You're All I Think About_Second Chance Romance

by Scarlett Avery

  "You have it all wrong. I'm the lucky one. How many girls will be hanging from the arm of not one, but two, gorgeous men?"

  "Even if you're flanked by the two of us, you're still going to turn heads in that dress," Derek says.

  "Thank you." There's really only one head I want to turn, but lately, he's been too preoccupied to even know I exist.

  "Where did you buy that dress?" Terry asks brushing his eyes the length of my body.

  "I bought it earlier this year when I was in California with Amelia." I turn to Derek and say, "That's my best friend."

  "Yes, Terry filled me in. I didn't realize there were only three degrees of separation between Prime Minister Cavendish and I," Derek chuckles.

  I laugh.

  Terry joins me.

  "Small world," I joke.

  "Indeed. It’s sort of an honor really. I like Terry for who he is, but I get a chuckle out of the fact that dating him comes with perks," Derek winks.

  Terry winks back.

  "You were saying about the dress?" Terry asks moving his attention away from the dashing doctor.

  "Ah, yes, it’s been sitting in my closet for far too long. I thought tonight would be a great occasion to christen it since, for once, I'm a guest at an event instead of being the one manning it."

  For tonight, I selected an Alessandro Marquezine champagne color sequin slip dress with a fitted silhouette. I paired it with Yves Saint Laurent nude color patent leather ankle strap high-heeled sandals and an evening clutch in the same shade. It's understated and elegant with a dash of sparkle.

  "Holy Jesus!" Terry exclaims.

  "What?" Derek and I ask in unison.

  "I've been so dazzled by your dress that it's only now that I notice the earrings," Terry gasps, bringing a hand up to his chest. "My God, those must cost as much as my flat."

  "I don't wear them as often as I should," I offer.

  "Is it because they're from—”

  "No, they're not," I cut Terry off before he says his name. I made sure that nothing I wore tonight could be linked to him. "Dad gave me these for my twenty-fifth birthday." The rose gold chandelier earrings encrusted with sparkling diamonds and morganite stone my father offered me are statement pieces, which is why I need a special occasion to showcase them. Tonight is perfect.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say the wrong thing."

  "Don't be silly, Terry. You just asked a question," I force a smile.

  "Yeah, but I inadvertently mentioned his name."

  "But you didn't."

  I read the concern in my assistant’s eyes, but I avert my gaze. I’m determined not to wallow in self-pity tonight.

  "Still no word from him?" Derek asks.

  I'm sure he doesn't know every little detail, but I'm also certain that Terry had given him a summary of the situation.

  I shake my head and pinch my lips together. "No. He was texting and calling the first few days after this latest big blow, but in the last week, I’ve barely heard from him. I invited him to come out tonight as my date, but he said he's too busy chasing after bad guys.” I punctuate my sentence with a tight nod.

  Twelve days ago, Barrett called me up at my office late in the afternoon to tell me he had to cancel our plans. That's when he revealed that two million pounds had gone missing from his account and now he was frantically trying to figure out who within his organization dared to betray him. He also mentioned that he was dealing with a few other problematic roadblocks. I didn't ask too many questions. I know he’ll only clam up if I do. Although I understand that he'd want to find out who’s creating such havoc in his life, this witch hunt means that he's been practically sleeping at the office. The few times we've been together, he's been so distracted—and distant—it’s as if I wasn't even there. In the end, it felt like I was living alone in his big house. After four days, I decided it was best to give him some space and I retreated to my penthouse. I figured we can pick-up where we left off once he's able to sort things out. Do I miss him? More than I'm willing to admit. That said, I'm no rookie at this. I keep moving on despite it all and I ignore the hurt. I can't blame Barrett for everything. I'm the one who allowed myself to believe that maybe this time it would be different. That maybe it was possible for us to have a relationship in the shadows of the evil Ascotts. I guess I was wrong.

  "I'm really sorry about that, Charlie."

  "If it's okay with you Derek, let's not talk about you know who. Let’s focus on tonight and the hotel’s big reveal."

  "That's the right attitude!" Terry says. “We all know King Barrett will make his presence known when he's fine and ready. He'll come charging through our office doors like a force of nature when all of this is behind him.”

  We all laugh.

  "Well, I for one can't wait to see what a renovated twenty-six-thousand-pound-a-night suite looks like," I say.

  "I want to know who the hell is wealthy enough to fork out that kind of money for a measly hotel suite," Terry says.

  "I think they call it the ultimate in über-luxury accommodation," I correct him.

  "You mean the ultimate in fucking insanity," it’s Derek's turn to voice his opinion.

  "Well, I heard from the publicist organizing the event that an American billionaire has reputedly booked the suite for three and a half weeks. He's here tonight. It's a matter of figuring out who he is," I wink.

  "No way," Terry's eyes are as big as saucers. "Talk about being filthy rich and not knowing what to do with your bloody money.”

  “I hope you're okay with this, but my doctor’s salary doesn’t allow me such extravagance,” Derek tells Terry.

  “I’ll still hold on to you,” Terry declares. "I'm sure that American billionaire isn't nearly as sexy as you are.”

  There they go again with those googoo eyes.

  Time to bring the conversation back on track.

  "And it’s extravagance with a capital E. For that kind of money, the Grand Roychester even throws in your own personal butler on hand 24/7, as many bottles of Dom Pérignon as your heart desires and…" I pause and lift my hands up in the air in a dramatic gesture. "Drumroll, please."

  Terry obliges.

  “You'll also have a selection of three badass Batmobiles of choice at your disposal during your stay—a chauffeured Rolls-Royce Phantom, a Mercedes AMG GT-C-Roadster, or a Bugatti," I say.

  "Definitely too rich for my blood," Derek grimaces.

  "More power to whoever can afford that," Terry concludes.

  "Since we don't have to fork out that kind of ridiculous sum to get a decent glass of champagne, I think we should all head to the bar. We were told by one of the waiters when we arrived that the Dom Pérignon is flowing freely tonight," Derek suggests.

  "After hearing about all that decadence that I'll never be able to afford, I could use a drink," Terry chuckles.

  "Lead the way, good doctor!" I say.

  * * *

  Even I was jaw-dropped by how opulent that twenty-six-thousand-pound-a-night suite looks and God knows I've seen my fair share of ostentatious spaces in my lifetime. Terry and Derek are still up there soaking it all in, but I had to excuse myself. I needed a break from the crowd. Not to mention, that if I had to grin and say one more time, "I'm doing fine," I was going to scream. I can put on a happy face for a while, but eventually, it wears me out. One of the advantages of not being the publicist for this event is that I can walk away from it all and not care. That said, I can't complain too much because when we were still in the party room—before the big reveal—I was able to rub elbows with my fair share of potential new clients. I might be in a relationship rut—or whatever you want to call what it is Barrett and I share these days—but my career is on fire. Maybe it's true what they say. Maybe you can't have it all at the same time.

  Unwilling to let the thought bring me down, I move my gaze to a group of fashionably dressed smokers standing near the fountain. Their laughter echoes throughout the gardens. When my eyes bounce to a couple kissing,
I can’t help but wonder what Barrett’s up to. Does he think of me? Does he miss me?

  “Enough," I scold myself. “Another glass of champagne will help me forget,” I mumble as I turn on my heel.

  I step inside just as an annoying voice chirps, “Hello, hello, hello."

  God, please, no.

  I freeze for a second trying to figure out how I can get out of this situation. Unfortunately, the room is packed. That gives a home court advantage to the woman waving at me.

  “Oh, Charlie over here. It's me, Octavia.”

  My little prayer goes unanswered. Clearly, God must be busy with uglier things.

  Intent on getting away from her, I decide to return to the garden.

  I guess Octavia really wants to catch my attention because she starts running after me.

  Oh, fuck.

  “Charlie, wait.”

  I stop in my tracks.

  I might as well get this over with. If not, I'll have to dodge her for the rest of the evening and that would be no fun.

  I turn around, inhale deeply and force a smile. "Octavia," I say.

  "Charlie!" she repeats my name.

  "I didn't realize you were on the guest list," I say.

  "I wasn't," she snorts. "My grandmother had to pull some strings to get me in," she says lifting her chin up proudly.

  Translation: Alvina Cherry Heene Ascott Littlefield had some dirt on an influencer or she threatened to blackmail someone to get her granddaughter on the list.

  "Of course."

  “It's a big deal and I didn't want to be left out. Just because Justine and I don't see eye to eye, doesn't mean I shouldn't be present."

  Translation: Justine Kincaid, the publicist, can't stand her guts because Octavia tried to poach her clients by spreading nasty rumors about her. It’s far more than not seeing eye to eye. It's pure hatred on Justine's part.

  "I see," I nod.

  "Once again, what you're wearing is absolutely fabulous," she waves her finger up and down the length of my body. "Very catwalk-worthy."

  "Thank you."

  I wish I could return the compliment, but that pink dress she's wearing is way too tight and screams of desperation. Don't even get me started on those godawful giant blue flowers. No one should wear that kind of print.

  "I'm surprised your date isn't standing by your side ready to defend your honor. I'm sure a lot of men must be vying for your attention," she winks.

  "I can hold my own," I tell her. “I don’t need anyone by my side.”

  She lets out an exaggerated gasp. "Are you telling me that you’re here alone?" I open my mouth to respond, but she doesn't let me. "I refuse to believe that. You're far too gorgeous to be unaccompanied." She shows her fangs.

  "As I said, I can hold my own."

  All right, time to put an end to this stupidity.

  "If you'll excuse me, Oct—”

  "Is it about Barrett and his latest famous shag?" she asks.

  If I could kill this woman and get away with it, she'd already be dead.

  I exert a great deal of self-control before saying, "I don't care about Barrett and whoever he’s shagging."

  "Oh. Tsk. Maybe I wasn't supposed to say anything," she pulls her lips down in a frown.

  Doesn’t she comprehend English anymore?

  "Don't worry about it. Barrett is a big boy and he's entitled to do whatever he wants." Don't ask me how I manage to say that without my voice breaking.

  "That's the spirit. I mean how can you compete with her?"

  Now she's really asking for it.

  "Octavia, did you hunt me down to give me updates on my ex-boyfriend’s love life? Because I'm not sure in what language I have to tell you that I. Don't. Fucking. Care."

  "Well…" she shakes her head from left to right. "He's not that much of an ex since you the two of you have been seen together lately. I guess it’s casual. Is that it?" She snorts again and, I swear to God, she sounds like a pig. "It's best that way because, truly, you're no match for Capri Ocean."

  My blood goes cold.

  Who the hell is Capri Ocean?

  I take a step closer to her and tower her with my height. I narrow my eyes at her, but before I can give her a good tongue-lashing she adds to my torment.

  "Oh, do you not know who she is?"

  "I don't care," I repeat, as I turn on my heel ready to get away as far as I possibly can from this witch, but her words freeze me in place.

  "She's Britain's biggest porn star."

  Porn star?

  That’s so preposterous, that I explode in laughter.

  "You must have too much time on your hands to come up with such ludicrous things," I tell her.

  "You think I'm lying?" she challenges.

  "Barrett can see whoever he wants to, but I doubt he's shagging a porn star."

  Instead of firing off another nasty remark, Octavia pulls up her phone to eye level. She plays around with the volume and swipes her index finger across the screen. Her eyes narrow as she furiously types something.

  A voice inside of my head urges me to run, but my feet are as heavy as lead. I can't will myself to move.

  "It's all on the Internet for the world to see," she says before turning her phone so I can see the screen. "Before you call me a liar, I'd listen in on the conversation between two lovers.”

  I open my mouth to throw an insult at her, but the words that seep through the speakerphone leave me jaw-dropped.

  "Oh, Barrett, you sexy beast." The room is dark, but eventually a blonde with the biggest pair of tits I’ve ever seen walks in front of the screen. "Are you going to fuck me with your big dick?" she asks.

  "Oh. Yeah. Baby. That. Ass. I. Want. To. Fuck. It."

  That came out sounding really jerky, but that's definitely Barrett's voice.

  The camera moves and the next thing I see is Barrett grinning wide.

  Bloody hell. He's naked.

  Shock rips through me.

  Barrett is really fucking a porn star?

  All this time I thought it was about the evil Ascotts.

  The humiliation that I was so blind that I took his word at face value burns hot. I gave him space so he could deal with this crisis, but instead he walks right into another woman’s arms. And bed.

  When will I learn?

  It's always about him and only him.

  The stabbing feeling of betrayal hurts like a bitch.

  “Oh, look at the time stamp,” Octavia points at her screen. “It shows that Capri uploaded this video to her blog only ten minutes ago.” Fuck me. “I guess it must be pretty hot and heavy right about now between the two of them," she smirks. "I didn't realize that Barrett was into all of this naughty stuff. I guess he likes to be seen. Don't they call that kink exhibitionism? Dirty boy."

  I've known that about Barrett for a long time. I relish that about him because I'm the same way. I'm not surprised that he would be like that with other women, but a porn star? A fucking porn star?

  The blow to my pride stings like a bitch.

  My mind goes blank for a few seconds, but still I find the strength to save face. "Good for Barrett.” I pause. “And good for Capri." Cunt.

  "See, I wasn't lying. Barrett has been playing you for a fool. Don't say I’ve never done anything for you, Charlie. At least now you know. Your dignity is worth way more than that man," Octavia sneers, flashing her fangs like a bloodthirsty leech.

  My eyes burn with the threat of tears, but there’s no way in hell I'm going to allow this evil wench to see me cry. I'll cut my wrists open and bleed to death before that ever happens. My nails bite into my palms as I squeeze my hands into tight fists. Don’t you dare. Hold it in. I take a deep breath in and say, “Get over your fucking self, Octavia. Save it for someone who gives a damn. Barrett’s sex life is his own business. He wants to fuck Capri whatever her name is? That’s his prerogative,” I lie.

  “You can’t—”

  I lift a hand up. “No, Octavia. I don’t have time—nor d
o I have the inclination—to hear you throw more shit at me. If you'll excuse me.”

  I turn on my heel ready to bolt back inside the hotel, but she’s not quite done with me.

  "Perhaps you might want to check out Capri’s website later, it's really easy to remember. CapriOceanNaked.com. I’m sure there are more videos of Barrett and her," she throws over my shoulder.

  Fucking bitch.

  CHAPTER 47

  Charlie

  Bang, bang, bang.

  "Charlie, it's me. Open up.”

  "No!" I yell.

  “I'm not leaving until you open this bloody door."

  "Go away. Leave me alone."

  "Not going to happen."

  "Terry, can you please respect my wishes?"

  "Your voice message petrified me. You were crying frantically. I've never heard you sound like that before. After looking for you everywhere in that hotel, I hopped in the back of a taxi. I was so troubled that I couldn't even drive. If you think I'm leaving, you're bloody delusional."

  "It was just a passing thing," I lie.

  "Passing thing, my ass. I'm not leaving," he repeats. "Derek is here with me and we’ll stand guard at your door until you fucking open it. All night, if needs be."

  "Charlie, please listen to Terry. Let us in. We’re here for you."

  "Derek, take your boyfriend and go back to your place or his. I just want to be left alone," I repeat.

  "We’re worried for you," Derek says.

  "I'm fine now." Another lie.

  “Yeah? Well, I'm fine breaking down this fucking door, Charlie!" Terry yells.

  "I'm your boss and I don't have to do anything I don't want to."

  "You're my friend first and frankly given that I have no real family, you're my sister," his voice breaks. "Charlotte Louise Wentworth, you're scaring the shit out of me. Please open the door."

  I let out a heavy sigh and resign myself to letting my friend in.

  I unlock and slowly open the door.

  "Blimey," Terry says when he takes stock of me.

  I've been crying since I left the hotel.