Joe and Imogen off to Paris. Be still her beating heart.
Polite applause broke out around them as the first speaker mounted the podium.
‘That’s excellent news. You’d better book some tickets on the Eurostar, then.’
Was that all he had to say? Was she the only one all of a flutter here? Of course she was. After all she was the one with the dream problem.
Turning away from him, Imogen stared resolutely at the speaker and tried to focus on his words. For the rest of the evening she would focus on interior design. Not on the man sitting beside her.
‘Paris?’ A pyjama-clad Mel stared at her in sheer disbelief. ‘You are going to Paris with Joe McIntyre?’
‘Yes.’ Imogen snuggled back on the sofa and cradled her mug of hot chocolate. ‘Ironic, really. I practically begged Steve to take me there, but he wouldn’t. Said it held too many memories of Simone.’
She took a gulp of hot chocolate and pushed away memories of just how much time she had spent choosing a cruise that didn’t contain any locations holding any memories of Simone. There was real irony for you. Because right this minute now Steve and Simone were on that luxury cruise, paid for with her hard-earned money, creating new memories.
‘I’d rather go with someone hot like Joe than Steve,’ Mel said musingly.
‘That’s plain shallow,’ Imogen said. ‘Heat level isn’t everything in a man, you know. There are other attributes that are way more important.’
The sort of traits she looked for in a partner: kindness, stability, loyalty, security. More irony—how had she misjudged Steve so badly?
Mel shook her head, blonde curls bobbing. ‘Not if you’re on a jaunt to Paris.’
‘It’s not a jaunt. It’s a business trip. We’re not even staying overnight. Joe is out of the office tomorrow, I’m meeting him at St Pancras Station on Friday late morning, then we’re coming back straight after our meeting.’
‘Tchah! Why don’t you book the wrong tickets by “mistake”? Then you could end up staying in a romantic hotel and …’
‘I’d end up fired.’
Though for one stupid, insane moment her imagination had leapt in … She could see the hotel silhouetted on the Parisian horizon …
Imogen drained her mug. ‘I’m for bed.’
‘Oh!’ Mel gave a gasp. ‘I was so gobsmacked by Paris I forgot to tell you. Your mum called—she said it was urgent. Not that sort of urgent,’ she added hastily, seeing panic grip her friend as she imagined the worst. ‘But she did say you needed to ring her back, no matter what time it was.’
Imogen sighed. This wasn’t what she needed right now, but Eva Lorrimer hated being made to wait.
Grabbing her mobile phone from the floor, she dialled her mother. ‘Hey, Mum. It’s me.’
‘Finally.’
‘Sorry. The awards ceremony finished late.’
‘I only hope you going means you’ll keep your job, Imogen. You make sure you impress Joe McIntyre. Somehow. Good PAs are two a penny, and now you’ve managed to lose Steve you will need to support yourself and—’
‘Mum. Mel said it was urgent?’ Surely reciting all Imogen’s shortcomings couldn’t be classed as imperative at past midnight. Even by Eva’s standards.
‘It is urgent. Steve has proposed to Simone on that cruise he’s taken her on. They’re getting married.’
Breath whooshed out of her lungs; surely this was some sort of joke. ‘How do you know?’
‘Clarissa rang me with the news.’
Better and better—Imogen bit back a groan. Clarissa was Steve’s mother and one of Eva’s old schoolfriends. If you could call her a friend. No doubt she had rung up to gloat.
‘It’s all over social media too,’ Eva continued. ‘Simone even put out a message thanking you for providing such a wonderful setting.’
Excellent. Now she’d be a laughing stock to everyone who knew her. Humiliation swept over her in a wave of heat that made her skin clammy.
Eva gusted out a sigh. ‘That could have been you if you’d played your cards right. You could have a man to rely on—a man to support you and keep you secure. You should have done more to keep him, Imogen.’
Like what? She’d done everything she could think of to make Steve happy. Obviously she’d failed. Big-time. Steve himself had told her that she wasn’t enough for him.
But instead of the usual self-criticism a sudden spark of anger ignited in the pit of her stomach. The bastard had actually proposed to another woman on the cruise she had paid for using her hard-earned savings. What would he do next? Send her the bill for the engagement ring?
‘Actually, Mum, maybe I’m better off without him.’
‘Steve was the best thing that ever happened to you, Imogen. Yes, I’d have preferred a fast-track banking career for you, but the next best thing would have been marrying a man with one …’
As Eva’s voice droned on Imogen ground her molars and waited for the right moment to intercede.
‘Mum. I understand how you feel.’ That her daughter had let her down yet again. ‘But I’m exhausted. We’ll talk more tomorrow.’
Imogen disconnected the call and resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall.
Joe glanced at his watch, and then around the busy Victorian-style St Pancras station. Men and women tapped onto tablets, sipped at coffee or shopped in the boutiques. But there was no sign of Imogen. Where the hell was she?
Ah. There she was: striding across the crowded lounge, briefcase in one hand, cup of coffee in the other, dove-grey trouser suit, hair tugged up into a simple ponytail.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she stated as she came to a halt next to him.
Joe frowned; her tone indicated not so much as a hint of sincerity. In fact it pretty much dared him to comment. Imogen seemed … He glanced at her coffee cup as she tugged the lid off. Full. Yet she seemed wired—there was a pent-up energy in the tapping of her foot, an unnecessary force as she dropped her briefcase onto a chair.
‘No problem. We’ve still got three minutes till we need to board.’
‘Good.’ She took a gulp of coffee. ‘Then I have time to grab a pain au chocolat. Get myself in the mood.’
Because what she really needed right now was sugar on top of caffeine.
Joe swallowed the words. As a man who had brought up twin sisters, he knew exactly when it was best to keep his opinions to himself.
Clearly something had happened in the day and a half since he’d last seen her. But equally clearly Imogen’s private life was nothing to do with him.
So he was not going to ask her what was wrong; he was going to stick to business.
Focusing on her back, he followed Imogen through the departure lounge to the ticket barriers, where they were smiled through by a svelte member of Eurostar staff. They moved along the bustling platform and onto the train.
He waited until she’d tucked her briefcase next to her and sat down opposite him, her eyes still snapping out that ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe.
‘So, could you brief me on our meeting with Richard Harvey? Has he told you anything about the project at all?’
‘Nope.