President Darcy

Then she spied someone she recognized—and immediately wished she hadn’t. Holding a drink, Bill Collins hovered at Catherine de Bourgh’s impeccably clad elbow, perhaps awaiting the opportunity to be sent on some kind of meaningless errand. His eyes lit up when he noticed Elizabeth, and he scurried over to her.

“Elizabeth!” Greeting her like an old friend, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Allow me to greet you in the French style! I’ve been practicing.” He air kissed both of her cheeks.

“There!” he exclaimed. “How did I do?” He took a generous swallow from his drink. Oh yeah, open bar.

“Um…” Elizabeth had never been called upon to judge air kisses before. “Quite good.”

He gave her a ghastly grimace. “I hope there are no hard feelings over our last date.”

Elizabeth had been surprised that Charlotte had started dating Bill, and shocked when she had confessed deep and abiding feelings for the man. “No, I—”

“My passion for Charlotte simply swept me away.” He clasped both hands over his heart. “I was helpless to resist. United by our love of office products, we are true soulmates—with but one heart and one mind.”

Elizabeth choked on a mouthful of wine.

Bill continued, oblivious to her frantic coughing. “She is my rose petal. My peony. My sunrise. My moonset.”

Moonset? “I’m very happy for you,” Elizabeth gasped out between coughs.

He eyed her disbelievingly. “I know you regret never tasting a piece of this.” He slapped himself on the butt. Elizabeth managed to cover her wince. “But my heart and my body belong to Charlotte.”

Pressing her lips together to catch any errant laug

hs, Elizabeth nodded. “Of course. I will respect that.”

Sidling closer to her, Bill lowered his voice. “In fact, I got that tattooed for Charlotte’s birthday.”

“Got what tattooed?” Wait, do I want to know?

He gave her a sly, secretive smile. “’Property of Charlotte’—tastefully done, of course—in a very nice cursive script tattooed right here on my—” He raised his hand to slap his butt again.

Elizabeth responded swiftly before receiving more details. “You don’t say!”

He nodded with a self-satisfied smile. “But don’t tell Charlotte. It’s a surprise.”

“I won’t tell her,” Elizabeth reassured him. Or anyone else. In fact, I’m hoping they’ll invent a brain bleach to erase that image.

Elizabeth groped around for a more innocuous topic of conversation. “Um…has Mrs. de Bourgh met Charlotte?”

Bill’s face was rapturous. “Yes. They got along swimmingly. I was concerned at first that Mrs. de Bourgh would think Charlotte’s family too”—he dropped his voice as if he were about to confess his beloved had a terrible disease—“bourgeois. But she believes the Lucases are an eminently suitable family for someone of my station in life.”

“How fortunate,” Elizabeth managed to choke out.

“I am hoping someday Charlotte will make me the happiest of men.” Bill gazed rapturously into the distance.

“Um, great.” Elizabeth wondered if they made stapler-themed wedding décor.

“And to think,” Bill waxed on, “none of this would have happened if I’d found you remotely attractive.”

Elizabeth managed not to spray her white wine over everything. “Yeah…that’s very…fortunate.” She eyed the wine in her glass. Was it too soon to claim the need for a refill?

“Ms. Bennet?” A young brown-haired man in an impeccably tailored suit approached. He had been at the meeting earlier. Oh, the president’s cousin. Shit. Out of the frying pan… He stuck out his hand. “Richard Fitzwilliam. Please call me Fitz.” His easy grin instantly helped her tight muscles relax. “I wanted to take the opportunity to—”

Bill had already seized the other man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Fitz. Bill Collins. I work with your aunt at De Bourgh Enterprises.”

Fitz tilted his head to the side. “My condolences.”

Bill continued obliviously, “I supervise the stapler division—”