“I see,” says Luke after a pause. He picks up a piece of bread and begins to break it up with his fingers, then looks up. “Sacha and I have been together awhile now,” he says kindly. “I’m sorry if I gave . . . any other impression.”

He’s patronizing me. I can’t bear it.

“That’s not the point,” I say, feeling my cheeks flushing beet red. “It’s just . . . it’s all wrong.”

“Wrong?” he says, looking amused.

“You should have told me we were choosing a case for your girlfriend,” I say doggedly, staring down at the table. “It would have made things . . . different.”

There’s silence and I raise my eyes, to see Luke looking at me as though I’m crazy.

“Rebecca,” he says, “you’re getting this all out of proportion. I wanted your opinion on suitcases. End of story.”

“And are you going to tell your girlfriend you asked my advice?”

“Of course I am!” says Luke, and gives a little laugh. “I expect she’ll be rather amused.”

I stare at him in silence, feeling mortification creep over me. My throat’s tight, and there’s a pain growing in my chest. Amused. Sacha will be amused when she hears about me.

Well, of course she will. Who wouldn’t be amused by hearing about the girl who spent her entire morning testing out suitcases for another woman? The girl who got completely the wrong end of the stick. The girl who was so stupid, she thought Luke Brandon might actually like her.

I swallow hard, feeling sick with humiliation. For the first time, I’m realizing how Luke Brandon sees me. How they all see me. I’m just the comedy turn, aren’t I? I’m the scatty girl who gets things wrong and makes people laugh. The girl who didn’t know SBG and Rutland Bank had merged. The girl no one would ever think of taking seriously. Luke didn’t bother telling me we were choosing a suitcase for his girlfriend because I don’t matter. He’s only buying me lunch because he hasn’t got anything else to do—and probably because he thinks I might do something entertaining like drop my fork, which he can laugh about when he gets back to the office.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a wobbly voice, and stand up. “I haven’t got time for lunch after all.”

“Rebecca, don’t be silly!” says Luke. “Look, I’m sorry you didn’t know about my girlfriend.” He raises his eyebrows quizzically, and I almost want to hit him. “But we can still be friends, can’t we?”

“No,” I say stiffly, aware that my voice is thick and my eyes smarting. “No, we can’t. Friends treat each other with respect. But you don’t respect me, do you, Luke? You just think I’m a joke. A nothing. Well . . .” I swallow hard. “Well, I’m not.”

And before he can say anything else I turn and quickly make my way out of the restaurant, half blinded by disappointed tears.