Page 47 of Pretender

“Indeed I do,” I answer, hugging Aiden’s arm closer.

“So do I,” Aiden says, and I can feel his eyes on the side of my head and my gaze is pulled towards his. When my eyes meet his blues, I’m struck again by how genuine he looks. This is not a real date, yet there’s more affection in his expression than Henry ever showed me.

Stop it, Linnea.

You’re getting carried away.

This is fake. He’s a charmer. This is what he does. And he’s doing it well because that’s what we agreed.

“I do owe you an apology, Linnea.” Venetia turns serious now. The lines around her mouth pulling down.

“How come?”

“My husband played golf with Henry—you know how men are.” She waves a hand as if it explains everything, and continues in the same casual air, “and he made it sound like he was the man behind the company. That you had needed him to manage you, and that you would be hard to work with without him.”

Her story hits me hard, and I freeze. The words are not surprising. These are things he has said straight to my face. Harsher than that. But saying it to potential clients?

So while I’ve been working every waking hour of the day trying to find ways of keeping my company afloat, he’s actively been working against me?

It wasn’t enough to take half of it from me.

I’m not sure what’s worse. The fact he can roam freely like that, talking about me, or the certainty that no one would argue with him.

Because no one knows me.

I let no one in. I’m not hard to work with, but how do I argue my case without proof? Working with Venetia, if she accepts me, will be my trial by fire.

Aiden’s thumb caresses circles on my hand, and I shouldn’t find that as soothing as I do.

“That’s embarrassing,” I say when I finally find my voice.

“For him, perhaps,” Aiden says. “How does this not make him look like an arse? He’s a tosser and Rupert shouldn’t work with someone who stabs their ex-wife in the back like that.”

The air in my lungs feels thick and heavy.

“That’s why they all left,” I mutter.

All except Aiden. I glance up at him, but he’s focused on Venetia.

“I agree. What an absolute gobshite,” she exclaims, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, darling. We won’t allow this behaviour in our circle.”

Aiden gives her an approving nod, the weight on my chest lightening ever so slightly.

“Thank you for telling me,” I say, and she squeezes my hand the way she did the other night, but this time there’s something entirely different in her eyes. It looks a lot like ‘I got you’ and a glimmer of hope sparks in me.

“Make sure you make it the Buckingham Palace garden picnic in two weeks,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “I have people I want to introduce you to.”

Venetia moves on, air-kissing people’s cheeks, cackling at someone’s comment, taking a weight off my chest with her as she does.

I want to thank Aiden for staying with my company, but a part of me is scared to hear him say why. Or hear him lie to me.

I clear my throat.

“You’re the only client who stayed with me.”

Aiden shakes his head. “Goes without saying, Linnea. My clubs would be nothing special without you.” He squeezes my hand, and I want to believe him. “Henry won’t last long with his morals.”

“I wish that was how the world worked, but unfortunately he’s a white man with no scruples; they tend to fail upwards.”