Jane’s hands trembled so much that she wondered if the car’s air con was on too low.

The driver had announced their arrival at least fifteen minutes earlier, and yet she hadn’t moved. Her gaze was locked on the front doors of Austen’s head office as her town car idled along the kerb outside. A few people had come and gone, but none was Bing.

“Open the door, go inside and talk to him. Open the door, go inside and talk to him,” she repeated until her shaky hand found the door handle. “It’s just Bing. It’s just us,” she told herself, using Bing’s words to convince herself that searching for this man was the right thing to do.

She knew it was the right thing to do.

She pushed open the door with purpose and stepped out into the early afternoon sunshine. All around her, people bustled about on their lunch breaks, or on a mid-week shopping trip, and she side-stepped several bodies before finally standing before brass and glass entrance doors.

In the same shiny brass was an engraved plaque embedded into the red brick to the side of the doors that read, Austen’s Books Stores. Est. 1898.

This was a business that had been established at least fifty or sixty years longer than TBG, and Jane wondered if Eliza would be impressed by that fact or whether she’d dismiss it as inconsequential. Not that it mattered, she wasn’t here to talk business with Bing, she was here to find out why he hadn’t been in touch.

Jane’s stomach did a full-blown gymnastic routine at the thought of what excuse he may offer her.

“It’s just us. It’s just us,” she muttered repeatedly, and finally plucked up the courage to push through the double doors into the warm and welcoming foyer that seemed stuck in the forties or maybe fifties—dating antique furnishings and old buildings was more Lydia’s thing. Jane preferred to get to know people and not things.

The foyer wasn’t a manned space. Instead, another embossed brass sign directed you to the individual floors. The first-floor housed promotions and human resources. The second floor was the buyers and legal, and the top floor was named the Executive Suites.

Jane headed towards the old-fashioned elevator with the wrought iron folding doors and hit the button for the third floor. If she didn’t find Bing there, she would surely come across someone who could point her in the right direction.

The elevator arrived with a rattle and Jane tugged on the sliding door which screeched in annoyance. She stepped inside the ornately decorated space that would hold no more than three or four people at once, and with another sharp tug, forced the door closed.

Like a rattling box of death, this small metal elevator slowly ascended towards the third floor, and Jane wondered if she would’ve been better taking the stairs. As the death-trap gave a little lurch, Jane vowed she would use the stairs for her descent.

Her sweaty palms and erratically beating heart couldn’t entirely be blamed on the journey in this pretty steel coffin. No, those were triggered by this entire situation. Jane had never chased a man before. She’d been too guarded, too closed off to put herself out there. Plus, she didn’t think she could cope with the mortification of getting turned down. She liked to think that Bing was different. What they had together was different.

A tinny ding announced her arrival on the third floor, and the iron door screeched once more, announcing her entry without the need for the previous bell.

Jane stepped out onto the third floor and was amazed by the difference to the foyer. Here everything was much more modern, if a little tired, and a petite red-head was sat behind a reception desk waiting to greet her.

“Welcome to Austen’s. How can I help you?”

Jane swallowed past her nerves which had formed a significant lump in her throat and called on her years of event experience. She could charm and schmooze and engage with the best of them. Lize was good at business, Lydia at men, but for Jane people were her thing.

“I’ve come to see Bing Austen.”

“Is he expecting you?” the red-head questioned, glancing at her screen and squinting at what she read there. “I don’t have any appointments for him in my diary.”

Jane wasn’t good at deception, but she plastered a confident smile on her face, and for likely the first time in her entire life, she lied, “Yes, he is. Please tell him Jane Bennet is here to see him.”

The receptionist hesitated for a moment, then offered Jane a seat and called through to Bing’s office.

“I’m sorry, Miss Bennet,” she said a few seconds later. “Mr Austen doesn’t seem to be in his office right now. If you’d like to leave your details, I can get him to call you?”

Jane stood, her heartbeat going ten to the dozen, her palms were clammy, but her spine was stiff. She wasn’t going to be dismissed that easily.

“What about Darcy? Is Mr Darcy Austen available?”

Jane had no idea why she would ask to talk to the elder Austen brother, as they’d barely exchanged a dozen words before, but she wasn’t ready to leave, not after the personal arse-kicking it took to get her here.

The red-head turned her squinting eyes on Jane and appeared to conclude that Jane was trying to pull the wool over her eyes.

“I’m afraid you’re not in his diary for the day, either. Again, if you could fill this in with your details—” she pushed a pad in Jane’s direction “—and someone will be in touch.”

Channelling her inner Eliza—Jane didn’t have an inner Eliza but figured she’d seen her sister in action enough—Jane walked purposefully towards the reception desk, placed her palms on the glass surface and leaned slightly towards the girl who was blocking her path to Bing.

“Please inform either Mr Austen, that their sister-in-law Jane Bennet is here. I’d hate for them to find out that you were sending family members away all because they didn’t have an appointment.”

The secretary blinked.

Jane lost her nerve, began fidgeting with her hands and flustered, “Wick is married to my sister Lydia. It’s a recent marriage, one which took us all by surprise, and maybe you were unaware, but I’d really like to speak to either Bing or Darcy please.”

So much for channelling the unflappable Eliza.

Jane could practically see the receptionist’s mouth forming the words ‘cuckoo, cuckoo’.

“I’ll try Darcy’s office. One moment please.”

The red-head turned her back and stepped away from Jane with the phone receiver tight to her ear. Jane couldn’t distinguish the words of her discreet murmurings, but she didn’t need to because moments later she was ushered through to the inner hallway and directed towards an office on the opposite side of the third floor.

If she thought her stomach was churning beforehand, it was nothing compared to the bubbling cauldron of emotions she felt inside her as she walked towards Darcy’s office door.

The solid wood bore another embossed brass plaque that read: Darcy Austen – Managing Director.

Jane took a deep breath, wiped her damp palms on her thighs and knocked. Mere seconds passed before the door swung open and a smiling Darcy Austen stood before her beckoning her inside. Immediately she was struck by the change in his countenance. This wasn’t the broody, pensive and seemingly unapproachable Darcy from Las Vegas, nor was it the challenging, self-assured man from the bar. This Darcy was friendly and open, and the smile he wore elevated him from good looking to drop dead gorgeous. She could see why Eliza was drawn to the man, even if she was choosing to deny it.

“Jane, please come in.” He opened the door wide and motioned for her to enter. “Bing isn’t here, but you’re welcome to wait for him. Can I get you a drink?”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

“Tea? Coffee? Something harder?”

“Could I trouble you for a glass of water?”

Darcy walked over to the small wet bar in the corner of his office and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, placing one with a glass in front of her. Taking a seat opposite her, he opened his bottle and took a long swig before setting it on the table between them.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again,” he said to break the silence and Jane was grateful she’d yet to pour her drink because her hands would not stop shaking. Had Bing confided in his brother that he’d no intention of contacting her?

“Yes, I… uh. What I mean is… I—”

“Bing told me he forgot to ask for your contact details,” Darcy interrupted, thankfully putting an end to Jane’s stuttering, but not her nerves.

“Yes,” she started but then needed to clear her throat, so she quickly poured herself a drink. “Yes, we both seemed to forget that we had no way to contact the other. Which is why I’m here. I’d hoped to catch him and invite him to lunch or maybe dinner, or even breakfast on another day.”

Darcy took pity on her once more and replied, “I asked your sister for your details at Bing’s insistence but have yet to receive a reply. Although I think the tone of my email may have needed some work.”

Darcy smirked, and suddenly Jane felt her nerves ease a little.

“Yes, Eliza mentioned it to me before I left, but I was already heading here.”

“You could have called, we do have phones,” he jested, but Jane, with her heightened nerves, took it as more than that.

“I wanted to see him. I thought he’d want to see me. If I’m wrong, please save me the embarrassment of making a fool of myself.”

She made to stand, but Darcy stopped her with a gentle touch of his hand on her arm.

“He begged me to ask for your details. Do you think that sounds like a man who doesn’t want to see you?”

Jane knew he was right, she already knew that Bing had made a move to find her, but her anxiety was ruling her decision making, and suddenly she felt the need to bolt.

“Thank you for the hospitality, but I really must go. Please give my regards to your brother.”

She pushed up abruptly from her chair, almost spilling the glass of water that she’d barely took a sip out of, and shot towards the door on unsteady feet.

“Jane, wait,” Darcy called as her hand hit the door handle and tugged.

“I’m not one for getting into other people’s business, particularly of the romantic kind, but I can assure you that my brother hasn’t stopped thinking about you.”

Jane turned her head at his words and looked at him over her shoulder.

“Then it is him who must find me,” she stated, feeling stupid with tears in her eyes. She rushed out before Darcy could say any more, and when she got back to reception she bypassed that God-awful contraption they used as an elevator, and took the stairs instead.

She was just rounding the landing on the second floor, totally ignoring her surroundings and caught up in the frantic beating of her heart, when her heel caught the edge of a step, and she tumbled.

Jane’s heart missed a beat, and as if in slow motion she felt her body lurch forward. Her eyes closed instinctually, her arms flailed, and she prepared to hit the floor, and inevitably a few steps on the way down. But she didn’t. Instead, she hit a broad, firm chest and strong arms wrapped themselves around her saving her from at the very least some nasty bruises, but more than likely a broken bone or possibly worse.

“Jesus, are you okay?” a deep familiar voice asked thick with worry, and those strong arms pulled Jane closer to his body.

Jane breathed in his familiar Sandalwood scent and opened her eyes to see Bing’s concerned face mere inches from her own.

“I came to see you,” she replied more breathily than she intended.

“So why does it look like you’re running away?” Bing asked, his eyes flittering over her face, almost like he was both checking to see if she was alright and memorising her features.

“I wasn’t running away,” she whispered, her eyes on his lips. “I was waiting for you to stop me.”

“There’s a difference?” His voice deepened and got huskier, and on seeing where Jane’s gaze was locked, Bing’s eyes also dropped to her lips.

“Yes,” she breathed, her head tilting to meet his. “You only stop fighting and searching for those you wish to let go. I needed to know if you were letting me go.”

Again, Bing’s eyes found hers, and he looked at her the way he knew she needed to be looked at—like the entire world was collapsing all around them, but he didn’t need to blink. He just needed her.

Just us. You and me.

* * *

“My son is a married man?”

Anne Austen stared at her youngest son and new daughter-in-law with her mouth wide open and utterly aghast.

“You got married in Las Vegas?” she said with disdain dripping from every syllable. “Without telling anyone?”

Wick cleared his throat before injecting his voice with a failsafe amount of charm that always worked on his mother.

“It was a spur of the moment adventure, mother. We met, we fell, we wed. Aren’t you going to congratulate my beautiful wife for her excellent choice of husband?”

Anne Austen was still so distraught at the shocking news of her youngest boy wed, that she did something she hadn’t done for years—she reached over and grasped her husband’s hand in hers.

“Congratulations, son,” Claude Austen offered in his wife’s stead. “I think you’ve finally managed to do what many before have tried and failed.”

When Wick raised his brows in question, his father clarified, “Rendered your mother speechless. I’ve tried to do as much for years and never succeeded.”

At that, his mother broke out of whatever trance had stolen her tongue and backhanded his father across the chest.

“Claude Austen, you mind your manners in front of our new daughter.”

Lydia lifted her head from her spot on the sofa and placed her phone face down beside her. Since they’d arrived at Wick’s family home, Lydia had said a brief hello then spent the rest of her time scrolling through her phone.

“I’m so sorry you couldn’t be a part of our celebrations, Mr and Mrs Austen,” Lydia said with what appeared to be sincerity—she was a master manipulator after all. “Wick and I are hoping to arrange some kind of formal celebration for both our families. Maybe once the deal with the company is done? Isn’t that right, darling?” she deferred to Wick who smoothly covered the fact that this was the first he’d heard on the matter.

Wick strolled towards his new wife and sat down on the arm of the sofa next to her, taking her hand in his and placing a soft kiss on her wrist.

“The perfect idea, my love,” he simpered. Then he turned back to his parents and said, “Which is partly the reason I’m here. I’d like you to talk to Darcy and get him to be less pig-headed about the deal on the table for Austen’s.”

“What deal on the table for Austen’s?” Claude questioned, taken aback by the fact that Darcy had yet to inform him of anything so significant happening with the family company. Claude may have stood down from his role of managing director, but he liked to be kept abreast of everything, particularly since his dividends had been practically non-existent for the last few years. When one had a wife that loved the finer things in life as much as Anne Austen did, you became very aware of your financial shortcomings.

“The deal I offered your eldest son, Mr Austen,” Lydia piped up. “Or should I call you father, since we are now family?”

Lydia’s eyelashes fluttered with the question, and she gave the senior Austen a taste of her tempting charms by sitting in such a way as to show off her figure and her curves.

Claude Austen, flustered by the attention of such a nubile young woman, stuttered before averting his eyes. “Ah, yes. Please do call me father. For that is what I am to you now.” He emphasised the word father hoping that any further displays of his daughter-in-law’s womanly wiles would be thwarted, although he doubted anyone could tame a girl like Lydia Bennet, and he wondered what Wick had gotten himself into. Then again, Wick wasn’t beyond being duplicitous to serve his own purpose either, so maybe they were well suited.

“Very well, father,” Lydia began with a knowing smile. “I would like to take sole ownership of Austen’s. I’m aware of the poor state of the company and wish to save a piece of my new family’s history.”

“That is so very kind of you dear,” Anne Austen fawned. The buttery tone to her words and demeanour likely to become sickening if left to continue.

“And what do Darcy and Bing have to say about this offer?” Claude directed his question at Wick.

“That is where I need your help,” Wick admitted, looking earnestly towards first his father and then his mother.

His father, on seeing through the gentle tone and puppy dog eyes that Wick was forever using to get his own way, replied before his mother could, “Show me this deal in writing, including the fine print. I’ll see if I can talk to your brothers, but I’ll have some stipulations of my own to make, I assure you.”

“Claude,” Anne Austen chastised. “You talk like our son and new daughter would wilfully try and manipulate us into a poor deal, when they obviously only have the best interests of our family business at heart.”

Lydia smiled demurely at her mother-in-law and nodded in agreement.

“Call Darcy and tell him to accept,” Anne demanded haughtily as if her decision was final and no one else need bother to have a say.

“I will, as I’ve already stated,” Claude began, giving his wife a warning glare. “Once I’ve read the proposal and informed Wick and Lydia of my decision.”

“But—” Anne started to whine and was yet again silenced by her husband.

“But nothing, my dear. Or would you have me giving away a company that has not only been in my family for generations but has also provided you with a very nice living?”

“Adequate,” she spat out. “An adequate living.”

Claude Austen looked at his wife and was torn between rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out like a child. Instead, he settled on saying, “Whatever you say, love of my life, mother of my children, catalyst for my hair loss.”

Anne Austen narrowed her eyes at her husband but had nothing to say in return, likely because she didn’t catch the sarcastic back-handed compliment but understood her husband enough to determine his tone.

“Wick, we must arrange to get the families together. What say we get in caterers and have a full family lunch here this coming Sunday? Lydia, please invite your sisters, we should all love to meet them.”

And so, it was done. Claude Austen agreed to read Wick and Lydia’s proposal and Anne Austen was glowing with the news that her youngest son had married into the Bennets.

Now if only her other boys would also find suitable partners.