“If it helps any, you look gorgeous in your dress.” Karen’s gaze rolled down Jordan’s body. “When I say gorgeous, I mean like a weird green streak. What even is that colour? Celery chic? I particularly love the flower in your hair.”

Jordan ripped the flower from her head. She’d been in such a hurry to get home, she’d forgotten to take it out.

Karen gave her a cocky grin. “Get changed, and come down the Bucket. I’ll buy you a drink. And you never know, the woman of your dreams might be waiting tonight.”

That made Jordan smile. “Because there’s always such a glut of good-looking lesbians in the Bucket.” She checked her watch. 9pm. She’d been working since 7am. No wonder she was tired.

“No looking at your watch and coming up with excuses. I haven’t seen you in the past month because you’ve been getting Emily and Max married. Now it’s done, it’s time to relax.” Karen straightened up, then gave the roof two quick slaps.

“Hey!” Jordan shouted. How many times had she told Karen not to do that?

Karen’s face came back into view, her hands resting on the window again.

Jordan leaned over. “Show Carrie the Capri a little more respect, please.” She smacked Karen’s hands.

Karen stepped back, holding Jordan’s gaze. “If only you loved me as much as you love this car.” She cocked her head. “Do me a favour and do as you’re told. Come and have a drink with me. You need to be reminded of real life and your real friends. Not the weird make-believe world you inhabit when you’re hired as a rich person’s bridesmaid.”

Jordan took a deep breath, then gave her a nod. “Okay. Give me 15 minutes and I’ll see you in the bar. Get me a wine. The largest one they sell.”

Karen grinned. “That’s my girl.” She banged the roof again before she walked off down the road towards the pub, and turned to give Jordan a wave.

Jordan grabbed her phone from her bag on the passenger seat, then pressed the side button. It lit up. She had a new email. She should leave it until tomorrow, go home, then get down the pub. But she never did. Being your own boss meant you were always on. She opened the email.

Jordan stared at the photo pasted into the top of the email. Whoever this was, she was the definition of a beautiful woman.

Jordan’s eyes scanned down the email for a name to match to the face. Abby Porter. 36 years old. Engaged to Marcus Montgomery. Jordan tried to sit up straighter, but her bridesmaid dress had too much material and it caught around the seat belt. Stupid bloody dress. The sooner she got out of it, the better.

Jordan clicked on the light above the dashboard and stared at the email again.