Suzie Dougherty
Stella London
Three single women—it had to be my way in. As invitees to M&K’s wedding, they had something I needed more than oxygen. I might not be able to guarantee a plus one by seducing them, but everyone wanted something. And I had considerable means at my disposal. I just needed to figure out what they wanted and then do a swap—a plus one for a pony or a week on a yacht or whatever it was people who didn’t work wanted in life. I just needed to track them down and make them an offer they wouldn’t want to refuse.
One of these women was the key to the Dawnay building.
Three
Stella
Another day, another dollar, so the phrase goes. But for me another day meant another twelve hours at my crappy office with the crappiest boss who ever lived. Placing people I didn’t know into jobs they didn’t want was the worst. It might have only been two months into the role, but I’d never get used to being a recruitment consultant.
My mobile buzzed on my desk beside me and I glanced over my shoulder toward my boss’s empty office. She hated people taking personal calls. If breathing took time out of the day, she’d ban that too.
It was Florence. She never called me at work. Taking my life in my hands, I swiped to accept the call. “Hey,” I whispered.
“Are you in front of your computer?” she asked.
“Of course I am. I’m chained to it, what—”
“I’m five minutes away. Whatever you do, don’t check your emails. Get your coat and meet me downstairs.”
Florence must be crazy. I was constantly checking my emails. “I’m staring at my inbox, Florence.”
“I mean your personal emails. Promise me. Log off and meet me downstairs or I’m going to march into your office and haul you out.”
“It’s only just gone six. I can’t just leave. What’s the problem?” It sounded serious. “Are you and Gordy okay?” She and Gordy were the perfect couple. If there was trouble in paradise, then anything was possible.
“I’ve just turned into Monmouth Street. Have you got your jacket on?”
Oh God. She didn’t say that they were okay. Florence needed me. And she trumped the wrath of my boss. “I’m coming,” I said, wedging the phone between my shoulder and my chin as I logged out.
I pulled my jacket off the back of my chair and headed to the exit, ignoring my boss’s assistant’s pointed look at the clock as she saw me leave.
I saw Florence as soon as I stepped out of the lift. She was facing me from the other side of the glass doors of the office, her shoulders slumped, her forehead furrowed, and her face as pale as a corpse. It was clear something catastrophic had happened.
I was going to kill Gordy.
“I’m so sorry, Florence,” I said, and I opened my arms and pulled her into a hug.
She held me so tight, I struggled to breathe. She must be devastated. We all thought Gordy was one of the good guys.
“I wanted you to hear this from me,” Florence said as she pulled away and snuck her arm around my shoulder.
“Of course. I’m here for you,” I replied as I grabbed her hand. “I’ll help you bury the body if you want me to.”
She frowned as if she was surprised by my offer, but how could she be? There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Florence. For either of my two best friends.
We crossed the street and found an outside table at the bar opposite my office on Monmouth Street. One of the few positives about my job was that it was based in the West End and surrounded by bars and restaurants. “We’re going to need wine,” I said.
We were going to need a shovel. If she didn’t kill Gordy, I would.
We ordered a bottle of wine and took a seat. “So you saw?” Florence said. “You seem very calm.”
“Saw what?” I asked. “Oh,” I said, pulling out my phone. “You said there was something in my personal email.”
“You didn’t see?” Florence asked.