Page 53 of Filthy Rich Temptation
I’m still buzzing when I step into the elevator, nerves and anticipation fizzing through me like static. It’s been years since I had a proper run – longer since I did it outside – but suddenly, I’m abuzz with the kind of energy that’s got absolutely nothing to do with the impending cardio.
Then I hear his voice carry down the hall: ‘Jake, hey, I’m going to need you to reschedule my ten o’clock. Yeah, the one with the board… Never mind why, just do it. Send them some of those fancy pastries from Samuel’s and throw in the?—’
I don’t catch the rest as the doors slide closed. But the implication is loud and clear. He’s not just rescheduling his day. He’s rescheduling an actual freakingboard meeting. Just for me.
I feel like I’ve stumbled into someone else’s life, floating somewhere between awe and disbelief. The quiet hum of the lift cocoons me, my own private bubble, and for a second, I just stand there. Still.
This is the first time I’ve been in this space alone. No buggy, no Mary Poppins bag, no list of things to remember. No one to smile for, to pretend for, it’s just me.Forme.
It takes a moment to remember the security code. Another to pick the right floor to the street. I catch my reflection in the mirrored panel. Bright eyes. Flushed cheeks. Aside from the lack of sweat, I alreadylooklike I’ve been for a run.
The elevator gives a subtle jolt, the doors gliding open on the foyer. It’s all polished glass and understated elegance, a bustling hive of activity too that I somehow stride right through.
‘Good morning, Miss Stone,’ the porter says with a nod, holding open the door.
‘It really is, isn’t it, Charles?’ I reply, surprised by how much I mean it; my shoulders feel so light, my chest so open…
I step out into the street and for the first time in forever, I don’t flinch at the world coming at me. The rush of traffic, the city noise, the commuters spilling out of coffee shops and apartment buildings. I move with it.
I don’t know if it’s the lasting effect of yesterday’s park visit, or the growing distance from Danny, or the high of Theo wanting what’s best for me,wantingme even – but I’m walking on air.
No, scratch that.
I’m running on it.
I dodge between pedestrians, my trainers pounding the pavement, my heart kicking like it’s finally remembered what it’s for. I let out a breathless laugh and a man glances up, nearly upending his fancy coffee down his equally fancy suit. I hit him with an apologetic grin and keep on going because in that moment, I realise:
I’m not scared.
I’m not hiding.
I’m not someone else’s problem.
I’mfree.
11
THEO
A week later, and Sadie’s officially got her running bug back.
Every morning, she disappears off in a blur of Lycra and glowing determination, and I set up camp at the kitchen table – half-working, half-wrangling Lottie.
This morning, I’m elbow-deep in the early stages of a multi-million-pound acquisition, reviewing the financials of a failing logistics firm… while across from me, Lottie is glueing sequins to a slice of glitter-sprinkled toast.
Not paper.
Not a craft project.
Actual toast.
She hums as she works with the focused intensity of someone restoring the Sistine Chapel – head tilting side to side, pigtails twitching like antennae, bottom lip caught in her teeth. Classic concentration face. Just like her mum. And she keeps eyeing my laptop lid like it’s her next canvas. Not happening.
This is my life now. And I’m not even mad about it.
So long as I remember to peel the glitter stickers off my Tom Ford shirt before today’s virtual meetings, it’ll be an upgrade on last Monday.
‘Look, Uncle Feo! Princess Toast!’
