His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. “We’ll see.”
Just like that, he’s gone. The door swinging shut behind him,leaving me slightly breathless.
The cafe feels too warm, my skin still buzzing. His aftershave, dark, warm, mixed with coffee lingers like a goddamn invitation. It shouldn’t affect me. But it does.What the hell was that?
He’s trying to charm me. The fucker is trying to woo me into changing my mind. Dirty tactics, pure and simple.
I clench my jaw, my pulse spiking again, but this time from anger. If he thinks I’m that easy to manipulate, he’s in for a rude awakening.
I hate him. I really do.
But my body?
It hasn’t gotten the memo.
Business, my ass.
7
Ben
Lila.
Challenging me with every sarcastic smile, every sharp remark. Grounded. Stubborn. Impossible to ignore.
“Happily married.”
The words keep echoing in my head, sharp and jarring, like a punch to the gut I didn’t see coming.
My hand grips the steering wheel tighter as I drive back to the hotel. She said it so easily, too easily, like she’s been waiting for this moment to throw it in my face. I pride myself on keeping calm under pressure, but hearing her say those two words made my chest feel like it was caving in.
Why does it bother me so much? It’s been fifteen years.
I step into the penthouse suite at the Kingsley Hotel, tossing my jacket onto the chair by the window. The skyline stretches out before me, glittering and cold.
Nottingham isn’t my city anymore. It’s a relic of a past I left behind, a place filled with memories I’ve spent years burying. London is my empire now—bigger, faster, richer. EverythingI’ve built is there, every move carefully calculated, every piece of my life exactly where it belongs.
Lila would never fit into that world. She’s too rooted, preferring flour-dusted counters and well-worn books over sleek offices and rooftop bars. What the hell am I doing picturing that? She’s married, for God’s sake.
I head straight to the drinks cabinet, grabbing the bottle of whisky without thinking. The familiar clink of glass against glass follows as I pour a double, just enough to take the edge off. I knock it back in one go. It burns all the way down, but not enough. Not nearly enough. My fingers curl around the empty glass, jaw tightening at the thought of some faceless man waiting for her at home, living the life I walked away from. A life that should’ve been mine.
I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter.
I glance around the penthouse, trying to ground myself in anything but the spiral in my head. It’s a stunning space. Sleek lines, polished surfaces, the kind of luxury most people spend their lives chasing. Every inch screams wealth and taste.
Well… almost every inch.
My eyes catch on a peculiar object perched on a side console near the fireplace, a ceramic duck. Hand-painted, antique, and completely out of place amid all the modern opulence. I frown, stepping closer. It’s got this oddly judgmental look on its face, like it’s silently appraising me. Or mocking me.
Weird choice. Hotel designer’s idea of eclectic charm? Or maybe the owner’s got a strange sense of humour.
I snort under my breath.
“Ey up, me duck.” Fitting, I suppose. Welcome back to Nottingham.
But even that ridiculous bird can’t distract me for long. Thethought still gnaws at me, sharp and relentless.
I pace toward the window, my pulse thrumming in my ears. Lila. She was mine once. Every laugh, every late-night conversation, every quiet moment under the stars. Mine.
