Page 69 of Piece Of Me

She’d chosen a long skirt, a wrap around in a cheetah print, and paired it with a plain white T-shirt and tennis shoes. Her hair was in a knot on top of her head, and with a headache on the horizon loosened it, letting the waves fall as she crossed the street and headed inside hotel.

The interior was cool, and she shivered as she crossed the large, bright foyer, then paused near the concierge. She’d told Malcom she would meet him in the bistro at four o’clock. She glanced at her watch; she had twenty minutes to spare.

A young woman smiled as she walked into the restaurant. “Table for two?”

“A booth please?”

“Sure thing.”

Scarlett was led to a corner booth near the back of the room. Half obscured by a large potted plant, it gave her the privacy she needed, and thankful for that, she sat down and ordered an orange juice and a glass of water. She checked her phone, but there was still no response from Taz. She stared at his name, willing him to message her back and tell her everything was going to be all right, instead a text popped up from Lacey. Simple and to the point.

Thinking of you.

She was about to reply when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she glanced up. Malcom was at the bar, his dark eyes on her, a slow smile spreading across his face. The bartender—a female—was chatting in his ear and he nodded at whatever she was saying but didn’t take his eyes off of Scarlett.

Her nerves already on high alert, ballooned, and she broke out in a sweat. She wanted desperately to look away, but a part of her knew she couldn’t back down or show any kind of weakness. So, she mustered up as much of the Bridgestone stubbornness and strength that she could and lifted her chin in a subtle fuck you.

Malcom’s eyebrows rose in surprise, then he grabbed two wine glasses and sat down across from her.

Score one for Scarlett.

“A nice Pinot Grigio, just as you like.” He pushed one of the glasses her way.

“I’m not here to drink.” Carefully, she moved the wine glass to the side and placed her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together to form a triangle. “What do you want?” Her question was blunt.

If Malcom was once more surprised at her attitude he didn’t show it. Instead, he made a show and swished the wine in his glass, then held it high and peered closely at its legs. Once satisfied he took a generous sip before setting it down.

“It’s nice. You should try it, luv.”

His voice was smooth, the accent like butter, and she noted the interest from every single woman in the bistro. But so did he. He’d always known the power of his good looks because he’d reaped the rewards. She’d been a prize once, and now? Now she had no idea what he was really up to.

“Do I need to repeat my question?”

“Come on, Scarlett.” He leaned closer and it took every ounce of strength she had not to wince and pull back. “Don’t make this hard on me. I’m here to apologize, of course. For my bad behavior.”

“Bad behavior?” she retorted hotly. She grabbed up her glass of water and took a good long drink, mind reliving thoughts and images from that dark time. She set down the empty tumbler and glared at him. “You disappeared from the flat. Your cell number didn’t work. I couldn’t find you anywhere. You left me alone and pregnant in a country that wasn’t mine, and you call that bad behavior?”

Her raised voice drew looks, but she didn’t care.

“I don’t mean to underestimate your pain. I behaved badly. But Scarlett, you have to understand, you caught me unawares. There were things going in my life and you became a?—”

“An unwanted complication.”

He nodded and actually smiled as if she’d just won a prize. “Exactly.”

God, she wanted to break his perfect nose, or run her nails across his cheek and leave a trail of blood behind. He was everything wrong in a man, wrapped up in a handsome package.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Malcom. I don’t want to rehash the months we spent together because I know they weren’t real. Not for you anyway. I’ve made a life for myself and you’re not a part of it, so I will ask you one last time, why are you really here?”

She was tense, her knuckles white as she gripped the tumbler, not because she wanted a drink, but because she needed to hold on to something or she just might break.

“I want a second chance.”

“Not happening.”

Something shifted in his eyes, something dark. Fear curled in her belly as she stared across the table at him, and she hoped like hell he couldn’t sense it.

Malcom angled his head to the side, as if considering his next move. He slowly brought the wine glass to his lips and took another long sip before meeting her gaze.

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