other, she let her head fall back and, with a tiny sigh, said, ‘My problem is the chief bridesmaid.’
‘Oh, that’s always a tricky one. Has she fallen out with the bride over her dress?’ he hazarded. ‘I understand the plan is to make them as unflattering as possible in order to show off the bride to best advantage.’
Her mouth twitched. ‘Wrong. I promise you the bridesmaids’ dresses are show-stoppers.’
‘Oh, right. The bride has fallen out with the bridesmaid for looking too glamorous?’
‘Not that either.’
‘The bride caught her flirting with the groom?’ Nothing. ‘Kissing the groom?’ A shake of her head. ‘In bed with the groom?’
‘That would mean the wedding was off.’ Her voice was slowing as she had to think harder to find the words. ‘This is worse. Much worse.’
‘What on earth could be worse than that?’
‘The chief bridesmaid has dumped her partner.’
‘Oh.’ He frowned, trying to see why that would be a cause for wailing and gnashing of teeth. ‘Surely that means you’ve got an extra bed? You could share her room and the happy couple could have yours. Problem solved.’
‘Problem doubled,’ she replied. ‘The reason she dumped him is because she has a new man in her life and she’s not going anywhere without him.’
‘Okaaay,’ he said, still not getting it. ‘One man out, one man in. No gain, but we’re just back to square one.’
‘If only life were that simple. Unfortunately, her ex is the best man and while I’d love to suggest that you move in with him, solving one of my problems,’ she said, still awake enough to wield her tongue with sarcastic precision, ‘it seems that he wants to show the world just how much he isn’t hurting. To that end, he’s bringing his brand new girlfriend with him.’
‘You’re not convinced that it’s true love?’
‘Anything is possible,’ she admitted, ‘but it would have made my life a whole lot easier if he’d declared himself too broken-hearted to come to the wedding…’
All the tension had left her body now. Her hand, beside her, was perfectly still. Her breathing was slowing. For a moment he thought she’d gone, but an insect buzzed noisily across the deck just above her and she jerked her eyes open, flapped at it.
‘Celebrity would have loved a tragic broken-heart cover story, a nice little tear-jerker to wrap around the wedding,’ she said, easing herself up the lounger, battling her body’s need for sleep, ‘and bump up the emotional headline count. And a new best man would have been easier to find than another room.’
‘You’re all heart, Josie Fowler.’
‘I’m a realist, Gideon McGrath. I’ve left David juggling the accommodation in an attempt to find some space somewhere—anywhere. Hopefully with sufficient distance between the best man and the bridesmaid to avoid fingernails at dawn.’
‘And if he can’t?’
‘If the worst comes to the worst I’ll let them have my room.’
‘And where will you sleep?’ he persisted as she began to slip away again.
‘I can crash in the office,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ve slept in worse places…’
And that was it. She was gone. Out like a light.
He took his time about finishing the chilli, wondering where Josie had slept that was worse than David’s office floor. Who she was. Where she came from, because she certainly wasn’t one of those finishing school girls with cut-glass accents who regularly descended on his office to organise the launch parties for his new ventures.
It wasn’t just her street smart, in-your-face image that set her apart. There was an edginess about her, a desperate need to succeed that made her vulnerable in a way those other girls could never be.
It was a need he recognised, understood and, replacing his plate on the tray, he eased himself off the lounger, straightened slowly, held his breath while the pain bit deep. After a moment it settled to a dull ache and he wound out the shade so that when the sun moved around Josie would be protected from its rays.
That done, he tugged on the bell to summon Francis, then he made it, without mishap, to the bathroom.
Maybe he should make Josie’s day and keep going while he had sufficient movement to enable him to get onto a plane. Perhaps catch up with Matt in Patagonia.
Just the thought was enough to bring the pain flooding back and he had to grab hold of the door to stop himself from falling.
Josie opened her eyes. Glanced at Gideon.
He was lying back, hands linked behind his head, totally relaxed, and for a moment her breath caught in her throat. She met good-looking men all the time in her job. Rich, powerful, good-looking men, but that was just work and while they, occasionally, suggested continuing a business meeting over a drink or dinner, she was never tempted to mix business with pleasure.
It had to be because she was out of her comfort zone here, out on a limb and on her own, that made her more vulnerable to a smile. He had, despite the bickering, touched something deep inside her, a need that she had spent a long time denying.
While there was no doubt that he was causing her all kinds of bother, it was as if he was, in some way that she couldn’t quite fathom, her collaborator. A partner. Not a shoulder to cry on—she did not weep—but someone to turn to.
She wanted him gone. But she wanted him to stay too and, as if he could hear the jumble of confused thoughts turning over in her brain, he turned and smiled across at her.
The effect was almost physical. Like a jolt of electricity that fizzed through her.
‘Okay?’ he asked, quirking up a brow.
‘Y-yes…’ Then, ‘No.’
Her mouth was gluey; she felt dried out. Not surprising. It had been a manic forty-eight hours. A long evening at the office making sure that everything was covered while she was away. A quick meeting with the bride, a scramble to pack and get to the airport. And she’d spent most of her time on the plane getting to grips with ‘the design’, making sure she was on top of everything that had to be done.
‘There’s water if you need it,’ he said, nodding towards a bottle, dewed with moisture, that was standing on the table between them.
‘Thanks.’
She took a long drink, then found the stick of her favourite strawberry-flavoured lip balm she always kept in her pocket.
‘What was I saying?’ she asked.
‘That you’d slept in worse places than David’s office.’
She paused in the act of uncapping the stick, suddenly chilled despite the hot sun filtering through the trees as she remembered those places. The remand cell. The six long months while she was locked up. The hostel…
She slowly wound up the balm, taking her time about applying it to her lips. Taking another long pull on the water while she tried to recall the conversation that had led up to that.
The shortage of rooms. The wretched bridesmaid and the equally annoying best man. That was it. She’d been telling him about the need for yet another room. And she had told him that she’d sleep in the office if necessary…
After that she didn’t remember anything.
Weird…
She stopped worrying about it—it would all come back to her—and, in an attempt to make a joke of it, she said, ‘You won’t tell David I said that, will you? About sleeping on his office floor. I don’t want to give him an excuse to give up trying to find somewhere.’
‘I