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I had no fucking way of finding her. Unlucky for her, I have friends in low places, and I can get anything I want. Anything. I. Want.
It doesn’t matter that her number is private, or if she even wants to hear from me again. It’s happening. There are things to say and in any case, after what happened at my party, I need to make sure she’s okay.
Am I worried Charlize will go to the tabloids and sell our story? Not in a heartbeat.
She may think I don’t know her, but that’s where she’s mistaken. I know enough.
I know my mother and father wouldn’t approve, that’s a given, but that can’t be helped.
I can’t even confess to Devon or any of the boys. I had to lie and say it was the best night of my life and she rocked my world. I’m not saying she didn’t, but it just wasn’t in the way I expected.
Fucking Prescott family curses. That’s what Abigail used to call it, and I can’t say I disagree on that. There was a time when I thought that maybe what the Prescott’s had was bad luck, but now I’m starting to reevaluate that assumption.
What would’ve happened if I had fucked her?
I run a hand down my face, tapping my fingers on the desk impatiently.
I don’t even think about what I’m going to say, I thumb out a text and press send before I can change my mind.
Me
Charlize. It’s Alistair. We need to talk. Meet me tonight for dinner. I’ll send a car at eight.
It’s formal and to the point. And there’s no need to ask her for her address. I know she’s living in fucking Blakefield. It’s not the worst area of London, but it certainly isn’t the nicest either.
I don’t doubt that her grandmother left her with nothing, but I truly had no idea that was the case until last night. And that makes me mad. I don’t understand what was wrong with that old bag. When I looked it up this morning, it said the estate was in severe debt and everything was sold during probate to cover the losses. She wasn’t lying about that, then.
I sit at my desk in my home, waiting for a reply.
Normally, I’d pass the time on Sundays by having a low-key morning. Go collect the paper. Eat out at my favourite brunch spot, and then hit the gym for a couple of hours. It’s the one day of the week that I don’t go into work, so I do what I want.
This morning, however, I barely read two lines of the paper. My coffee is still sitting in the paper cup, long since cold, and my stomach is telling me it’s time to eat.
I can’t eat at a time like this. I need to see her.
The fact she ran out on me makes me all the more angry with myself. I should’ve made sure she got home safe. When I checked my security footage. I was surprised to find her stopping at my bedroom door. She just stood in the doorway, and since only the hallway, entryway and outside have cameras, I’ve no idea what she was doing. I watched with surprise as eventually she disappeared into my bedroom and came out with one of my jumpers slung over her arm. Damn thief. My lips curl up in a smile. At least she has good taste.
An hour later, I get a reply.
An hour!
The very idea she’s ignoring me makes me wild.
Charlize
Good morning to you, too. Did we sleep well?
My nostrils flare. I don’t know why she insists on playing these games with me. I can’t say I appreciate it. I thought after all these years she’d have grown up a little bit and lost the attitude, but I can clearly see that’s not the case.
Me
I think you already know the answer to that. I’ll be waiting at Cruz. The car will bring you there.
I don’t ask. I swear to God if she disobeys then I’ll have no choice but to go to Blakefield and hunt her down. And she doesn’t want that. I know she doesn’t.
Charlize
Is there a ‘pretty please’ with that? If so, I might consider it.
