“Absolutely,” I insist, relieved at the successful handoff. While Wickham seems brighter than he has been most of the evening, I’m still comfortable ceding any claim.

Wickham follows the Twins out. As I close the door, he flashes me a grin. “Hell of a photo, by the way.” He winks, then trots to catch up with the girls.

Photo—oh!

I shut the door and dart back to my room. I look at the desk and—oh, God—have to laugh. In the center of the workspace is the manila folder with my Meryton designs, open to the five-by-seven print from the card shoot.

“Nicely done, Bennet.” I followed up my recent burst of inspiration regarding Pemberley with updates to a Meryton idea. The card photo was holding my place between the two sections. I pick up the picture, recalling Ming’s comment after the “thoroughly tolerable” burn: “If anyone can turn you down after the Four of Clubs, they’re not worth pursuing, anyway.” I put the photo back on the desk. “Well, Wickham, you failed Ming’s test.”

Sitting, I flip to the Pemberley sketches. A pang of guilt lances through me. It was supposed to go to Wickham.

I should have pressed for more details, asked him what his ideas for the space had been, what vision he’d possessed that convinced the senior Darcy to pass it to him. Does that even matter? In the end, Darcy’s father promised it to Wickham. Darcy disrespected that.

I know that kind of betrayal. I think back to when Wickham said he could relate to my experience at the design firm in LA: “Something that should have been mine was ripped away.”

And it’s Darcy’s fault.

CHAPTER

13

JANE: Can you do me a HUGE favor PLEASEOHPLEASEOHPLEASE?

ME: Don’t be desperate.

JANE: Shush. Can you cover for the Jazz Night hostess? I told Andrea I’d do it but Charles got Kinky Boots tickets.

ME: You’ve seen Kinky Boots four times.

JANE: Not from the front row!

ME: Ugh.

JANE: Please? He goes back to LA tomorrow and it’s our last chance to hang out for a few weeks.

ME: FINE. But YOU have to bring me something to wear.

“Jane, you poo.” I shiver, courtesy of the umpteenth draft I’ve caught this evening. The overzealous AC gusts by the hostess podium whenever someone opens or closes the front door. The dress Jane selected for me, the one from the Work It event, has my back exposed to the frigid current.

Icy blasts aside, I don’t mind filling in. It’s a hundred bucks cash for a few hours of work, and the entertainment is unbeatable. It’s a blend of jazz, R & B, and a truly random assortment of contemporary hits. The modern songs are all performed with a soul-inspired twist, and I love hearing what each singer does with the material.