a stool next to a man in a suit. Not a particularly well-fitting one, either.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

“A glass of white wine, please.”

At least he was polite. Or so I thought until he tried to put his hand up my skirt. Who did he think he was? A presidential candidate? I shoved him away and inched closer to the middle-aged lady on the other side of me as he staggered off, muttering about “frigid sluts.” Didn’t he realise that was an oxymoron?

“Bad luck, honey,” the lady said. “That one was a politician. Lord something or other. Loaded.”

Really? For a second I wondered if I’d— No, Olivia! Having money didn’t give him the right to do that.

“I wasn’t interested.”

“Waiting for your young man, are you?”

On second glance, the lady might have been slightly past middle age. Her face was wrinkle free, but there was a tautness that spoke of the surgeon’s knife. Even her hands were smooth as she clutched her dirty martini like a lifeline. Judging by her lack of focus, it wasn’t her first drink of the evening.

“No, I’m not meeting anyone in particular.”

Her gaze dropped to my lap, where my skirt had been hiked upwards by Lord Pervert, and when she met my eyes again, her disgusted look said it all.

“Oh, one of those, are you? You won’t find much business here.”

What? Eww!

“No, I’m not a prostitute! If you must know, I just split up with my boyfriend.” I tugged my skirt down and wished I’d worn something longer. Like a nun’s habit or a burka.

“What was it? An affair? Or are you just hoping to trade him in for a better model?”

“That’s not really any of your business.”

She nodded, and I thought she tried for a sympathetic smile, but nothing much moved. “Affair, then.”

Was it really that obvious? My sigh confirmed her suspicions.

“You know, sometimes it’s better to forgive a few little transgressions when they’re holding the credit cards.”

Maybe she wasn’t so different from me. After all, I’d considered doing just that, hadn’t I?

But I couldn’t. My mother may have tried to stop me believing in Cinderella, but I still wanted the fairy tale. A man who came home to me, and only me. I didn’t want to be the girl waiting in his thousand-thread-count sheets while he was out entertaining his latest plaything.

No, I’d rather be single, no matter how much I might have been hurting.

“So, how did it go?”

Maddie phoned at eight in the morning, and my head still hurt from the four martinis Botox-lady had poured into me last night.

“Not so well. I got groped, and then Jackie Collins’s long-lost sister corrupted me.”

After Maddie finished laughing, she had a hiccupping fit.

“It’s not funny. All I wanted was a quiet night out, and the only man I managed to attract was more like an octopus.”

“Oh, it is a little bit funny. Look on the plus side—if your mother were alive, she’d march you right back to the bar and insist you get his phone number.”

Maddie meant it as a joke, but the shame of it was she was exactly right. Before my mother’s passing, she’d attempted to impart many pearls of wisdom, and one of her favourites related to my choice of future husband.

“Olivia,” she’d said. “You need to put a price on your heart, and don’t you dare sell yourself cheap. Set your sights high. Find a doctor, a lawyer, or a banker—preferably one with a family seat and a title.”

Well, last night’s pervert had the title, while Edward had certainly fulfilled her career specification, and now look at me. At the moment, my net worth was more akin to a bottle of Lambrini and a box of Milk Tray than the champagne and caviar she’d dreamed of. My mother would turn in her grave if she saw the state of me, sprawled on the sofa wearing week-old pyjamas and the pair of Bugs Bunny slippers Maddie gave me last Christmas.

“Mother only wanted the best for me.”

“She read you DeBrett’s etiquette guide at bedtime, Liv. Most little girls got Rapunzel or Cinderella.”

“I’ll concede she wasn’t very fond of Cinderella.”

Okay, so she’d hated Cinderella and her lack of effort to make a better life for herself. I’d once asked for a pair of glass slippers, but Mother had only scoffed.

“Fancy leaving something like that to fate,” she’d said. “If you want to find your Prince Charming, you’ll need to go out and hunt for him.”

“Where?” At fourteen years old, I couldn’t exactly go far.

“You can start by joining the debating society as I suggested, young lady. Every girl should strive to raise her profile.”

The debating society. One hour after school every Wednesday. Better than walking around with a book on my head or practising which cutlery to use, which was what Mother would have made me do otherwise. I’d signed up and spent the whole year sitting at the back and saying as little as possible. Maddie had joined too, for moral support, although she’d been far more vocal than me.

Now was no different.

“Liv, I know she was your mum, but she made you live the life she wanted rather than the one you wanted. I mean, she’d have loved Edward, wouldn’t she?”

“Yes, but I did too, once.”

“Don’t defend what he did. It was inexcusable.”

“I know… It’s just I hate being alone.”

“You’re not alone. We’ll go out at the weekend, just you and me, and we’ll have some proper fun. You’ll see.”

“Promise you won’t get arrested again.”

“That was all a big misunderstanding.”

“Just a quiet dinner.”

“I’ll organise something fabulous. You won’t regret it. Promise.”

A long, drawn-out groan escaped the instant Maddie hung up the phone. Perhaps I could feign illness at the weekend? After all, the symptoms of flu and a hangover weren’t totally dissimilar. Or maybe Maddie would take pity on me and bring pizza and a DVD instead. With three days to go until the weekend, I tried to block the idea of partying out of my mind. Sleep was calling.