Page 72 of Sparks Fly
I knew when I was kissing her that it was going to end this way. If it wasn’t me that realised it was wrong, it would have been her.
But of course, I was the bad guy. Fucked it all up in a matter of minutes.
Dragging my suitcase off the bed, I move to the main area of the penthouse and pack my laptop and odds and sods into my rucksack. Hovering by the door, I debate going to say bye, but I know no good is going to come of that. And I may get a shoe to the face, or a fist… either is not something I fancy.
Sighing, I open the door and walk out, not looking back. Dick move, yes, but honestly, I think that’s the end of me and Anaïs Sinclair.
Touching down in London,I still feel shitty. There’s an annoying tightness in my chest and my stomach feels upside down. I hate it. Stepping off the plane, Colby is standing there waiting to greet me.
“So, he returns.” Sarcasm drips from his lips and I roll my eyes.
“Had to come home at some point, Colby.” I smirk, pushing my case into his hands and getting in the waiting car.
“I’ve not missed you,” he grits out as he puts the case in the back of the car then climbs in beside me.
“Feeling is mutual, my man.” I wink then slip my glasses on.
“You have Cowan’s contract on your desk.”
“Perfect, any other messages?”
“Nothing important.” Colby looks at his phone, tapping away at emails and I nod.
“How has Royce been?”
“Busy. Constantly been in the sim. We put him out on track yesterday and he is happy with the way the car felt. But, you know, this is Royce. He could find something wrong with it tomorrow.” He shrugs, turning his face to look at me deadpan.
“Well, at least he likes it today.” I smile. “That’s something.”
“That’s true.” He looks away from me and the rest of the drive is in silence, which suits me just fine, because I am smothered by this turmoil of guilt and regret.
Walking into the office, I am greeted by my team, and it feels good to be back. Sitting at my desk, Colby is behind me, hot on my heels.
“I think you were lying in the car, Colby.” I look up at him over my computer. “I think you have missed me.”
He laughs loudly and then abruptly stops, his smile vanishing as quick as the strange sound that filled the room just seconds ago.
“No.” He lifts his nose in the air and walks out the room, leaving me to go through a stack of paper.
I push all that aside for the moment and focus on the contract. Once I have read through it, I’ll send it to HR to make sure I haven’t missed anything. Last thing I would want is to fuck up and get stung because I had missed a clause. The contracts are sneaky like that, there will be hidden clauses throughout. Ishould know because I scatter them in mine. You can never be too careful when it comes to your drivers. Once they’re locked in, you want them to stay there unless it is your choice to kick them from their seat.
Walkinginto an empty house has my gut twisting. It’s quiet. I flick on the lights, my bags are already here from the flight. I sigh as I toss the keys onto the side table, I push through into the kitchen and raid the fridge for a beer or two.
The evening is drawing in, and I am sat in the snug area, eyes fixed out into the darkness. Not quite Monaco, but it’s home.
Swigging from the bottle, my phone is beside me. I sent Paula in HR the contract and she said she would update me tonight. I was eager to get this across the line before anyone else got wind that Cowan Pierce was thinking of joining Saint Onyx.
If someone knew he was available, they would take him. He is up and coming. Drives aggressive and only worries about himself, and I really do believe not only my team, but Royce needs him too.
Draining the bottle, I place it on the table and reach for my phone. Swiping down on my screen, my inbox still sits empty and my brows furrow. I shoot Paula a quick message to ask for an update, she simply replies: soon.
Nibbling on the inside of my lip, I open up my social media and have a flick through on my private account and find Anaïs. I’m under an alias, so she would never know it was me. I hit follow then skim through her photos. She hasn’t posted since the night I gate crashed her evening. She was the only account I was following.
Uneasiness settles in my stomach, and I hate that I left the way I did. She deserved an explanation but how do you explainit? We weren’t the right fit. We wouldn’t work. You dated my son.
Fuck.
The last one has my chest aching and my palm is there, rubbing small circles trying to alleviate it, but it’s no use. It’s still there, still prominent. I hate that.
