Page 51 of The Rules of Their Red-Hot Reunion

‘I spent my entire childhood not being seen or respected, being dismissed. I won’t tolerate that from you, or any man. I refuse to stand on the outside of your life, only to be pulled in when it suits you.’

Aisha forced herself to walk over to him, to touch his cheek with the tips of her fingers. ‘Miles has offered to send someone to help me with setting up the restaurant. I think I’m going to accept her offer and let Kendall work with you. You’ll enjoy her, she’s fun.’

He shook his head, and for a moment, just a moment, she thought he was holding his arms tight across his chest to keep from reaching for her.

‘I’m sorry, Aish. I really am,’ he managed to croak.

Aisha released a small sob, shook her head and forced herself to walk away.

A long, miserable week later, Pasco stood in the empty warehouse in New York City, trying to ignore his throbbing, aching heart. Hank was rambling on about capacity and seating, telling him how eager the city was for a new restaurant, how the eating scene had changed since Covid-19. He wasn’t paying attention, and only heard every fifth word he said.

All he could think about was Aisha’s words.‘You reach for shiny objects too, Pasco, but yours are work and success and accolades, things to remind you that you are nothing like him...that you are a success.’

A successful businessman, maybe, but not a good human being. He was, in many ways, his father’s son and that was a problem and his biggest challenge. He didn’t want to be that driven, hyper-focused jerk he’d been.

So why was he here? In New York? He didn’t want to live in this city, work a thousand hours a week, be the lauded New York City success story again.

Be honest, Kildare, you’re only in Manhattan because it hurt too much to stay in Cape Town. To even be in the same area as Aisha. Because you hoped that flying to New York and listening to Hank’s pitch would be a distraction from the suffocating pain and relief from the heavy stone squashing your heart.

God, he missed Aisha. He felt as if he were missing an arm, a leg, his damned spine. The last time they split, he dived into work, focusing his energy on building his empire. This time around, work failed to hold his interest.

After booking into the Waldorf, he’d left again immediately and started walking the city that had been his home for five years. He’d walked for hours and hours, eventually stopping outside the premises of his old restaurant, now an upmarket deli.

He’d earned the first of his Michelin stars there, been lauded for bringing innovative dishes to the jaded food scene. He’d been featured in food magazines and on travel programmes, in fact, his appearance on a travel programme had led to him having his own.

He’d had royalty and rogues eat his food, celebrities of all sizes, shapes, and sorts. His reviews were generally good, and he’d earned many tens of millions feeding the great and good, and not so good, of this magnificent city.

He definitely didn’t need to do it again. Pasco looked at Hank, who hadn’t taken a breath since jumping into the cab that had brought them here. He wore a thick gold chain around his neck, another on his wrist, and a fat Rolex. Hank had a magnificent apartment overlooking Central Park, ate out every night, and had a different girlfriend every month. He was a billionaire investor, another collector of shiny objects like businesses and bitcoin.

‘I’m telling ya, Pasco, we can make ourselves a fortune.’

He already had a fortune, and that was before he counted the money he’d placed in trusts for his family. He still owned an apartment in New York, another in London, a villa in Greece, and his two homes in South Africa. Apart from his restaurants, he owned a couple of industrial properties and a block of apartments, all of which generated rental income. He received money from his range of kitchen accessories, interest from his fat bank accounts.

‘You and I can do great things together. More great things,’ Hank amended, smiling. Pasco jammed his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers and looked at the older man.

‘Why did you never marry, Hank?’ he demanded.

Hank frowned at his out-of-the-blue question. ‘Too much hassle, not enough time,’ he eventually answered. ‘Truth be told, I love my work more than I could ever love a woman. We’re the same, you and I.’

Pasco flinched at the observation. Were they? He loved to work, loved his job but...

But he loved Aisha more. None of it meant anything without her. She was what was missing from the life, the empty hole he couldn’t fill because it was Aisha-shaped, and the only one able to complete him. So, yeah, if he had to choose between work and her, it would be her. Funny how it took making a complete idiot of himself and flying halfway across the world to look at an opportunity he had no interest in to come to that realisation.

‘It’s not for me, Hank,’ Pasco said, looking around. For someone else, sure, but not him. New York wasn’t his place any more; he didn’t want to move back here, commit to working fourteen-hour days for the next ten or so years.

Hank didn’t miss a beat. ‘Okay, what will suit you?’

He had no idea; maybe it was a small restaurant, with simple dishes prepared well, great wine, greenhouses, and herb gardens, maybe not, but it wasn’t here, across the pond away from Aisha. What would really suit him was his ring on her finger, his son running into his arms, Aisha’s stomach round with their second child.

Maybe it was even doing what he did now, but slowing down, delegating, occasionally taking his hands off the wheel, but always, always going home to Aisha.

What would suit him best was a life that worked for Aisha, with him at her side.

He needed to spend his life being there for her, spending time with her, supporting her,seeingher. Making her his sole priority because she was the most important person in his life, ensuring she never felt on the outside looking in again.

Whatever she wanted from him, he’d give to her. She could work, not work, jump in and out of his life—he didn’t care!—as long as she was happy, fulfilled, living her best life.

God, he needed to talk to her, to find a way to make this work. He’d been hyper-focused all his life, but winning Aisha back would be the biggest, hardest, most important battle of his life. ‘Well, what do you want, Pasco?’

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