LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER 2

      There’s nothing like a wedding – a celebratory gathering of people you supposedly know really well – to remind you that you may have been neglecting your place on the social radar.

      He might be Luke’s best man, but Owen had no clue who at least half of these people were. Then again, the Luke he knew from childhood who’d crashed on his sofa for a couple of weeks some months ago, seemed to have morphed into some kind of pseudo-celebrity since his band had been offered a deal, with a rock star wardrobe and a gang of hangers-on to boot. Owen made dutiful conversation with whoever approached the bar while he swept the room in vain for someone he knew, a member of Luke’s family perhaps. The room buzzed around him with a party atmosphere.

      It was supposed to be an honour, wasn’t it? Your childhood friend getting in touch out of the blue to ask you to step up to the plate as his wing man for the most important day of his life. The thought that not necessarily meant to be the life and soul of this party, but at least to be engaged in it nagged at him. Instead he needed to make a conscious effort to keep his mind from wondering how things were going right now at his newest bar in Chelsea, despite the knowledge that he’d delegated all managerial duties for the weekend across his entire business. It could operate perfectly well without him for a couple of days.

      Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to switch off.

      Unable to avoid overhearing Luke’s blaring voice from feet away he picked up that the cute events manager also knew Luke from way back, not that Owen had ever encountered her before. He was sure he would have remembered. And from the look on her face the Luke she’d known was AWOL too. As he watched she glanced over at the bar.

      The waiting staff had turned up but Amy was needed. Urgently by the look of the bartender, who was unable to fill champagne flutes faster than they were being snapped up by guests in full-on party mode. There was a measure of relief in being slammed back into work. She shoved the hideous sensation of not-good-enough to one side and gritted her teeth hard. The job. That was what was important right now. She was acting Events Manager here. The M-word was in her job title without the qualifying word ‘assistant’ for the first time in history. Yet another let down from her past could not be allowed to affect that.

      As she’d honed her working ability, if not her whole lifestyle, by separating all emotion from practical arrangements, focusing on work was the most natural thing to do in this situation.

      She manoeuvred her way through the throng of wedding guests and headed straight for the bar to check on the drinks.

      ‘So you know Luke?’

      She glanced sideways. Owen Lloyd was standing next to her, one elbow leaning against the bar, that same shrewd smile still on his face.

      ‘He’s just someone I used to know from my home town,’ she said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. The dismissive way Luke had described her really stuck in her craw. Not that she had any feelings for him now. Months of throwing herself into work and a fresh start move to London had put things into perspective. She was over him.

      She still had the right to feel affronted.

      So what had happened between them had been a bit of fun. A time-filler. Her mind now insisted on trotting out a succession of scenarios that bore this out. He’d kept up a full-on social life with his mates while dating her, never really including her in that social circle at all. She’d met his parents only once, by accident in the street. There had been no meet-the-parents Sunday roast for her. They’d never holidayed together nor even planned so much as a mini-break. The examples rolled through her mind on a loop. Her bruised feelings were her own stupid fault for reading things into the situation that simply weren’t there. His insensitivity however, was undeniable.

      ‘We dated for a while back in the day,’ she clarified, noticing that Owen was watching her intently. ‘It was nothing serious.’ Now wasn’t that the truth.

      The bartender was still refilling glasses and Amy moved behind the bar to help, grabbing one of the champagne bottles and inexpertly wrestling with the cork, imagining it was Luke’s neck. The bloody thing refused to budge and she grappled with the bottle and forced her thumbs behind the cork.

      ‘You’ll take out one of the chandeliers if you do it like that,’ Owen said, taking it from her before she could protest. ‘Hold the cork and twist the bottle,’ he said. The cork popped gently out and he filled a couple of flutes before handing it to the bartender.

      ‘I must have loosened it,’ she said irritably.

      ‘You seem tense,’ he commented.

      ‘I am not tense. I’m never anything but calm. There is no room for emotion in wedding organisation. That’s the key to making these things running smoothly.’

      She would make this weekend happen perfectly for Luke as if he was a complete stranger. Which actually in some ways, he was. She still couldn’t get over the image change.

      She heaved an extra tray of champagne flutes from a storage shelf below the bar, forcing her mind to stay on task instead of doing what it wanted, which was to process this new and depressingly predictable slant on her past. There she’d been, considering herself to have one serious relationship under her belt, and the reality was that it had been no more than an overly long and inconsequential fling. Well what a perfect fit for the rest of her life thus far. She squared her shoulders and glanced around the lounge, noting carefully the lack of guests with an empty glass, checking the trays of canapés didn’t need a top up. Guests stood or sat at tables in cosy groups. There was a general buzz of upbeat conversation and laughter. Things were going fine so far.

      Guest satisfaction was always at the back of her mind, and she turned to Owen, who was watching her, and pasted on a polite smile. It occurred to her now that she’d dated Luke for over a year and not only had she never met the person he’d chosen as his best man, she’d never even heard of him. It was becoming clearer and clearer that things with Luke had, in his eyes at least, never been anything more than casual at all. Had she wanted to believe that she, Amy Wilson, could sustain a long-term secure relationship so much that she’d been blind to reality? She passed a hand over her eyes, trying to think straight.

      ‘How do you know Luke? Are you one of his…’ she coughed pointedly, ‘…more recent friends?’

      The word shallow teetered on the tip of her tongue but she didn’t use it. She began stocking extra silver trays for the waiting staff, holding each new flute up to the light and giving it a final polish before it was filled. Never letting the champagne run out was one of her standard rules. Nothing irked the guests like a badly-stocked free bar.

      ‘Actually I’ve known him for years.’

      She stopped mid-polish in surprise.

      ‘Really?’

      He took a sip from his own champagne glass.

      ‘Our parents are old friends. We used to holiday together as kids, then we lost touch for a few years when I moved away. We met up again when he needed somewhere to crash for a while a few months back when he first moved up to London.’

      ‘But you’re not from Wiltshire?’

      ‘Not that far from there actually. My parents

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