Except he hadn’t been that polite.

She’d understood his reaction. Felt a certain amount of sympathy for the man.

She might honestly believe that he’d had a lucky escape, but obviously he didn’t feel that way and he had every right to be hurt and angry. Being dumped just days before your wedding was humiliating, no matter who you were. Something she knew from first-hand experience.

She and Tom McFarlane had that in common, if nothing else, which was why she understood-no one better-that an expression of sympathy, an ‘I know what you’re going through’ response, would not be welcome.

If she knew anything, it was that no one could have the slightest idea what he was feeling.

Instead, she’d tucked the account and the thick wad of copy invoices into a new folder-one of the SDS Events folders rather than another of the silver, wedding-bells adorned kind she used for weddings-and had returned it with a polite note reminding him that it was his signature on the contract and that the terms were payment within twenty-eight days.

She hadn’t bothered to remind him that five of those days had already elapsed, or add, After which time I’ll place the account in the hands of my solicitor…

She’d been confident that he’d get the subtext. Just as she’d been sure that he would understand, on reflection, that coordinating a wedding-even when you were doing it for an old school friend-was, like any other commercial enterprise, just business.

She’d hoped for a cheque by return. What she’d got was a call from the man himself, demanding she present herself at his office at two o’clock the next day.

She hadn’t had a chance to tell him that her afternoon was already spoken for since, having issued his command, he’d hung up. Instead, she’d taken a deep breath and rescheduled her appointments. And been kept waiting the best part of an hour for her pains.