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“Is it customary now to send an invitation for every tiny and insignificant event in one’s life?”
Harriet waved a cream-colored card, taken out of the company-logoed envelope.
“And on paper, no less,” she added scathingly. “Green business, kiss my ass. Never mind Philip’s private plane he uses to jet all over the world. Do you know how much CO₂ it generates on every flight?” 

“Spare me the math, Harriet,” I said, pushing the button on the coffeemaker. “All I know is that Philip is rich, handsome, and single, and…”
“He is in love with you, Emma,” Harriet said, putting her slender legs—clad in another pair of outrageous stiletto heels—on her desk, which was far tidier than mine.

It was universally known in our law firm that, by some quirk of nature, her coffee machine produced the best brew in our Inn, so all the junior staff were forever besieging her office, which overlooked the landscaped grounds. Mine was the same size, albeit at the other end of the oak-paneled corridor—which always made one feel as though they should don a wig and gown.

Now our barristers' togs were locked in wardrobes, and normal clothing was out. For Harriet, it was the said stilettos; and I, as always, felt a little prim and proper next to her.

“He was in love with me,” I corrected her, doling out the coffee. “He even proposed, but I obviously told him to bug off.”
“You didn’t!” Harriet nearly spilled her espresso.
“Not exactly,” I admitted. “However, I made it very clear that our paths would never collide.”
“And he went to heal his broken heart in the USA,” Harriet said, taking the envelope again. “Apparently, this is a welcome-back-our-beloved-CEO party.”
“Last time I attended one of these, I was in the reception class,” I smiled. “Still, I think we need to go. I’m sure Philip Elton thought long and hard about you, and you are the reason he came back to London.”

Harriet always needed reassurance. I, obviously, wasn’t going to tell her about the last conversation I had with Philip before he jetted off to New York.
The one before last, I sighed, because the last was that blasted proposal.

I’d tried to set Philip Elton up with Harriet but ran into the blank expression I’d already seen on his face in business meetings.
“Not that she’s not attractive,” he said, “but with my wealth, I have to be extremely careful in choosing a life companion.”
“Stop being such a pompous ass,” I retorted, but Philip just shrugged.
“Class is still a thing, and we’re on the same level, Emma. But Harriet is… how should I put it…”
“Beautiful and accomplished,” I snapped, but he’d already moved on to another topic.

I still hoped today’s event would settle everything, because in my opinion, Harriet was far better suited to Philip Elton than to her last, unfortunate boyfriend.
As if on cue, Harriet sighed, and I looked at her inquisitively.
“You haven’t been emailing Robert recently, have you?”

She flicked a chestnut curl from her reddened cheek.
“No,” Harriet muttered. “He sent me a proper letter, and I wonder if I should…”
“Chuck it in the bin,” I said, grabbing our empty cups. “You clearly told him that you’re not a farm girl—and that’s that.”

Harriet liked Robert Martin, but as I’d told her countless times, there’s a difference between a weekend canoodling with a hunky farmer and being chained to his Aga stove in some ancient house in an area where Amazon doesn’t even deliver.

“If he writes again, just delete it immediately,” I said, moving to the mirror. “Out of sight, out of mind—or rather, out of your address book.”
My blond chignon was perfect, but I decided to let my hair down to match Harriet’s glitter stilettos. A party was a party, after all.

Trust Elton Corporation to run their events in the classiest places. We Bolted to the stunning Art Deco building in the City of London, which used to be a bank. While quietly researching venues for my own wedding, I’d already salivated over this marble-and-bronze decor and the majestic staircase that demanded a silk-clinging dress and Hollywood waves.

The humongous doors, open to the street, emanated light, and Harriet gasped.
“Seems like we won’t be the only ones dressed to the nines!”
“You don’t say,” I muttered, extracting myself from the taxi. “This is a serious black tie.”

The man of the hour, Philip Elton himself, towered on the steps, looking as though he’d walked straight off the set of a movie about a sexy billionaire.
“Sexy and single,” I held my head high, “but not for long.”

“Let’s say hello to the host,” I nudged Harriet, trying simultaneously to climb the steep stairs in a tight dress and maintain my composure.
“He seems to have a new Head of Corporate Relations,” Harriet said, hurrying after me.

The tall woman beside Philip sported a mane of striking raven curls and an unmistakable attitude. Her scarlet silk dress could have started the next Great London Fire—and had haute couture written all over it.
“Here come the smartest legal brains in London,” Philip said amiably. “I’m glad you could make it, girls. Please meet my wife, Augusta Elton.”

The diamond rock on her finger scratched my hand. Harriet swayed, and I quickly pushed her toward the nearest waiter with a serving tray.
“Emma,” her lips trembled, “Emma, did he say…”
I downed two Bollinger flutes as if it were water.
“Drink,” I ordered Harriet. “He did say wife, and we need to hit the booze first. Decisions will come later.”

Taking another flute, I caught, in the gilded mirror, the smug smile of the newly minted Mrs. Elton.
We’ll see each other again, I mouthed, disappearing with Harriet into the buzzing crowd.

The End

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