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“It’s unfair you were all fired. You didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, well.” I tore off the wrapper from the top of the bottle and stabbed the corkscrew into the cork. “Unfortunately, Selena had rinsed the company of every penny it had, so there was nothing left to keep us hired with.”
Such was the nature of embezzlement, my friends.
“Ah, I forgot about that.”
“At least one of us did.” I poured two glasses and re-joined her in the living room. “How was your day?”
“I’m scared to say.”
“Better than mine, I’d wager.”
She slipped a bookmark into her book and set it down, grimacing at me. “I called Nancy Porter back.”
“Ah, the fancy farmer.”
Or, as I liked to call her, Fancy Nancy.
In my head, at least.
Cam briefly closed her eyes and let out a small laugh. “Yes. It’s… true. Apparently, that engagement party I planned for Lady Olivia Fortescue means I’m hot property at the moment. Nancy didn’t have enough good things to say about me—apparently The Duchess of Devon was there and couldn’t believe how well organised it was.”
“Cam, that’s amazing!”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “There’s absolutely nothing done for this party as it was a last-minute idea, and I’m supposed to be in Norway two weeks before with my family. I can’t cancel that, and my mum will be furious if I work while we’re away. I’m not entirely sure I can take it on.”
“It’s just a party. You could organise that in your sleep.”
“It’s a big party. With loads of the aristocracy attending—more than Olivia had at her engagement party. Besides, with that, I really just picked up the pieces. I got lucky that her old planner let her down and I was the only person available at the last minute.”
“Nonsense. Everything happens for a reason. You were the right person at the right time. You’ve put your everything into this business.” She’d also put a great deal of her parents’ money into it—a bonus she had coming from a wealthy Scandinavian family, but that was by the by.
She’d put the work in. I could attest to her twenty-hour workdays sometimes.
“It was a lucky break, Sophie.”
“Everyone in business gets a lucky break. If they didn’t, they’d be bankrupt.”
“That was beautiful. Did you get that from a fortune cookie?”
I tapped my knuckles against my head. “From my noggin.”
“You should write poetry.”
“How do you know I don’t?”
She stared at me for a moment, but her serious expression lasted all of a few seconds before her lips twitched, breaking it. “Be realistic, Sophie.”
“I always am. It’s miserable.” I shrugged, swinging my legs up onto the sofa and leaning back on my elbow like someone was about to draw me.
All I needed was a hot artist and one of those fancy, floor-length gowns with feathers that ran along the edges. You know, the kind that rich widows wore in movies or romance novels where they’d stand seductively in a doorway, arching their leg to show their smooth skin while running their hands teasingly over their ample bosoms.
Wow.
I really did need a job.
Maybe I could be a romance novelist if nothing else here worked out for me.
