Page 8 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“I’ll be there.”
“Great. When Loreena said she had horses, I hoped there’d be someone else here who’d ride with me.”
Rachel’s innocent comment sends my mind straight to the gutter, and I bite my lip to suppress a smirk. Before she can spot the evidence of my filthy thoughts—surely written all over my face—Garrett scrapes his chair forward, cutting off my view as he leans over his plate.
My left knee bounces in anticipation beneath the table.
“Cut it out,” he growls.
I force myself to stop and try to focus on shuffling down a few forkfuls of the food going cold on my plate.
When my right hand starts tapping a happy rhythm on the tabletop, Christian shoots me a pained glare. I clench my fist to still the movement, fighting to contain my excitement over this first small win, but there’s nothing I can do to subdue the elevated rhythm of my heart.
It’s 9pm—eleven hours from now, I’ll have Rachel MacDonald all to myself.
Chapter 3
It’sjustafterteno’clock, the house settled into that in-between quiet when everyone’s retreated to their rooms, and I’m flat on my stomach on the bedroom floor. My overstuffed belly protests the pose as I stretch my arm under the cream valance, fingers groping for my laptop. No dust bunnies lurking beneath the bed, at least. Mum would approve.
I settle onto the bed, legs crossed, laptop perched on my knee. I’m desperate to get online before Marcus. It’s 6am in Hong Kong—here’s hoping the little creep’s still snoozing. Nothing scores points with a client like walking into the office first thing and finding an email from their lawyer already waiting. Or at least from one of them. From me.
The clack of my nails on the keyboard is cut short by a gentle knock. I freeze. A folder lies open beside me, papers spilling like evidence at a crime scene. How long can I stall before I’m caught?
“Rachel. It’s me.” Sam’s voice, thank god. Relief softens my shoulders. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I keep my voice light as I make a snap decision: I won’t try to hide this from Sam. She’ll probably scold me for letting my work take over my life, for not resting enough, but I’ve heard that lecture before. I’ll take a gamble that she won’t dob me in to Haley. Maid of honour duties trump everything. Protecting the bride’s wellbeing is top of her list, well ahead of mine. My secret will be safe with her.
The door eases open. “Hot chocolate?” Sam thrusts a steaming mug at me. “Might help you sleep. When you eventually get around to it.”
“Thanks.” I take it gratefully as she flops onto the bed beside me. “How did you guess I wouldn’t be asleep?”
“The clattering, for a start.” Her glare flicks to the hastily discarded laptop. “These rooms may be redecorated, but the soundproofing’s rubbish. My pillow’s right through there.” She points at the wall behind me.
“Sorry,” I say. “Bloody work, I’m afraid. And I know—before you start—I shouldn’t be working so hard.”
“No. You haven’t come up for air since Pierre left.” Typical Sam, straight to the elephant in the room. “I get it—burying yourself in work helps block out the past—”
“It’s not the past, Sam. It’s the future I’m worried about here.”
“The partner’s seat?”
“Yes. Three weeks on Monday until they vote. And I wouldn’t be half so worried—I’ve got a great track record—except that fuckwit Marcus Thorne has thrown his hat in the ring too.”
She shudders. “Oh god, no. Not that jumped-up little shit who tried chatting Haley up at The Phoenix on quiz night?”
“One and the same.”
“They’d never make an idiot like him partner over you, Rache,” she scoffs.
“They might,” I sigh. “You’re only as good as your reputation with your latest client. And right now mine is one Marcus and I are both working for. Miranda thought it would befunnyto put us on the same case—said if we’ve got what it takes, we’ll prove it by playing nice for the good of the firm.”
Sam’s brows knit. “And?”
“And Marcus gets to wine and dine the client in Hong Kong while I’m stuck here, sneaking onto midnight zoom calls. He’ll talk golf, guy stuff, build all those cosy little bonds that count for far too much in corporate law. Every minute’s another chance for him to impress the client—and, by extension, Miranda.”
“Shit. That sucks. But you can do this, Rachel. You never lose.”
“Not usually,” I say. “Not until recently. When it involved a fiancé…”
