Fuck, this is harder than I thought. Why? Why does it still matter? It was one small rejection. It shouldn’t still hurt so much.
“I found one of her travel buddies there, and she told me Ellie had gone out for the day, on a trip up into the mountains. Thing is, I knew she was lying. I’d only left her there a couple hours earlier, and at no point did she mention any trip. She just didn’t want to see me, I guess.”
I shrug, trying to shake off the memory. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but after the way we talked, and how vulnerable we both were, I thought I was at least worth a goodbye. That we could be friends, at least, and maybe—at some point down the road, depending on how life turned out—maybe even more.
I thought she wanted that too. She’d invited me up to her room the night before, and it was so sweet, the way she blushed and stammered, hiding behind that curtain of curls. Like she’d never spoken to a guy before. I wasn’t arrogant enough to thinkshe was inviting me up there for sex, but I said no anyway. I was early on in my celibacy, and I didn’t quite trust myself around her.
“That doesn’t sound like Ellie,” Mason says, frowning. Though whether he’s frowning at what I just told him, or at the aggressively healthy food on his plate, I have no clue. “I mean, to have someone lie for her.” He squeezes my forearm. “Not that I don’t believe you, bro. She just doesn’t strike me as that kind of person, at least not now.”
“Yeah, well, people change. And I’m sure she had her reasons. Any more questions?”
Fuck, I hope not. This trip down memory lane is shaking me up more than I’d like. I had intended to talk to Mason about this place and my plans for it. But now, all I can think about is Ellie. About her untamable curls and curves like a back road. Her sensational blue eyes. The way her hand felt in mine. The hurt I felt when she dodged me in Marrakech.
“Yeah,” says Mason. “I have another question. What the fuck is this?”
He holds up his fork, and I grin. “It’s asparagus, bro. It’s good for you. Just shut the fuck up and put it in your mouth.”
He smirks. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
I shake my head. Mason-fucking-James. Billionaire, businessman, boyfriend, my big brother. With a sense of humor a teenager would be proud of. I couldn’t love him more if I tried.
Chapter 4
Ellie
Katy places two glasses of Pinot on the table, then frowns. She trots back to the bar, and I hear her flirting with the bartender. She returns with the whole bottle.
“Seems like a waste of time to keep going back and forth, when we both know we’re getting through at least this bottle tonight,” she says as she perches herself on the stool beside me.
I nod. “You’re a wise woman, Katy Sullivan. I don’t care what anyone else says about you.”
“Ha! Me neither. So, tell me all about it, sweetie. All the gory details please.”
Her big blue eyes are sparkling, regarding me with part concern and part I-told-you-so. I don’t blame her. She never liked Owen. Katy is determinedly single and happy that way. She has a ‘friend with benefits’ called Josh who she hooks up with when they’re both in the mood, and she casually dates. But unlike me, she doesn’t have a romantic bone in her body. She’s not cynical or depressed about it, either. It’s totally her choice. Naturally enough that, along with her enviably slender figure and pretty face, makes her even more attractive to men.
She was supposed to be on one of her Netflix-and-chill nights with Josh—code for watching Bridgerton, then fucking likebunnies—when I called her. Proof of her good friend credentials, if I needed it, when she immediately cancelled on him and agreed to meet me after work instead.
“You were right,” I say, picking up my glass, “about Owen being a douche-canoe.”
She places a reassuring hand on my arm. “Well, I didn’t want to be, if that’s any consolation.”
“It’s not.” I retort, and it makes her laugh.
I take a swig of my wine. Not ladylike at all, but tonight is a wine chugging kind of evening. Delicious. Probably packed with calories too.Fuck you, Owen!
“What particular brand of douchery did he display this time?” she asks, refilling my glass without asking. Another important friend credential.
“Well, he didn’t cook me breakfast for starters.”
“The bastard.”
“I know, right? To put that into context, he cookedhimselfbreakfast, using stuff from my fridge. My stuff.”
She looks aghast and places a hand over her heart. “Not the organic eggs? And the free-range piggy bacon? And the sourdough from the farmers market?”
“Yes. All of the above.”
She likes to joke about my shopping habits, but I stand by them. I love animals, but I’m not hypocritical. I do also eat them. However, it’s important to me that I only buy high-welfare products when I can, and I prefer to source my food from places that are sustainable. I don’t think big stores are evil, and if I was a busy mom juggling work and feeding a family, then I’d be a hell of a lot less fussy. But I am not, and Jamestech pays me well, so I can be picky where it counts. It’s one of the advantages of living alone in my little apartment.
