Mr. Mayfair - Louise Bay Page 0,3
of the oldest investment banks in London. I knew the type—hated it when clubs in London were forced to let women in, longed for the days when no one expected you back in the office after lunch. I should be grateful—they were the men who left meat on the bone that I came along and gobbled off. The bride’s father was a landowner, so he didn’t do a lot except drive about in a Land Rover dressed in tweed. If I just knew someone who would be going. Then I could get them to speak to Henry at the wedding and talk me up, explain how I was good for my word and easy to trust—maybe even mention how I had a business proposition for him. I’d have to be careful who it was. Dexter and I goaded each other, but if he was going to that wedding, Henry would think I was his fairy godmother by the time Dexter was done—any of the six of us would do the same for each other. We were brothers in all but name. But anyone else? I wasn’t sure I’d trust someone outside our circle with something so important. It would be better if I was a guest at the wedding myself. Then Henry would be a captive audience and I was sure I could convince him to sign on the dotted line.
“And you’re sure that I don’t know anyone?” I might not have been to the right schools or grown up in the right circles, but I’d been successful for years. I was earning more money than most of London put together, and I dealt with lawyers and people in business all day, every day. But I didn’t know a single person who would be at this three-hundred-fifty guest wedding.
“As sure as I can be. I’ve cross-referenced against your contacts and your LinkedIn page. And I checked the last five years’ Christmas card lists to see if I’d missed anyone.”
It wasn’t so surprising. We might all be British and living in the same city, but I still existed on a different planet to these people.
“I don’t suppose there are any single women on the list?” There must be someone going without a boyfriend. I was single. So I’d track them down, seduce them, and be available as a plus one for weddings and bar mitzvahs. No, that was a shitty plan. I needed to be sure I was getting into this wedding—I wasn’t going to leave it to chance. I wanted some kind of guarantee or contract or something.
“The ones invited with an un-named plus one are at the bottom of the list,” Roy said. I turned the page to find one male name and three female names.
“Do you have their ages?” Or photographs.
“No, sir. I can find that out for you though.”
I needed to know exactly who these three people were.
Candice Gould
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