Hate to Love You(59)

“No thanks,” I said.

Why didn’t Greg piss off? Everywhere I went he followed. I took a step away and he grabbed my arm, gripping tightly enough to make it impossible to disengage discreetly. He looked around for someone and when he found him—a lawyer called Tom who worked in Probate—he nodded. Stuck to Greg, I watched as Tom turned the lights on and then I blinked at the sudden brightness.

“May I have your attention please,” Greg said. He used to work in criminal law and his courtroom voice carried across the function suite. I tugged my arm but he dug in hard enough to bruise. Someone turned off the music and people looked our way curiously.

“This year our most famous colleague, Elizabeth Benítez, aka Paisley Benton, would like to make a toast to Mr Lemane and say a few words about James.”

Greg shoved the champagne flute into my hand and let go, forcing me to grasp it so it didn’t drop to the floor. “Carpe diem, Betsy,” he sneered.

Mr Lemane smiled graciously and walked over with James. Expectant, avid faces stared at me and I felt the blood leach from my face. Is there such a thing as a crime of panic? Surely someone from criminal law would represent me if I murdered Greg? Either I refused to toast the senior partner and talk about James, or I hacked out a garbled, inarticulate speech in front of sleekly polished vultures eager to see me in action. It was clear they expected the worst.

One look at James’s taut face convinced me that he did too.

My mouth moulded into something that didn’t feel remotely like a smile. “Thank you Greg, for the impromptu trial-by-speech,” I said stiltedly. “And thank goodness the jury is out because I could never do our senior partner justice.” I turned to Mr Lemane, shaking my head apologetically. “I’m afraid I haven’t bought you a gift and neither have I toasted anybody in a very long time. But hey, if this speech gets as many hits as my last one, Flintfire could claim intellectual property rights and charge millions of vicious, voyeuristic people for the privilege of watching it.”

Confusion, then humour flashed in Mr Lemane’s gaze and then he laughed. Someone suggested he could retire on the revenue, causing another round of laughter. Against my better judgement I read a few random faces and was grateful the blush fairy had gone AWOL. Memories of my wedding speech were uppermost in their minds and most of them wanted a repeat performance. Several people had taken out their mobiles, no doubt ready to record. Not because they bore James any malice, as Greg did, but because they were spiteful enough to enjoy a successful colleague’s public embarrassment.

They wanted “Trash at the Bash II.”

In spite of my bravado I felt anything but nonchalant. James’s tense posture made me feel angry on his behalf. Protective. I might be fighting a losing battle with him regarding Ryan, but I’d be damned if I allowed people to titter at his expense if I could help it. It was time to sum up and conclude.

I lifted my glass to Mr Lemane. “Thank you for hiring me and for the opportunity to work with James, the best tax lawyer in London, but more importantly, a man of honour and integrity,” I said, noting the surprised start in James’s shoulders. “Many happy returns.”

Everyone toasted Mr Lemane and he gave a small speech lauding James and a few other lawyers. Then he urged us to enjoy the party and the music started up again. When the lights dimmed, I was left standing with Greg, James and Mr Lemane.

Greg was angry, though he hid it well. He stared at my full glass pointedly. “You didn’t drink to Mr Lemane.”

I could feel my jaw clenching and my teeth grinding together. My inner bitch was threatening to claw her way out of my throat and I swallowed her with an effort.#p#分页标题#e#

“I don’t drink.”

Greg made an incredulous noise. “Are you some sort of religious fanatic?”

“No, I’m an alcoholic.”

Oh God, why hadn’t I lied? “Has a tendency to blurt her alcoholism” doesn’t make good job reference reading, does it?

Greg laughed, enjoying my discomfort, and Mr Lemane frowned.

“Sorry Betty, I didn’t mean to laugh.”

I returned his false smile. “That’s okay, Greg. It was a jerk reaction, right? I know you can’t help it.”

Mr Lemane grinned and raised his glass to salute me. He was drinking sparkling water.

“Plenty of water and fizzy drinks for us fanatics,” he said.

I made my excuses and headed straight to the buffet table. What I really wanted was to sneak a sip of champagne before I put the glass down. Damn it! I hadn’t felt this shaken up over a glass of booze in years. Being put on the spot in front of a room full of people who knew my history had got to me. Their desire that I crash and burn, humiliate myself and James for their enjoyment was like a kick in the ribs.