Page 16 of Captivating Mr. Second Chance

When she lifted her gaze, she was appalled at herself to feel a well of tears in her eyes. For the second time today.

“Tell me honestly,” Bronte said, “what’s going on in your head?”

“I’m not sure. That’s the whole problem.” Laney felt like an asshole admitting it, but… “Everything has always been kind of easy for me. I worked hard, but I got lucky with privilege and opportunity. One connection led to another, and now that I’ve quit the Magnate Company, I don’t know where to go. I don’t even know what I want to do anymore.”

Bronte squinted at her. “What about Bobby? Are you done with him? For good?”

“I mean…” Laney shrugged. People always said never say never, but she couldn’t imagine being able to overcome him cheating on her. “That night, he said it was a one-time thing, and I feel like that almost makes it worse. Like, if it meant something to him, if he wanted to be with her, I could understand it more. But he did that for what? If being with another woman meant nothing to him, then what didImean to him?”

Bronte dabbed at her own eye with her cloth napkin. No one cried alone in her presence. “It’s terrible. You don’t deserve it. No one should ever feel disrespected like that.”

Laney was about to tell Bronte how when she packed up her bags, Bobby literally clung to her so she wouldn’t leave their bedroom, but her cell phone buzzed with an alert. A pathetic laugh bubbled up as she showed Bronte her phone and subsequent text message.We need to talk. Please. I love you, joey.

Bronte shook her head. “What are you going to say back?”

“Nothing.” Laney tossed her phone into her purse. “Let’s forget about him for now. You want the shrimp flatbread?”

“Yes.” Bronte clapped once, her eyes on her menu. “We’re getting the cheese board, right?”

“Of course. My stomach will hate me tomorrow, but we’re no amateurs here.”

Bronte laughed and ordered a few plates of food so that by the time tapas arrived, they were both done with their first round of drinks. As Laney was about to order more, a man sidled up to their table with a friendly wave.

“Delaney? I thought that was you.”

Laney smiled up at him. Although she didn’t recollect who he was, she was nothing if not good when she couldn’t remember people’s names. “Hi! How are you?”

“Great, great,” the man said, leaning toward their table, and she racked her brain for the reason she knew him. He was so familiar with that big grin and bit of gray at the temples, even though something told her he wasn’t more than early thirties. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Laney inclined her head. “I just moved back from San Francisco.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head, his smile momentarily lost. “You’re home?”

“For the time being. I’m having drinks with one of my best friends, Bronte.” She gestured to Bronte, and he extended his hand to shake hers.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m George.”

Laney barely held back from snapping her fingers in recognition. “George works with my dad.”

Bronte nodded politely. “Nice to meet you.”

“Well, ladies, I don’t want to take up any more of your night,” George said, his hand on the back of Laney’s chair. “I only wanted to come over and say hi.” He pointed to their empty glasses. “What’re you drinking? Can I buy you the next round?”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” Laney said, admiring his perfectly white smile against his honey-brown skin. Of course, she knew who George Ataya was. She’d met him on multiple occasions, always sweet.

“Please. It’s my pleasure.” He raised his dark brows. “You doing the specialty margarita? I can’t resist it either.” Then he rapped his knuckles once on the table. “It was great seeing you again, Delaney, and nice meeting you, Bronte. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

A few minutes later, their drinks arrived, courtesy of George, and both women turned toward the bar. George was facing them, and when Laney raised her glass to him in a thank-you, he winked before shifting back to the two men he was with.

“Nice guy, that George,” Bronte said.

“Mm-hmm.”

“You’re so popular you don’t even know all your fans.”

“He’s not a fan,” Laney said into her drink.

Bronte pointed a slice of Manchego cheese at her. “We’ll see.”

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