Jake thought. Watching two of his most favourite people in the world being loved by so many guests was far from a chore.
He accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter and enjoyed the chilled bubbles as they slipped down his throat.
‘Jake.’
He turned to see Chef Henri standing beside him. ‘Hey, Henri. Everything looks good.’
Henri didn’t smile. ‘We’re one member of waiting staff short,’ he apologised, his annoyance plain to see. ‘It is late notice but, apparently, unavoidable. Of course we will rectify this in your bill …’
Jake clapped a hand on the chef’s shoulder. ‘I’m not worried. We have a beautiful event, your food is the best in the city and everyone here is smiling. If there’s a rush for the bar, I can pitch in.’
‘I can’t ask that of you …’
‘Sure you can. Call it a crazy demand from your client.’
The chef wasn’t convinced. ‘I am sure it won’t come to that. But thank you for your understanding.’
Jake chuckled to himself as he walked through the small clusters of guests. The prospect of working the bar at least gave him a legitimate job to do if the large number of couples became too much for him.
‘Jacob Steinmann!’ A deep voice boomed across the room, closely followed by a balding, rotund man in his early fifties. ‘Do you ever age?’
Jake shook hands with his former practice partner. ‘On the inside I’m one hundred and forty. How are you, Bob?’
Bob Dillinger laughed. ‘Good, good. What’s this I hear about you setting up a rival business in Manhattan?’
‘All true. I’m going to steal every one of your clients. Except I don’t play golf as well as you do, so I fear my world domination attempt is doomed to failure.’
‘You really should learn now you’re back in the land of the living,’ Bob said. ‘Got premises yet?’
Jake shook his head. ‘I’m seeing a couple of places on Monday morning.’
‘Take my advice: choose your location with care. The city’s a different animal since we worked together. You know if you need referrals you can count on me, I hope?’
‘That means a lot, Bob. How’s business for you?’
Bob’s chocolate brown eyes twinkled. ‘The financial crisis has been kind. Some people need reassurance; some just need a badge for their hang-ups. People have exchanged their job titles for professional psychosis lately. I swear thirty-five percent of my clients need recognition instead of therapy. Which means rich pickings for us guys as long as you don’t mind needy rich people.’
Jake hated to admit it, but he’d witnessed the same thing in his West Coast clients. Therapy was the new cosmetic surgery: cheaper than a facelift and easier to brag about at parties. ‘We do what we can.’
‘That we do, Jake. And hey, I’m truly sorry to hear about you and Jessica. So unexpected. Barbara and I were shocked when we heard.’
And there it is. Jake felt the thud of disappointment as his old foe reared its head once more. ‘It’s been tough. But we’ll get through it. I’m looking to the future and so is she.’ Please let that be enough, he added silently, knowing full well it wouldn’t be.
‘Still, being single in Manhattan is no easy run. I mean, look around you. Can you see anyone else single in this room?’
Every defence in Jake rose like sheets of steel. ‘I hear Chef Henri’s on the lookout for Wife Number Three.’
‘Bad news for you, then.’ Bob slapped his hand a little too enthusiastically on Jake’s back. ‘Don’t sweat it, man. You’ll bounce back. In the meantime, if you need setting up on any dates Barbara can put you in touch with lots of lovely ladies from her club. Just say the word and she’ll play Cupid.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘Good, good. Ah, I’m being summoned. You take care, Jake.’
Jake maintained his smile until Bob had disappeared into the crowd, letting out a sigh and downing the rest of his champagne in a single gulp, then reaching for a fresh glass when a waitress passed by. It was going to be a long night …
Private loft apartment, Upper West Side
As soon as Bea entered the expensive loft apartment, her heart sank.
Couples. As far as the eye could see.
In the middle of the room, a tall, good-looking man with an endearing mess of dark hair and vivid blue eyes was tapping a fork against his champagne glass to summon the guests’ attention. Bea took a glass from the smiling waiter and huddled between her brother and Celia as the room fell silent.
‘Hey, everyone. Now you know I’m not one for long speeches so this will be short and sweet. But I just wanted to thank you all for coming this evening and, especially, to my bro over there for arranging this whole event.’
The guests clapped and over their heads Bea saw a hand rise in acknowledgement.
‘But the main reason we’re here – as you all know – is a long overdue celebration of the best day of my life so far.’ He turned to a beautiful dark-haired woman in a stunning red dress beside him. ‘Rosie, when you agreed to marry me I couldn’t believe my luck.’
A chorus of ‘ahh’s came from the guests, closely followed by spontaneous laughter.
The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Wow, you guys are more pathetic than I am.’
‘Get on with it!’ someone yelled.
‘OK, OK. I’m going to be serious for precisely one minute and then we can all enjoy the night.’ He smiled at his fiancée and a reverent silence claimed the room as every guest witnessed exactly how he felt about her. ‘Rosie Duncan, I love you. And I can’t wait to make you Mrs Steinmann this Christmas. You are all I want in life and to know I’m yours is better than breathing.’ He reddened and laughed at his own words. ‘And so, before I embarrass myself and everyone else beyond rescue, I’ll just say please raise your glasses to wish us the best.’
‘To Rosie and Ed!’ the crowd replied as one, crystal champagne flutes lifting around the room.
Bea’s skin felt damp and cold as sickening reality hit. This isn’t just a regular party. It’s an engagement party. How had Celia failed to mention this small detail? And how did she think going to an engagement party in a room full of couples she didn’t know would help Bea forget everything that happened with Otis?
Looking into her glass she realised she had already emptied it. Right now, getting drunk seemed like the perfect option …
‘See?
