Page 80 of From West, With Regret

“Julianna.” Selene gapes.

She shrugs, unable to wipe the smug grin of satisfaction on her face when she turns her attention back to me, arching a single eyebrow. “Enough about me.”

“About last night.” I sigh and avoid her gaze as I’m pulling the dress she let me borrow out of the bag. I frown as I hand it to her. “I’m so sorry the dress got ruined, Jules.”

Julianna takes it, turning it over in her hands, finding the damage done to the back. “Was this from the creep at the club or from West?”

Embarrassment and shame overtake me. I know my friends won’t judge me for being with West, but I don’t like feeling like my whole life is on display. My private life, at least. That, and I feel guilty for ruining a dress that isn’t even mine. Especially when that dress is probably worth more than a month’s worth of art sales for me.

I slowly look up at Julianna. “He said he would pay you back whatever the dress was worth.”

“I’m just glad you chose West and not my brother.” Julianna cracks a devious, knowing grin. “Because this… this is hot.”

Selene’s is slower to start, but it’s there.

I find myself smiling, too. My cheeks grow sore, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. At least not that I can remember. Though Julianna’s words echo in my mind.

I didn’t choose West, and he didn’t choose me.

Our connection was already mapped out in the stars.

TWENTY-TWO

WEST

Holt is sitting at the end of my bar, with a half-drunk beer, staring blankly up at the TV hanging above the door that leads to the upstairs closet, which now serves as London’s studio.

Wearing a simple, white button-down shirt, he has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and I can’t help laughing under my breath as I make my way toward him. He looks out of place sitting here casually with a beer, especially focused on the basketball game playing.

The Veiled Door isn’t as casual as some of my other bars, but during the day we play sports before switching them off for the nighttime crowd, focusing the attention on conversation or any live performers we might host instead.

Holt is too clean cut, more like my nighttime crowd. Neatly shaven, corporate elites, with perfect hair, dripping with arrogance.

“Feel like a bit of day drinking?” I ask my friend, laughing as I slip into the stool beside him.

“I took the day off today,” Holt mutters, playing with his half-empty glass. He spins it over the black coaster, staring at itblankly. “Just wasn’t feeling the hectic environment of the office after last night. You know?”

I nod. “Sorry I bailed.” I look down at my hand, running my fingers over my bruised knuckles. Surprisingly, they aren’t as bad as I expected them to be, considering the way I left the asshole bleeding and unconscious.

“Did the guy deserve it?” Holt asks, catching my attention.

I look up and chuckle. “I never threaten to kill someone unless they deserve it.”

He nods once. “Good.”

“So, what’s up?” I sigh, glancing around the bar. It’s a busy lunchtime. Slowly, more and more people are pouring in from the street. Piper and Lewis start moving faster behind the bar, darting from one end to the other.

“Hey, boss,” Piper interrupts, giving me a smile. “Can I get you something to drink while you’re sitting here?”

“No. I’m all set.”

“Okay.” She grins, then nods toward the staircase. “She’s already upstairs, working.” I’m pretty sure Piper has already had her ears up that something’s going on between me and London, just like Lewis. She has ever since London started working here, and I’ve been showing up more in the past few months than I have in the past year of owning this spot.

Piper leaves Holt and me to tend to the customer on the opposite side of Holt.

“Was she talking about London?” Holt asks.

I grin like a fucking lovesick teenager. “Yeah.”

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