by Zara Cox
Originally named The Diamond Bay, but later changed to The Sylph, a better fitting name.
An iconic building already racking up international architectural awards.
My baby. My special once-in-a-lifetime project.
The one my ex-best friend wanted a piece of.
Savannah might not be my enemy in the true sense of the word but, after her singeing betrayal and dismissal of me from her life, we weren’t friends any longer. After my parents and family, she’d been the third and final strike.
My days of accommodating foibles and betrayals were behind me. She needed to be set straight on that score once and for all.
By this time tomorrow she would know in no uncertain terms that it was a mistake to resurface, to attempt to touch a place in my life that belonged on a crap pile of history.
* * *
I should’ve arranged lunch in my office just as I’d planned.
I knew I’d made a mistake even before the buzzer sounded in my Marina Bay penthouse apartment. I’d talked myself into the argument that geography didn’t matter.
Straight. Sharp. To the point before zàijiàn. Sayonara. Goodbye.
Easily accomplished in any language and as effective here as in my office half a mile away. So I’d arranged for my executive chef to prepare lunch here.
In my private space.
Where she could read into it. Where signs of my existence were everywhere. Where everything now seemed...way too personal.
Clever, clever Bryce.
I grimaced at the very vocal inner voice and pressed the button that activated my private lift. The ding sounded in seconds. My stomach muscles tightened as I pulled the door open and awaited my first glimpse of Savannah in three and a half years.
The lift doors parted.
My first reaction was a filthy curse at the internet for the shoddy portrayal of the woman who would turn heads wherever she went. Because the real-life version was so much better than the pitiful digital imitation.
Vibrant. Vivacious. So fucking beautiful.
Dressed in a blush-pink floaty top and skin-tight, chocolate-coloured leather trousers, she was a magnificent vision, powerful enough to slacken my jaw before I caught myself and pressed my lips into appropriately neutral, downright unfriendly lines. Her curvy hips and endless legs were balanced on sky-high heels matching her trousers and, with that combined with her bouncy curls and flawless make-up, I felt my breathing fracture into useless silent hiccups as I stared.
Mine was the only apartment on this floor, a request I’d worked into the architect’s plans when I’d built the luxury complex. It meant that, with over seventeen thousand square feet to play with, the distance from the lift to my front door was substantial. Long enough to broadcast any nerves from my visitor.
There were none.
She effortlessly projected an ingrained confidence and inner strength I’d secretly envied for a long time before finding my own rightful place in the world. She’d exuded that same vibe on her debut runway show, earned herself positive adoration and cemented herself on the fashion landscape in one fell swoop.
That had been my one and only attendance of her show, and I’d silently watched, smiled proudly and applauded her then.
I wasn’t applauding now as I watched Savannah saunter towards me, that heart-stopping smile curving her luscious lips.
I stayed put, let her come closer, looked deeper into her stunning eyes to spot the first signs of wariness.
Three feet from me, she stopped. ‘Hello, Bryce.’
I shoved my hands into my pockets and narrowed my eyes, almost deluding myself that minimising my vision would lessen her physical impact. ‘Hi, yourself.’
‘It’s good to see you,’ she murmured and I gritted my jaw against the evocative effect of her voice. Warm honey. Sultry nights. Hot tangled sheets. The stuff of a thousand wet dreams.
All forbidden best-friend territory.
Except we weren’t best friends any more. Hell, we weren’t even friends.
So I raised an eyebrow, deliberately, but didn’t answer. The faintest flush stained her cheeks.
A little appeased at that reaction, I waved towards the open door. ‘Come in. Lunch is just about ready and I need to get back to work within the hour.’
She studied me for one second longer, either reacquainting herself with my face or assessing my mood before walking past me into my personal domain. My involuntary swallow at the rich, flowery scent that trailed her was annoying but I gave myself a pass, extracting a hand from my pocket long enough to shut the door before I jammed it back into safety.
I arrived in the living room to find her examining every square inch of it. Yeah, definitely the wrong move, bringing her here. When she was done, she faced me with another tentative smile.
‘Your place is amazing. Very stylish. Very...suave.’
I nodded briskly, totally dismissing the pulse of warmth that attempted to steal through me. ‘Thanks. Would you like a drink? I have white wine chilling. Or I can offer you something else?’ No reason not to be civil before the takedown began.
She shook her head. ‘White wine is fine, thank you.’
My living room was a wide, open space with the dining table tucked beneath a slanted floor-to-ceiling glass wall. Currently at a setting that dulled the blinding sun’s rays by a fraction, the glass threw back a dozen perfect reflections. Through one, I saw her staring after me as I went to the silver ice bucket set up on its pedestal next to the dining table. Saw her avert her gaze as I plucked the Chateauneuf from the ice and turned around. I uncorked the bottle, poured two glasses and returned to the living room.
‘Sit down, Savannah.’
Watchful honey-gold eyes ringed with lush eyelashes met mine as she accepted the wine. ‘Are you sure you want me to?’
I froze. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I wasn’t imagining it. You’re cold. And distant. And seriously pissed off with me for some reason. So why invite me to lunch, Bryce?’ she demanded.
One thing I’d forgotten about her. Savvie always shot from the hip, no holds barred. But I was determined to do this on my terms. I shrugged. ‘It seemed as good a time as any to set a few things straight.’
She tensed. ‘Things like what?’
I shook my head. ‘Not until we’ve eaten.’
‘I’m not sure I want to break bread with someone who’s going to spend the whole meal glaring at me.’
‘You’re a grown woman, Savannah. I’m sure you can take it.’
‘I can. But do I want to? There’s such a thing as free will, you know?’ she challenged without losing an ounce of warm seduction from her voice.
It really was the most maddening thing.
Irritated, I shrugged again. ‘You’re the one who reached out. You’re the one who wanted to see me. And unless I’m mistaken you want something from me, correct?’
She opened her mouth, most probably to deny my crisp assessment. Something stopped her response, something apprehensive that raised my hackles. ‘Fine. Let’s eat,’ she replied abruptly, heading across the room before I could respond, but she paused when she reached the table.
The table was set at perpendicular angles, one place at the head and the other at ninety degrees. I dragged my gaze from the tight, plump globes of her arse and the waist I knew I could span with my hands, and pulled her seat out. After casting another furtive glance at me, she set her suede clutch on the table and sat down.
I took the other seat, aware that neither of us had taken a sip of our wine. Again she latched on to my thoughts, reminding me of her uncanny ability to do so from our youth. ‘Is it worth making a toast to a reunion or am I wasting my breath?’
I snapped out my pristine napkin with unnecessary force before draping it across my lap. ‘Sure, I’ll drink to something. Go ahead and make a toast.’
She stared at me a taut few seconds. ‘To old friends and acquaintances?’
‘Is that a toast or a question?’
My chef’s arrival in that moment from the kitchen with the first course stalled her answer. My brief to the chef had been simple—my guest loved everything except string beans and had no allergies. The rest I’d left to his culinary expertise. He must have done his own homework because he’d pulled out the stops. The seafood starter smelled incredible even before he’d placed it on the table.
‘Oh, lobster thermidor! My favourite,’ Savvie gushed when the dish was uncovered, eliciting a wide, slavishly happy smile from my usually pompous Michelin-starred chef.
‘Bon appétit, mademoiselle. And if you wish for anything else, don’t hesitate to let me know.’
I swallowed an irritated snort. Jacques was only half French and grew up in Michigan but he loved to emphasise his accent in the presence of a beautiful woman. I uncovered my own dish as Savvie picked up her fork. ‘I suppose we can drink to good wine and great food?’
‘Why the hell not?’
She tensed, her eyes flashing at me. ‘Bryce...’
I reached forward with my glass, clinked hers and took a large gulp. ‘Let’s not invite indigestion to a great meal, shall we? Jacques seems taken with you. You don’t want to upset him, do you?’
‘I don’t want to upset you. You’re more important to me.’
The unexpected response disarmed me for all of two seconds before I rallied. ‘Am I? If I’m so important why have you done such a bang-up job of avoiding me for the last three years? Tell me, if it hadn’t been for that prime piece of real estate you currently covet, would I have heard from you at all?’ I asked with every scrap of bitterness broiling in my gut.
And watched all the warmth leave her face. ‘You think I reconnected with you because of the lease?’ she asked through stiff lips.
‘Didn’t you? Perhaps you should go back and read your email. See how many lines referred to me and how many stated what you need from me.’
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. ‘I was wrong. You haven’t just become cold, Bryce. You’ve also turned nasty.’
The barbs bounced off me. ‘I state things as they are. Sugar-coating is for little boys and girls. If that’s too much for you to handle, we can end this right now.’
Eyes one shade darker with an emotion I didn’t feel like examining stared back at me for several taut seconds. Then she picked up her fork. ‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m going to eat this starter, Bryce, because you’re right, I don’t want to upset your chef. And because for whatever reason he’s known to prepare one of my favourite dishes even without having met me before. After I do it justice, we’re going to settle whatever it is that’s bugging you—’
‘Are you really going to sit there and plead ignorance, Savannah?’
She flinched. ‘I’m not going to accept blame for anything until the charges are spelt out. But if you think I don’t have a few bones to pick with you too, think again, Bryce James Mortimer.’
For some absurd reason, hearing her say my full name made my stomach flip. Followed swiftly by a twitch in my trousers.
I took another sip of wine, watched as she tackled a bite of succulent lobster before washing it down with a mouthful of wine. Watched her swallow with a little hum of pleasure, a habit she seemingly hadn’t curbed.
‘Is that so?’
‘Hmm, very much so. Now, shut up for a minute and let me enjoy my food.’
She forked another bite of juicy lobster, brought it to her mouth and wrapped her plump lips around it.
Then closed her eyes and moaned with zero shame.
I cursed that thick heft of lust that dropped into my groin and wrapped itself sinuously around my cock. With a disgruntled shift in my seat, I set my glass down and picked up my own cutlery. In silence we polished off the starter, and I watched her charm the chef with effusive thanks as he cleared away and hurried off to fetch the main course.
The main course of creamy chicken risotto with shaved truffles went down a treat with her too, while my appetite dwindled in contrast, and I was staring at Savvie’s lips when she opened them after the last bite and said the one word that knocked dread into my stomach. ‘Truth.’
CHAPTER TWO
Savvie
THE MAN I’D called my best friend until a dizzying series of events dissolved the title like sugar in hot water stared at me dispassionately. It was a good thing I’d finished my meal or I’d have lost my appetite. The look wasn’t just in his eyes. It seeped through every shrug, every curl of lips I’d once thought were the most perfectly created set of lips on earth. Every indifferent sip of excellent wine.
I looked deeper, pathetically desperate to find something else. Something more. A reminder of those semi-carefree years when we’d talk on the phone for hours, sleep for an hour and resume conversations the moment we saw one another in person.
But the man I knew had been replaced by a harder, edgier version of a Bryce Mortimer who’d been hard and edgy and cynical to start off with. I’d only fooled myself into thinking our friendship had softened those hard edges, that being around me and my eclectic family he’d believed was perfect had smoothed a few jagged spikes embedded by his family and his emotionally stunted upbringing.
More fool me.
For the longest time, I’d hoped and prayed, hinted and whispered, while silently screaming, See me. Me. Choose me.
Bryce had seen. And concluded I wasn’t enough.
Nothing and no one would ever be enough. It’d taken me far too long to accept that. Even longer to get over it. All he’d ever wanted was low-maintenance friendship, something to take the edge off his hectic social and dysfunctional family life. And stupidly, I’d forced myself to fit the mould, to be whatever I needed to be to stay in his life. Unfortunately by doing that, I’d almost lost myself. And yes, a part of me hated Bryce for it.
Well, he’d made it clear he was all about settling scores.
I had a few of my own to put to bed.
‘Truth,’ I repeated after I refused dessert and the chef had departed.
He sipped his drink, then gave a wry smile as he lowered it. ‘You’ve always been terrible at this game. You’re supposed to give me two options, remember?’
I remembered. Truth or Dare had always been our game. I’d loved it a little too much because it’d skated close to secret desires I’d tried to suppress for a long time. ‘What’s the point when you always choose dare?’
He shrugged. ‘Dares are way more exciting.’
‘Why? What’s so wrong with choosing truth every now and then?’
He tensed ever so slightly. ‘Sadly, the truth means different things to different people.’
‘Not to me, and you know that.’ He didn’t answer. Now it was my turn to tense. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Leave it.’
‘Leave what? I haven’t even asked you anything yet.’
‘Exactly,’ he replied tightly. ‘And already you’re getting bent out of shape. So let’s drop whatever it is you think you want to know before things get more fucked, shall we?’
‘More fucked? So you know things are fucked?’
He grimaced and for some reason stared at my mouth for an eternity before his gaze swept away. ‘You know the one thing I haven’t missed about you? This dog-with-a-bone inability to let things be.’
Maybe he was right and I needed to let things go. But I’d let too many things go for far too long. First by being too afraid to ever dig beneath the surface with Bryce to what I’d really wanted. Then with Dan and all the signs I should’ve heeded when things had started to go bad and he’d turned from sarcastically cruel to deliberately verbally abusive. Then the one thing I’d never thought would slip through my fingers—my friendship with B
ryce.
I watched my best friend now. Correction, my ex-best friend. Outwardly, he appeared unaffected but years-long experience had taught me that his still waters ran deep and dangerous. He was also uncomfortable about something.
Something my instinct pushed me not to let go.
‘Truth,’ I demanded for a third time.
‘Fine,’ he griped, with less heat than a minute before.
‘How long have you held this...grudge?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘Three a half years, give or take.’
My heart dropped to my heels.
A large part of me had hoped he’d do the quintessential English thing and reply that of course he didn’t hold a grudge. That I was being silly. That his cold email and general attitude were my overactive imagination.
But they weren’t. His stark words landed and burrowed deep, robbing me of breath until I tightened my gut against the acute loss. Until I reminded myself that he’d absented himself, deliberately, for much longer than those three-plus years.
‘Then why am I here?’ I asked. ‘Why not tell me to piss off if you don’t care any more?’
‘Because you’ve always been as stubborn as a mule when you get an idea into your head. Anyone else who believed I was cold and distant would’ve taken their business elsewhere. Instead here you are, thinking you can turn this around. Or it because you want to lend credence to the assertion that I’m important to you?’
His tone chafed. ‘It wasn’t a lie.’
‘Yeah. Right.’
Irritation snapped my spine straight. ‘Watch it, Bryce, or you’ll seriously piss me off with that tone that suggests I’m lying. You don’t want to believe it, that’s up to you and that cynicism you wear like a second skin. I know my truth. As for the implication that I have ulterior motives for not taking my business elsewhere, you’re right. And why should I? I checked out your place before coming here. It’s perfect for my needs. So pardon me for not wanting to cut off my nose to spite my face.’