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Dropping the phone onto the table, she fist-pumped the air before doing a twirl—he could almost see the elation fizzing off her and it made his chest warm.
‘Congratulations. You did good.’
‘We did good. They loved it. I mean really loved it. You heard Richard—he said the idea was inspirational and that the sketches made him feel like he was living and breathing France. He also said that the proposal was balanced by a sensible and realistic budget that showed him we’d done our homework. We gave better value for money and showed a much better understanding of what they wanted.’
Another twirl and she ended up right next to him, so close that her delicate flowery scent assailed him. So close all he had to do was reach out and …
Her eyes widened as she looked up at him—and then she jumped backwards, shaking her head.
‘I … I … need to let Peter and Harry know, and—’
‘It’s one a.m., Imogen. Best to wait until morning.’
‘Of course … Um … well, thank you, Joe. I truly mean that.’
One long blink and then she smoothed her hands down her jeans, the rise and fall of her chest distracting him as she breathed deeply. Once, twice, thrice.
‘Sorry I got a bit heated earlier. I hope that you work it out with Leila and the wedding goes all right.’
‘Whoa. Not so fast.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean we hadn’t finished our conversation. I thought you’d just hit your groove, in fact.’
‘Yes, well … Probably a good thing we were interrupted. Before I screeched along in my groove and got myself fired.’
Affront panged inside him. ‘I wouldn’t fire you because of a personal argument.’
Her nose wrinkled in obvious disbelief. ‘Um … good to know. But as far as I am concerned the topic is over.’
‘Think again. I am not still in love with Leila.’ The idea was laughable, even if he didn’t feel like cracking so much as a smile. ‘You will not be seen as second-best.’
Imogen huffed out a sigh. ‘It’s not going to fly, Joe. You’re kidding yourself if you truly believe you’re not carrying a flaming torch for her. There is no other explanation. No girlfriend since Leila. Just one-night stands. An aversion to relationships. Going to her wedding to make her happy. Wanting her to believe you’re OK. Willing to lie and undergo an elaborate charade rather than say no to her.’
For a second, shock had him bereft of speech—he could see exactly why Imogen had added up two and two and got approximately a million. But now what? It wouldn’t be easy to convince her of her utter miscalculation without telling her a lot more than he wanted to share.
Joe drummed his fingers on his thigh as he
weighed up just how badly he needed Imogen’s cooperation. Damn it—he couldn’t come up with a better solution to the whole Leila issue than to take Imogen to the wedding.
Bottom line: he needed her on board.
Though it was more than that—truth be told, he didn’t want to feature in Imogen’s brain as a man hung up on his ex. The idea of being lumped together with a git like Steve left an acrid tang. If he wanted to bring utter honesty to the table he could see that Imogen was hurt, and that made his skin prickle in discomfort.
So he would have to tell her the truth.
‘I’m not holding a torch for Leila. Truth is, I owe her.’
‘Owe her what?’ Imogen’s brow creased.
Guilt panged inside him at his past behaviour; discomfort gnawed his chest at the thought of the man he had been. Come on, McIntyre. No truth … no lifeline at the wedding from hell.
‘Leila and I met nine years ago at uni.’ A lifetime ago. ‘We started going out.’
The cool surfing dude and the hot surfer chick. Tension shot down his spine.
‘Then two years later my parents died in a car crash.’
