Selena’s eyebrows shot up. She wasn’t going to disagree with that statement, but it certainly hadn’t been what she thought would come out of that bearded mouth.
“I met this spiritual guide in Berlin,” Simon continued. “He showed me myself. The real me. And how I’ve been to the people around me. You’re my only family and I’ve treated you like shit. I’ve changed, Selena. And I’m sorry.”
She was speechless. She inhaled a long breath before exhaling slowly, while Simon watched with bated breath.
“Thanks,” she eventually said. “I’m glad for you.”
“Listen, I’m going to go,” Simon said, stroking his beard. “I just heard you were in France and I was camping only an hour away, so I wanted to see you. Can I call you sometime? The least you can do is give me a job when I get back to London. You’ve got everything and I’ve got nothing.”
Selena’s breath caught in her throat as her mouth dropped open. After a pause she responded, “Not so reformed after all. It’s still all about you.”
Simon’s brows furrowed and before he could retort, she cut him off. “How the hell could we work together after what you did?”
“You’re nothing but an ugly bitch,” Simon hissed, his happy hippy facade slipping.
“No, Simon,” Selena said, her voice strong and sharp. “It’s you who’s the ugly one. It’s always been you. I don’t need to take your shit anymore. Now stop causing a scene at my event, and get back to your compound. Go pray for your soul. Although I think it’s too late for that sorry burnt-out thing.”
Turning her back on the crowd, Selena took a deep breath and pep-talked herself back into boss mode. This was still the best night of her entire career so far. Her project had come to fruition without a hitch. Well, that’s not strictly true. A passionate affair with someone who was plotting to destroy her business could be classed as a hitch, but that one aside, everything else had gone well.
45
It was late at night and Nick was having trouble sleeping, which was nothing unusual. Ever since he’d begun sleeping on the sofa, his nights were long drawn-out stretches of tossing and turning between small portions of slumber. But knowing that his mother never had to clean piss off her hall carpet due to neighborhood thugs again was worth the sacrifice. He liked hearing her mumbling in her sleep through the thin walls. It gave him comfort knowing she was there.
He picked up his phone, temporarily blinding himself with the screen light so close to his face in the darkness. Once his eyes had adjusted, he clicked on FaceSpace to see what was happening. He scrolled through, stopping to laugh at his mates’ videos of drunken dancing and his cousin’s cute baby pictures. His heart stopped for a moment, however, when a picture of Selena in a scarlet dress on the red carpet filled his screen.
He ached just looking at it. She looked out of this world. Far better than Tamara What’s-her-face, who she was standing next to. The model had nothing on Selena. That subtle inch of cleavage, the long, tumbling honey coloured curls, the lips, red like hot chilis and those black heels. Damn, the black heels. Like the pair she had worn when he went down on her in her leather office chair. Shit. This picture undid all his healing in one fell swoop. He smiled as he read the Shades of Chic post that said “We did it. We launched in Gay Paris.” He couldn’t be happier for her.
That’s what she wanted. She did it. He scrolled down to see pictures of the rest of the team and was surprised to feel heavy-hearted at the sight of Nancy and Marnie. What he wouldn’t give to be back working there rather than locking up a grimy bar in the early hours of the morning. He missed those people. And he felt physical pain to see Selena again, smiling so wide her joy was infectious, in that group photo.
He bit his lip and considered texting.
No. Don’t be an idiot. The last thing she wants is to hear from you. But... what if she does? What if she replies?
Against his better judgement, he opened a new text, selected her number and began typing, his heart pounding.
Selena, you look absolutely stunning in the launch photos. I’m so glad you succeeded. You are a star. I will never forgive myself. X
If she never replied, it was enough for him to know he had tried to send her good vibes. He curled back under the blanket, sore, lost and full of regret.
Selena’s phone pinged. The launch after-party was limping to an end. Her red lipstick was well and truly faded, and bleeding at the edges, and her hair had flattened from all the bumping and grinding she and Nancy had done on the dance floor. The team, who were waiting for cars to drop their drunken asses back at the hotel, were slumped around a large round table littered with so many glasses it resembled a world record attempt at the most champagne guzzled in one sitting. She closed one eye to get a better look at her phone screen, her head blurry from alcohol.
Nick? Why the hell was he texting?
She turned to Nancy. “He’s a lovely, gorgeous, horrible man,” she slurred.
Nancy hiccupped. “Who is?”
“That man,” Selena replied. “I can’t say his name. That bastard. He was so, beautiful and such a liar.”
Nancy laughed. “You could be talking about so many men, dear. You’ll have to elabor— Oh wait. I know who you’re talking about.” Suddenly, Nancy’s face slumped onto the table and she gave a loud snore.
“Great, I’m pouring my heart out to you and you fall asleep,” said Selena, sighing.
She held the phone in her palm for a long time considering whether or not to reply. She clutched it for so long, the cars arrived and security men ushered them gently out, and still she hadn’t let go.
The next morning, Selena awoke in her hotel room, sprawled across the bed, still sporting the scarlet dress. Her head was pounding. The team had really made the most of their special night. They had practically drunk France dry of champagne. Still, it was the best night she’d had in a long time and a real bonding session for the team.
Memories came flooding back to Selena as she rolled over onto her back and rubbed her eyes. Simon. Oh God, he was there. Somehow, she felt numb towards him. Her anger was fading. He was no threat to her anymore. He was nothing but a spoiled little brat and she had finally learned to rise above him. It had only taken a quarter of a century.
Her handbag was on the pillow next to her head. She reached over for it to rummage inside for her phone. Her mouth was so dry, she would have to use the hotel phone to ring for a room service coffee. And juice. She would ask them to bring her all the liquid they could find. But first she would check her messages, as she did automatically every time she woke up.
Another memory bounced into her sore brain. Nick texted. Shit. I didn’t reply did I?
She quickly located the text and was relieved to see she only typed “Wha” and hadn’t clicked send. He would think she had simply ignored him. That was the best result. A drunken text, either hateful or full of nostalgic lust, would have been disastrous. She re-read his words and couldn’t help but smile. She was glad he felt bad. She was also glad he thought she looked stunning. Yeah, see what you could have had, Nick? You missed out on all that because of your silly games. Don’t mess with Miss Day.