Malaya’s shoulders slumped. Whichever one it was, it was not good news if they only wanted to talk to me. If Sebastian wasn’t aware of my marriage to his brother, he probably was now and had come to kill the deal. If it was Tyler, who the fuck knew what he wanted? He came to rub it in, maybe. Laugh at disappointment, probably.
“I’m coming,” I said, getting out of my chair.
Heavy legs carried me to the tiny box with a round table and three chairs we liked to call the meeting room. It was one of the six rooms that made up our warehouse-style offices that had a view of the city. It made our offices appear much more sophisticated than they were. I opened the door, and the man in a gray suit, who had his back to me, looking at the view from the small rectangular window, was none other than Tyler Hawthorne. Great. Just my luck.
I closed the door behind me, and he turned at the sound to face me. He crossed his arms, his scorching gaze taking in my presence. The smirk on his face made me want to punch him. “If you’ve come to dunk bad news on me, do it in five minutes or less. I do not have time.”
His gaze darted around the room as he shoved his hands in his pockets. The offices were functional at best, and the only distinct styling was the red brick walls and black metal trusses and columns that made the rooms appear bigger than they were. “Neat little place you have here.” It didn’t sound like a compliment.
I crossed my arms. “Are you going to get to the point, or are you going to torment me further?”
Tyler flashed his pearly whites. The smile made my stomach wobble. Fuck him and his ability to make me feel like this when he was about to destroy my livelihood.
“I wish that were the case, but I seem to have a never-ending streak of bad luck when it comes to you.”
My heart skipped a beat. “You can divorce me.”
“Wish I could. But you seem to have missed the seven-year clause or whoever holds the blackmail material releases it.”
His lips curled, and he glared at me with disdain. Did he think I was the one holding whatever this blackmail materialwas? “I told you, I had no idea my father forced you until I confronted him the next day.”
“I don’t care about your excuses, babe.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nothing I say will sway you, it seems.”
He scoffed. “You have forged a reputation as a consummate liar. How can I forget that night at your sixteenth birthday party?” The venom in his voice was unmistakable.
As soon as he said the words, I shut my eyes, not wanting to face him, but thoughts of that night returned. I was young and foolish, but more than that, I was infatuated with Tyler. He was in college at that time and had been on spring break when my father invited him to my birthday party. I was so happy to see him; I didn’t care that he saw me as nothing but a child. My crush had come for my birthday. That had to mean something, right? But then he did what at that time felt like a betrayal. And like the child I was, I reacted in the worst way possible.
I told my friends I was seeing Tyler. I hadn’t considered how it would seem considering that I was a child and he was an adult. As the rumor spread, my father confronted him, thinking it was true. That’s when I took back the lie. I had never been so embarrassed and regretted it since. I regret it even more now that I am much older.
I wiped away the memory. “If you’ve come here to rehash the past, I don’t think I’ll be able to entertain you. I have other things to do.”
He cast his gaze down, grimacing. “You have no idea how much I hate saying this.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Fuck you, Seb.” He flashed a tight smile. “I came to say congratulations on a fucking brand-new partnership with Hawthorne and Hawthorne. Ido notlook forward to working with you.”
Chapter 7
Tyler
The restaurant was perfect for first dates. I hadn’t been here before, but it came highly recommended from a friend. As soon as I sat down, I gave myself a silent pat on the back for following the advice. It was a quiet contemporary place with a modern style that was prevalent in most restaurants, but this paired that with dim yellow lighting that made it feel timeless. If the wine was anything to go by, the food was going to be good… and expensive. I wasn’t complaining. A first date with a potential future wife should be worth the price of at least an Armani suit.
“This is my first time being here,” my date said as she darted her gaze around the room, fidgeting in her seat. “I’ve never been in a place like this before,” she chuckled. Her nervous laughter was cute. After a long string of dates with jaded models, socialites, and actresses, Lauren’s artifice was almost refreshing.
“A friend of mine recommended it. Let’s hope the food is good,” I said, glancing down at the French menu. They didn’t even bother putting an English translation; it was that pretentious. After a quick peruse, I picked my dish and waited for Lauren. Her small, manicured hand ran down the menu as she silently mouthed the words. If we hadn’t met at the French embassy, I would have asked if she wanted me to order for her.
I bumped into her in the foyer and sent all the documents in her hands flying. And even though I was the one in the wrong, she had apologized. Later, I saw her again at the meeting I was attending with the ambassador. He wanted to ‘revamp’ the embassy, and a friend of his had recommended our firm. Lauren just so happened to be the compliance officer, there to make sure every renovation would be above board. She barely said anything during the meeting, but her sweetness caught my attention.
A couple of weeks later, we met again at a friend’s party. June, a client, was throwing a birthday party, and the only person worth talking to was Lauren Hayes. And that conversation led to this date. The first time we were officially going out.
“Are you really going to run in New York’s next marathon?” I said after the waiter came to take our order.
She nodded. “I told you that? I was yapping at June’s party. Gosh. What was I on?”
“June is known for spiking cocktails.”
“Really?” Her green eyes popped out in shock. It’s run-of-the-mill New York party shit, but I guess it might be odd for someone who didn’t run in our circles. I nodded. She shook her head, chuckling. “Yeah, I’m training for it, but I am not sure if I can make it. Everyone in our runner’s club has participated at least once, and I am the only one who hasn’t.”
The red dress she wore hugged her fit body in a way that accentuated her curves and showed off her defined arms. She was pretty. Not sexy. Not like Saffron’s sinful body. Hers was the type to fit in an athletic ad, while Saffron would easily be in a lingerie ad like she had so many times.And why was I thinking of my shitty wife again?
