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  But he was doing it anyway. For family. Because, despite everything that had happened between them, Clara was still family—and this job couldn’t be given to anybody but family.

  He turned down a small side street lined with offices and within moments he found himself standing outside a neat apple-green office with the words ‘Perfect London’ emblazoned above the door, and knew his thinking time was up.

  He paused, his hand on the door ready to push it open, and stared for a moment through the large window. There she was. Clara.

  Her dark hair hung down over her face as she leant across a colleague’s desk to point at something on a computer screen. It obscured her eyes but, since that meant she couldn’t see him, Jacob supposed that was for the best.

  She looked well, he supposed. The cranberry-coloured wrap dress she wore clung to curves he remembered too well, and his gaze followed the length of her left arm from the shoulder down to where her hand rested on the desk. He looked closer. No ring.

  Jacob took a breath, trying to quieten the large part of his brain that was screaming at him that this was a stupid idea and that he should just turn and leave now. It had been five long years; what was five more? Or ten? Or forever? He’d already been stung by failure with Clara before. Why risk that again?

  But no. His plan mattered, far more than any history he and Clara shared, no matter how miserable. He’d decided he would make this thing happen, and he would. Jacob Foster kept his word and he didn’t let people down. Especially not his family.

  And they were all counting on him. Even if they didn’t actually know about his plan just yet.

  But he needed help. Clara’s help, to be specific. So he couldn’t turn and walk away.

  He just had to make it clear that this was business, not pleasure. He wasn’t there to win her back, or remind her how good they’d been together. He was there to ask for her professional help, that was all.

  He took another deep breath and steeled himself to open the door.

  She’d listen, at least, he hoped. Hear him out. She had to.

  She was still his wife, after all.

  * * *

  Clara brushed the hair back from her face and peered at the screen again. ‘I’m still not sure it’s going to be big enough.’

  Sitting at the desk beside her, Merry sighed. ‘It’s the biggest I’ve been able to find, so it might just have to do.’

  ‘Have to do doesn’t sound very Perfect London,’ Clara admonished. ‘If it’s not right—’

  ‘We keep looking,’ Merry finished for her. ‘I know. But can I keep looking tomorrow? Only I’ve got that thing tonight.’

  ‘Thing?’ Clara searched her memory for the details. Best friends and business partners were supposed to know this stuff, she was sure. ‘Oh! The thing at the art gallery! Yes! Get out of here now!’

  Merry pushed her chair back from the desk, obviously wasting no time. ‘Thanks. Don’t you need to pick Ivy up?’

  Clara checked her watch. ‘I’ve got another twenty minutes or so. She’s having dinner round at Francesca’s tonight, so I might as well use the time to finish things up here.’

  ‘Okay.’ Grabbing her bag and coat, Merry started layering up to face the winter chill outside. ‘But don’t work too late tonight, right?’

  ‘I told you; I’ve got to leave in twenty minutes. I’ll be out of here in no time.’

  ‘I meant once you get home, and Ivy’s in bed.’ Merry leant over and gave Clara a swift kiss on the cheek. ‘I mean it. Take a night off for once.’

  Clara blushed, just a little. She hadn’t thought her friend knew about all the extra hours she put in during the long, dark evenings. It was just that, once Ivy was asleep, what else was there to do, really, but work? She didn’t have dates or any real desire to go out and meet people, even if her childminder was available to babysit for Ivy. It made more sense to get on top of the work, so that when she did have time with her daughter at weekends she didn’t have to be tied to her computer. That was all.

  ‘I was just going to finish up the accounts,’ she admitted.

  ‘Leave it,’ Merry instructed. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow. You can take over finding the biggest Christmas tree in existence!’

  ‘Somehow, I think I’ve been played,’ Clara said drily. ‘Go on, get gone. You don’t want to be late.’

  Merry flashed her a grin and reached for the door but before she could grab the handle it opened, revealing a dark shadow of a man in the doorway. Clara stared at the shape. It was too dark to make out any particulars, certainly not a face or any recognisable features. And yet, somehow, that shadow was very, very familiar...

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ Merry said politely. ‘We’re just closing up, actually.’

  ‘I only need to talk to Clara,’ the man in the doorway said, and Clara’s heart dropped like a stone through her body.

  ‘Jacob.’ The word was barely a whisper but Merry’s head swung round to look at her anyway, her eyes wide.

  ‘Maybe you could come back—’ Merry began, already pushing the door closed, but Clara stopped her.

  ‘No. No, it’s okay.’ She swallowed, wishing the lump that had taken up residence in her throat would lessen. ‘Come in, Jacob. What can I do for you?’

  Maybe he’d met somebody else at last and was here to finalise the divorce. That would make sense. For a brief moment, relief lapped against the edges of her panic—until a far worse idea filled her mind.

  Maybe he’s found out about Ivy.

  But no. That was impossible. She’d covered her tracks too well for that; even Merry believed that Ivy was the result of a one-night stand shortly after her marriage broke down. There was no one in the world except Clara herself who knew the truth about Ivy’s conception.

  And she had no plans to share that information.

  ‘Want me to stay?’ Merry asked as Jacob brushed past her. When he stepped into the light, it was hard to imagine that she hadn’t known who he was, even for a second. He was exactly the same man she’d walked out on five Christmases ago. Same dark hair, with maybe just a hint of grey now at the temples. Same broad shoulders and even the same style of classic dark wool coat stretched across them. Same suit underneath, she was sure. Still all business, all the time.

  Which made her wonder again what he was doing there, wasting time on her. Clara had no illusions about how her still-not-officially-ex-husband felt about her. He’d made it crystal-clear every single time he’d refused to sign the divorce papers, purely out of spite it seemed, sending his decision via his lawyers rather than talking to her in person. He’d made it clear how unimportant she, and what she wanted, was to him long before she’d ever left. He had never needed her before. What on earth could have made him start now?

  Merry was still waiting for an answer, she realised. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, shaking her head. Her friend looked unconvinced but resigned.

  ‘I’ll call you later,’ she promised, and Clara nodded. ‘And don’t forget—you need to leave in twenty minutes.’

  The seconds stretched out as the door swung slowly shut behind Merry. And then, with the noise of the street blocked out, it was just them again. Just Clara, Jacob and the sense of impending dread that filled Clara’s veins.

  Copyright © 2016 by Sophie Pembroke

  ISBN-13: 9781488003264

  Her Festive Baby Bombshell

  Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer F. Stroka

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