Page 8 of Before You Say I Do
Abby crossed one leg over the other, before giving Jordan a nod. “Okay, high level stuff. I’m a project manager for Investwell. Fingers crossed, I’m just about to be made team lead on a project implementing a new system in our Asset Management division. My boss is nice, but dull. If I end up like him, I might shoot myself. The job isn’t sexy, but it pays well. I get stuff done, and people appreciate that.” She stared at Jordan. “If I’m not mistaken, this is what you’re doing too, right?”
She was insightful. Jordan nodded. “In part. But think of me also as your cheerleader, right-hand woman, and a shoulder to cry on.” She sometimes said ‘therapist’, but somehow thought that might make Abby bolt. Abby struck her as an independent woman who rarely asked for help. Would she employ Jordan? She had no idea.
“Plus, if you’re a project manager by day, that’s the last thing you want to be in your spare time.” Jordan paused. “Are you neat at home?”
A smile broke through on Abby’s face. It suited her. She shook her head. “Nope. Marcus wins that battle. I’ve been known to leave coffee cups on the side for days, which makes him cringe.”
“You can’t be on top of things everywhere,” Jordan replied. She’d obviously struck a nerve. “What about your family?”
“My family.” Abby’s smile got wider. “They’re a damn sight easier to deal with than Marcus’s family. My mum, Gloria, is a university professor from Glasgow, but she lives in St Albans now. My dad mends vacuum cleaners.”
That made Jordan pause. “For a living?”
“He gets that a lot. But, yes.” She grinned. “He’s not my biological dad but he might as well be. He brought me up. His name is Martin. The same first three letters as the man I’m marrying. Perhaps all men beginning with Mar are special?”
Jordan inclined her head. “Maybe they are. My dad’s called Bob, so I wouldn’t know.” She paused. “Tell me how you met Marcus, and how he asked you to marry him.”
Abby smoothed out her blue jeans unnecessarily. “What can I tell you about Marcus? He’s a sweetheart. I’m very lucky to have him.” Her mouth twitched as she spoke. “He asked me to marry him after a romantic meal at his place. He got down on one knee and popped the question.” Abby paused. “It was old-fashioned and lovely. He’d asked my parents for my hand the week before, because he’s a gentleman. I’m not so in love with that, because I’m not my parent’s property to give away.” Abby’s foot jigged at speed. “Still, that’s Marcus: traditional and sweet. Plus, he makes a mean Thai green curry. My mum thinks I should marry him just on the basis that he knows his way around the kitchen.”
“I’ve heard of worse reasons,” Jordan replied.
“I’m sure you have.” Abby sipped her coffee before licking her lips, a ghost of a smile crossing her face. “So tell me why I should go ahead and hire you as my fake bridesmaid.”
“Because I can take the stress out of the whole affair and make you enjoy getting married is the short answer. The top-level package means I pose as one of your bridesmaids. If you need me to write your speech, run the hen do, or get you the right bra for your big day, I can. I can even make sure you sleep well the night before.”
Abby laughed at that. “Are you a magician, too?”
“It’s been said.” Jordan gave her a full-beam smile. “If you don’t want the full package, I can just be hired on a daily basis as your bridal PA. I’m there to make your life easier, and whatever it is you want me to do, I can do it.”
Abby nodded as she took it all in.
“But say you went for the VIP treatment, our back story is normally that I’m a long-lost friend from your childhood, who got back in touch and we’ve rekindled our friendship.” Jordan tucked her elbows into her waist, turning her palms to the ceiling. “We always promised each other we’d be the other’s maid of honour, and here I am.” She sat forward, fixing Abby with her stare. “That story works like a charm. However, you’d be surprised how little I have to trot it out.” Jordan scratched her cheek. “In the unlikely event I am quizzed on our story, I’m discreet and a good actor. Plus, I get on with anybody, which is part of the job. Marcus tells me the thorn in your side is your mother-in-law. I’m the expert on those, too.”
Abby’s foot began to jig again. “Have you got a mother-in-law?”
Jordan shuddered. “Nope. If I did, I’m sure I’d find her tricky to deal with, too.” She smiled. “But I come at this with experience and knowledge on my side. I’ve got a degree in psychology and I know how to handle people. I also dress the part, and I can be there to head off tricky encounters before they even happen. If it’s her who’s giving you the most grief, you can brief me, and you won’t have another conversation before the wedding. My job is to make problems disappear, and I’m good at it.”
Abby took that in for a few moments. “That does sound tempting. However, I already have two bridesmaids. My maid of honour is sorting the hen do. So I’m not sure of the need on that score.”
Jordan shrugged. “No problem. I can just be an additional bridesmaid who takes the pressure off everyone. I can be your maid of honour in everything but name.” She held up a hand. “Although, I don’t want to tread on any toes. If your current choice has everything in hand, that’s all good. But…” Jordan hesitated. This was always tricky to say. “To put it bluntly, does she? Is she making your life better or worse?”
Abby tensed her mouth one way, then another. Then, she let out a long sigh. “She’s a fucking nightmare, to tell you the truth.” Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Never tell her I said that, she’d kill me. Shit, that was meant to be my inside voice.”
Jordan bit down a grin. Two swear words in as many sentences. Abby was starting to loosen up. “It’s a common tale.” She leaned forward and placed a hand on Abby’s arm.
Abby flinched, staring at Jordan’s fingers, then at her.
Something shifted inside Jordan. She held Abby’s gaze for a moment, before shaking her head. “What was I saying?”
What had she been saying? Jordan wracked her brain, before she remembered.
“Oh yes. Client confidentiality. If you hire me, whatever you say is in the strictest confidence. Anything at all. So never apologise. I can help you best if I know exactly what I’m dealing with. Okay?”
Abby nodded, her cheeks flushed, her eyes not quite settling on Jordan’s face. “The truth is, my maid of honour is my best friend, Delta. Who is a very capable, very lovely woman. Only, she’s just been dumped by her girlfriend, and is currently only concerned with that. Let’s just say she’s dropped the ball somewhat since it happened, and I am freaking out a little about the hen weekend that’s coming up in Cannes.”
Jordan sat back. Abby needed her help with her mother-in-law and her maid of honour. This job was in the bag, surely?
She liked Abby. She liked her forthrightness, and she could listen to her soft, Scottish accent all day. Jordan was sure Abby would have her fair share of meltdowns — every bride did — but she got the impression she’d be reasonable, too. Plus, she had a queer maid of honour. Another tick in Abby’s column.
