“Natalie Thorne.”
Alex freezes. “Lucas’s baby sister. Is he okay with that, his best friend and his sister?”
I give him a terse smile. “Lucas has been busy in the time we’ve been apart. You missed out on a lot.”
“Clearly.” Alex sips his coffee. “You and Lucas aren’t close anymore?”
I shake my head. “We were working on a business model together, and he stole my client list.”
“Fucker.” Alex shakes his head. “Not surprised, though. He tried to join my family business, and my brother took one look at him and called him a rat. I knew you two were friends, but there was always something off about him. But screwing you over takes balls.”
“It was my first company, one I had been working on for a while.” I drain my cup of coffee. “He deleted the client list I had saved as back up and contacted the clients behind my back, offering them lower rates. Fucked over my plans, but I handled it. I rallied up some investors, acquired a failing company, and flipped it over. Been doing that for years now.”
“So I heard.” Alex looks quietly impressed. “But his sister?”
“It’s complicated.”
“And you think he’ll welcome you into the family?” my friend chuckles.
“No. But he’s not been on talking terms with her for a while.”
Alex studies me, his brows furrowed. “Holy shit. You’re serious about her?”
I don’t answer, just watching him.
He exhales. “Well, I wish you luck then, my friend.”
I sigh, looking down into my coffee cup.
Luck.
I’m going to need it because the woman I want wants nothing to do with me.
‘I can’t survive you again.’
But can I survive without her?
CHAPTER 14
NATALIE
“Table Four’s order.”
I slide the paper over to Caroline Brown, Sarah’s mother, as she checks it out and begins calling out the order to the cook in the back. When she’s done, she glances at me, concern etched in the fine lines around her eyes.
“Honey, take a break. You’ve been on your feet since morning.”
I smile at her, tilting my head slightly. “I don’t mind. I’m not tired yet.”
“Yes, well, I’m tired from just looking at you zipping around. Sit, and I’m going to get you something to eat.”
I don’t want to, but my gut says she’ll scold me if I don’t comply. In truth, fatigue is settling into my bones like an unwelcome house guest. But when I have nothing to do, my thoughts loom over me like storm clouds, and I don’t want to think.
As I walk outside the small café, I catch a glimpse of myself in the display glass. The scratch marks on my left cheek havestill not completely healed. The skin is uplifted like miniature mountain ranges across my face.
I turn my head, not wanting to see the physical reminder of my mother’s attack.
Letting out a gust of air that carries the weight of my exhaustion, I settle down on one of the metal chairs outside. The September air in New York carries a crisp bite that hints at autumn's approach, though the afternoon sun still holds summer's warmth.
