Right Number, Wrong Girl

I could not organise such a fancy arse party.

I couldn’t organise any party.

My best friend had lost her fucking mind.

“Cam!”

“I’m here, I’m here, sorry.” She crackled back into audible range. “My signal is shit and getting worse, just listen to me. I have everything already done and booked in. All I need you to do is follow up with the vendors, check in on the minor things, and make sure the needs of the Devons are attended to with regards to the party.”

That sounded like a lot of work.

“It’s going to be two days. Three tops. Grandma is getting better, and I’ll check every hour for a plane back to literally anywhere in the UK until I find a seat on one.” Another crackle. “Please, Sophie. Just explain that you’re there to oversee the preparations while I try to get back.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“I’ll pay you!”

“The answer is still no. I will ruin your business.” Hell, I couldn’t get bloody hired by anyone, so there was no way Camilla was going to pseudo-hire me. “One of us needs to pay for this flat, and God only knows it isn’t me. I’m blasting through my savings at a breakneck pace.”

“Exactly why you should do this for me! I’ll pay you, you don’t have to pay for accommodation because I’ve already booked a cottage on a farm estate.”

I didn’t reply.

“You’re stuck in London with nothing to do, no job, no boyfriend.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” I muttered.

She had both of those things.

“Please, Sophie. You know I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t completely desperate.”

“Can’t you just delay going down there again? If it’s only a couple of days, what does that matter? You can work remotely.”

“I can’t. A lot of stuff is being delivered and someone has to be there to handle it.”

“Camilla…”

“I’ll contact them. I don’t know if I can call but I have email access. Please, Soph. Please.”

I dropped my head back and looked up at the ceiling with a sigh.

“Is that a yes?” she asked hesitantly.

“Damn you.”

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you!”

“Don’t thank me yet. There’s a huge chance I might just fuck this up big time for you.” I grabbed my wine glass. “You have to tell them that I’m not you and it’s only for three days. I’m only standing in, not organising shit at all.”

“Yes, yes. Okay, look, I have to go, my phone is dying, and I have to get back from the airport.”

She was still at the airport? Lord. This was all a mess.

I was making a terrible choice here. I knew it. Camilla knew it. The entire aristocratic Devon family were about to know it.

Which meant everyone was about to know it.

“I’ll send you all the details as soon as I’m back at Gran’s, all right?” The line was breaking up again, and I only just caught her saying goodbye before it cut off.