I’ll Take New York. Miranda Dickinson

for someone to replace Otis yet, OK?’

      Bea couldn’t believe what Russ had said. Had he listened to nothing during their many conversations about her new single status that week? Did he honestly think she would dash into another relationship when the dust was still clearing after the collapse of her last?

      ‘I am going to get out of my apartment and try to live a little,’ she stated, aware of the defensiveness in her reply. ‘I have no intention of replacing anyone.’

      ‘Hell, Bea …’

      Realising his mistake, Russ moved towards her but Bea, rattled by his obvious loyalty to Otis and inference that she couldn’t function without a boyfriend, turned and headed towards the back stairs which led to the office above the bookstore. She thought he might follow her but was relieved to see him return to the half-packed boxes as she left the shop floor.

      She was still annoyed three hours later as she stood in her bedroom deciding what to wear for the party. Russ had apologised in all but words when she had finally rejoined him in the store, but it irked her that he could know her so well yet understand this aspect of her life so little. She held up a black skater dress with a red patent belt. Otis had never really liked it; although the few times she’d worn the dress her other friends had complimented her on it. That was enough of a reason to choose it, she decided. Stuff Otis. Tonight was about her embarking on the next phase of her life – where relationships didn’t cloud the issue and she could be true to herself. It would be good to be selfish for a change. Finding a pair of red patent heels, she nodded at her reflection in the bedroom mirror.

      Tonight is all about Bea James, she told herself. Get ready for me, New York!

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       Private loft apartment, Upper West Side

      They were all couples.

      Why hadn’t he noticed this when he was sending out the eighty invitations for the party? Jake mentally kicked himself for being so naïve. Of course they would all be couples! People their age generally were. He and Jessica had fitted the demographic until recently and all their friends in San Francisco were either remarrying, having kids or just loved-up.

      As Chez Henri’s polished waiting staff buzzed about the beautiful loft apartment, Jake watched each new couple arrive. The elegant champagne flutes they were furnished with at the door seemed to underline their quiet satisfaction with their situation in life. And each one reminded Jake that he could no longer be counted among their ranks.

      He shook his irritation away. It would be fine. He was the party organiser and, as such, could legitimately busy himself with anything that looked like it could be part of his job. The evening would pass quickly, he could give Rosie and Ed the celebration they both deserved and everyone would be happy. He remembered countless conversations with his clients over the years about facing their fears head-on: The longer you hide from what you fear, the more seemingly insurmountable it becomes … When you put yourself in challenging situations, you find you have what you need to cope within you … He knew he was doing the right thing by being here. Jess was gone and he shouldn’t give up his life simply because she wasn’t a part of it any more.

      A polite burst of applause drew his attention back to the apartment’s entrance lobby and Jake smiled as Rosie and Ed entered. He was struck by the way his brother looked at Rosie, a regard magnified by the company around them. Jake momentarily forgot his own battles, filled with deep love for the beautiful couple walking towards him.

      ‘This is amazing, Jake.’ Rosie kissed his cheek and Jake drew her into a hug. ‘It’s so lovely of you to do this for us.’

      ‘It’s my pleasure. And you look incredible, Ms Duncan.’ Jake was struck by how a simple red silk strapless dress was transformed on his soon-to-be sister-in-law, the vivid material contrasting with Rosie’s pale English rose skin, dark wavy hair and deep chocolate eyes. She was radiant. No wonder Ed looked like the kid that got all the candy from Santa Claus.

      Rosie giggled and gave a little twirl. ‘I’m glad you approve.’

      ‘Hey, I’m pretty impressive too,’ Ed said, running a hand down his pale blue shirt. ‘Rosie says it brings out the colour of my eyes, you know.’

      Jake laughed. ‘You look great, bro. Now, make yourselves at home, eat, drink and be happily engaged. If you want to make a speech I’d suggest waiting till nine when most people have arrived.’

      He watched the happy couple wander away and smiled to himself as they received the warm congratulations of their friends. Many people in the room tonight knew what both Ed and Rosie had travelled through in their lives before they found each other. Consequently, the atmosphere in the party was one of genuine support and celebration.

      There are worse places I could be tonight, Jake thought. Watching two of his most favourite people in the world being loved by so many guests was far from a chore.

      He accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter and enjoyed the chilled bubbles as they slipped down his throat.

      ‘Jake.’

      He turned to see Chef Henri standing beside him. ‘Hey, Henri. Everything looks good.’

      Henri didn’t smile. ‘We’re one member of waiting staff short,’ he apologised, his annoyance plain to see. ‘It is late notice but, apparently, unavoidable. Of course we will rectify this in your bill …’

      Jake clapped a hand on the chef’s shoulder. ‘I’m not worried. We have a beautiful event, your food is the best in the city and everyone here is smiling. If there’s a rush for the bar, I can pitch in.’

      ‘I can’t ask that of you …’

      ‘Sure you can. Call it a crazy demand from your client.’

      The chef wasn’t convinced. ‘I am sure it won’t come to that. But thank you for your understanding.’

      Jake chuckled to himself as he walked through the small clusters of guests. The prospect of working the bar at least gave him a legitimate job to do if the large number of couples became too much for him.

      ‘Jacob Steinmann!’ A deep voice boomed across the room, closely followed by a balding, rotund man in his early fifties. ‘Do you ever age?’

      Jake shook hands with his former practice partner. ‘On the inside I’m one hundred and forty. How are you, Bob?’

      Bob Dillinger laughed. ‘Good, good. What’s this I hear about you setting up a rival business in Manhattan?’

      ‘All true. I’m going to steal every one of your clients. Except I don’t play golf as well as you do, so I fear my world domination attempt is doomed to failure.’

      ‘You really should learn now you’re back in the land of the living,’ Bob said. ‘Got premises yet?’

      Jake shook his head. ‘I’m seeing a couple of places on Monday morning.’

      ‘Take my advice: choose your location with care. The city’s a different animal since we worked together. You know if you need referrals you can count on me, I hope?’

      ‘That means a lot, Bob. How’s business for you?’

      Bob’s chocolate brown eyes twinkled. ‘The financial crisis has been kind. Some people need reassurance; some just need a badge for their hang-ups. People have exchanged their job titles for professional psychosis lately. I swear thirty-five percent of my clients need recognition instead of therapy. Which means rich pickings for us guys as long as you don’t mind needy rich people.’

      Jake hated to admit it, but he’d witnessed the same thing in his West Coast clients. Therapy was the new cosmetic surgery: cheaper than a facelift and easier to brag about