“That’s not in my future.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve been there and done the whole marriage thing. It’s not somewhere I want to return to.”
“Seb,” she sighs. “Helena was just a bad egg. It wouldn’t have mattered who she married, she would have done the same to them. And that other woman… the—”
“April,” I cut her off before she says it.
Her eyes hold mine for a moment. “I’m just saying… you can’t spend the rest of your life living in the past.”
“I’m not. I just don’t have the same expectations that I used to.”
“Are you really going to live in this huge house alone?”
“I’m perfectly happy as I am.” I glance over at the golden Labrador sprawled out in front of the fire. “And I don’t live alone. I live with Bentley.” I smirk against my coffee cup.
“Why aren’t you dating?” I ask, deflecting.
“I have a date on Saturday night, actually.”
“You do?”
“Uh-huh.” She smiles.
“Who with?”
“You don’t know him.” Her response comes too quickly.
I stare at her for a moment. “You know, Vi, I’ve come to understand the patterns of when someone is lying to me.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Are you lying to me?”
She smirks.
“So… I do know him.”
“I just don’t want to jinx it.” She smiles.
I frown. “Do I like him?”
“Have you ever liked a boyfriend of mine?”
I smirk, knowing she’s got me. “No.”
“So, can I set you up with Marina?”
“Definitely not.”
We fall silent for a while. I love my sister. She’s single like I am, and with Brandon living on the other side of the country with his new wife, she gets lonely sometimes. We eat dinner together a few nights throughout the week. She’s become my rock.
“I saw her,” I find myself admitting.
“Who?”
“April.”
She frowns as she listens. “Where?”
“Last week, the Art Museum at a charity auction.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“You could say that.” I sip my coffee. “We fought in a cloakroom.”
“Of course, you did.” She smirks. “How is she?”
“Still beautiful.”
Violet blows into her coffee. “And totally wrong for you, Sebastian. Get that out of your head right now.”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” I shrug casually. “She was with someone else. Maybe a boyfriend. She didn’t have a wedding ring on, though.”
“You looked at her hand?” She says dryly.
I twist my lips, unwilling to admit to it out loud again, but hating that I did.
“Was he there with her?” she asks. “Her boyfriend or whatever he is?”
“Yes, he’s a football player. Pretty good one, from what I hear. He’s a Man United player.” I think for a moment, “Maybe Arsenal, I don’t know what club.”
“Good. I hope she marries him tomorrow and stays the hell away from you.”
I smile at my overprotective sister, and I let myself sink back into thought— something I’ve been doing a lot of lately.
The wrath of reflection. I drift back to all those years ago, and how it felt to be in her arms. For a while, it was perfect.
My stomach twists when I remember how badly it ended.
I have many regrets in my life. That week, that night, and the months that followed. They’re all up there with the biggest.
April
We ride to the top floor in the elevator with my nerves at an all-time high. I glance at my reflection in the mirrored doors. I’m wearing black high heels, a black pencil skirt, and a matching jacket with a cream silk blouse and sheer black stockings. My blond bob is hanging in loose curls, and my makeup is minimal.
It’s my first day on the road with Bart McIntyre, and I have to admit that this shit is scary. We have Jeremy with us who is Mr. McIntyre’s personal assistant who travels everywhere with him.
I glance over at Jeremy standing beside the door. He would have to be in his early thirties. He’s a very good-looking man in a perfectly fitting suit. He has chocolate brown hair and big green eyes. He’s apparently been Bart’s PA for six years. He’s very friendly, too. I haven’t quiet worked out the dynamics between the two of them yet. I think they might be together as they seem very familiar. But maybe that’s just what you get for working together for so long, and my mind is just depraved. I mean, just because he’s his PA, that doesn’t mean that they’re fucking.
Or maybe my gut feeling is right and it means they totally are, I guess time will tell me whether I’m right or wrong.
There’s so much to learn, a little thrill runs through me at the prospect of all the new and exciting things.
The doors open, and Jeremy steps out and walks up to the desk. He immediately takes his laptop out of its bag. There’s a metal scanner at the entrance leading into the offices, as well as two security guards.
Huh? Is that a metal detector?
I glance over at Bart in question, wondering who, exactly, we are seeing?
“You’ll have to take your laptop out and pass through security,” Bart tells me as he begins to unload his laptop bag. He takes his phone and keys out of his pocket and places them on a tray.
“Shoes off,” the security guard commands as he runs a metal detector over my body.
I slip out of my shoes and put them on the tray. Bart was supposed to send our schedule to my email last week. It never arrived and I didn’t want to sound pushy by requesting it. Once we pass through, I slip my shoes back on and gather up my things. Eventually, we walk through the doors and into another large reception area. It’s all black marble floors, and fancy as fancy can be.
“Good morning, Bart.” The receptionist smiles. “Morning, Jeremy.” Her eyes come to me in question.
“Rebecca, this is April,” Bart introduces. “She’s my new associate and will be traveling with me from now on.”
“Hello.” Rebecca fakes a smile and looks me up and down. I can almost hear her judgement.
“Hello.” I smile in return.
Why are women such bitches to other women? She’s probably got the hots for Bart or something… or Jeremy. She’s around his age.
“Just go up to his office. He’s expecting you.”
“Thanks.” Bart gestures to me. “This way.” I follow him up a large corridor.
Jeremy veers off and walks into an office on the left. “See you soon,” he says as he takes a seat at a desk.
Bart and I walk over to two large black double doors, and Bart knocks once.
“Come in!” a voice calls.
Bart opens the door. “Hello, my friend.” He walks in.
I look to the person sitting behind the large mahogany desk, and my heart stops.
It’s Sebastian Garcia.
Oh, fuck.
He sees me and rolls his lips. “Bart,” he says dryly, his eyes holding mine.