ught. I’ll go and order the pizza.’
Joe watched her as she picked up the phone and then dropped his gaze to the email. Incredulity descended, causing him to reread the words in the hope that he’d got it wrong. Now what?
His gut informed him that he was seriously mishandling Leila, his actions being dictated by the sear of guilt. His eyes veered up to Imogen—could it be time to acknowledge that he needed some help, here? Every bone in his body revolted at the idea, but as he read the email again panic roiled in his stomach.
There was no choice—he couldn’t afford to mess this up and, like it or not, he was way out of his depth.
Imogen placed the order, trying and failing not to watch Joe. It didn’t look as if the email was giving him joy. In fact she was pretty sure he’d groaned—and she didn’t think it was because she’d ordered him an extra-hot pepperoni, double on the chillies.
His mystery woman was none of her business. Joe had made that more than clear and he was right. It was personal stuff, and she and Joe had already got plenty up close and personal. Heaven knew what impulse had even made her offer to help—perhaps it had been the way he had clearly wanted to help her?
Tucking her phone back into her jeans pocket, she marched over to him, pulled out the seat opposite and plonked herself down. ‘Pizza won’t be long.’
‘Great.’ Thrusting his hand through his already spiky hair, he inhaled audibly. ‘Um … now I’ve read the email, if you’re still up for that offer of help, I could do with a little feminine insight.’
Surprise made her raise her eyebrows; it must be bad, because it was clear from the way he had squeezed out each word that the request had been made with total reluctance.
‘You are a little pale about the gills.’
‘I’m feeling a little pale about the everywhere.’
Imogen flicked a glance at Joe’s screen and curiosity bubbled to the surface. ‘OK, then. Tell me how you can use a female point of view and I’ll give it a shot.’
Joe gestured at the email. ‘The mystery woman is Leila. She’s an ex-girlfriend from seven years ago. I hadn’t heard from her since the split, then three weeks ago she emailed me an invitation to her wedding. Which is less than two weeks from now. You may have read about it—her fiancé is Howard Kreel.’
Imogen blinked. ‘Your ex-girlfriend is Leila Wentworth? The woman who is engaged to the son of one of the planet’s richest men?’
She and Mel and most of the country had discussed the wedding, marvelling over Leila’s blonde beauty and the entire rags-to-riches Cinderella story, with an element of superhero thrown in. Howard had rescued Leila in an alleyway, where she had been on the verge of being robbed, and their relationship had grown and flourished from there—to the point where now they were planning a three-day wedding extravaganza in the Algarve.
‘Wow.’
‘Yeah, wow.’ The sarcastic inflexion was accompanied by a lip-curl.
Obviously Joe was less than entranced by the prospect. In which case …
‘It is kind of weird that she has asked you, but maybe she has literally invited everyone she has ever known. If you don’t feel comfortable my advice is not to go.’
Difficult to believe he hadn’t worked that out for himself.
Joe shook his head. A faint colour touched his cheekbones and a shadow fleeted across his eyes. ‘There’s more to it than that. It’s …’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I need to go.’
‘Why?’
‘It doesn’t matter why.’
‘Even though you don’t want to?’
Impossible to believe that Joe would attend any function he didn’t want to. Confusion along with a hint of foreboding threaded through her tummy.
‘I don’t have a problem going. The problem is that Leila has started sending me emails on a daily basis.’
‘Saying what?’
Joe expelled a sigh, and for a moment he looked so bewildered she felt an irrational misplaced urge to lean over and smooth the creases from his forehead.
‘Saying how important love is and how I must learn to embrace it—how important it is to find the person of your dreams. Pages and pages of it.’
‘So how have you replied?’