by Colet Abedi
I want to scream and tell Ronald it’s none of his bloody business but I can’t—I need this godforsaken job.
“Through marriage,” I tell him quickly, and to my horror, I hear Michael actually laugh.
I turn to him.
“Great to see you, cousin.”
Michael gives me a mocking grin and doesn’t bloody move.
“When do you have your next break?” he asks instead.
“Now,” Ronald quickly answers before I can lie.
“No,” I shake my head at the red-haired devil. “I’ve still got a ways to go—”
“You’re off the clock,” he interrupts me, smiling at Michael like he’s enamored. “Go and grab something to eat with your cousin.”
“Wonderful,” Michael smiles charmingly and meets my gaze, almost challenging. He knows damn well how uncomfortable I am. “Let me take you to lunch, Abigail.”
I hate it when he calls me Abigail. Like he’s admonishing me for bad behavior.
“You don’t have to,” I say.
“I know that,” he returns. “But I want to.”
And I want to do so much more with you…
“Just give me a minute,” I say to him after a long second, knowing I don’t have much of a choice. “I’ll see you out front.”
I leave the cash register and walk to a room in the back of the shop where we keep our belongings. I pull off my apron and hat and turn to look at myself in the mirror. I gasp when I see the image that stares back at me.
Oh, my Lord.
My long brown hair is in wild mess around my pale face. The heat from the coffee must have melted my mascara because it’s running down my cheeks like I’ve spent the morning crying, or worse, doing some type of illicit drug I’ve only read about.
I can’t help it.
I burst out laughing.
Like the crazy kind of laughter that tends to scare people off.
But look at me. Abigail Mary Walters. Once, a refined lady about to marry one of England’s richest bachelors—now, a hot mess.
I pull back my hair into a ponytail, smooth out my white shirt over my fitted jeans, and do my best to clean up the mess under my eyes.
I sigh as I take in my sad appearance. Unfortunately, it’s really not going to get much better than this. But what can I do? Michael already saw what I looked like. He is forcing me to have lunch with him. I might as well make him suffer through staring at the walking disaster I’ve become.
I grab my handbag and head out to face my lifelong crush. A shiver of excitement races down my spine as my traitorous heart pounds in my chest. It takes all my willpower to stay the course and meet him out front. For a moment I debate walking out the back door and ignoring him altogether, but I have a feeling that would not go over very well with him.
I make my way out of the coffee shop and find Michael standing outside with his hands in his pockets, waiting for me. When I reach his side, I feel especially small with him towering over me.
The look on his face is indecipherable.
“Sushi?” he asks as he studies me.
I really hope I got all the mascara out from under my eyes.
“Italian?” Michael goes on. “What would you like?”
“Indian.” My response is fast. “I’ve been craving it for some time. Unless you don’t care for it?”
Michael looks surprised.
“I love Indian,” he says.
“I know a great place that’s close by,” I tell him. “It’s a bit of a hole in the wall, but the food makes up for the lack of ambiance.”
“I’ll follow your lead.” He motions toward the sidewalk.
“It’s not far,” I reply as I start walking.
Michael falls into step next to me.
His arm brushes against mine, and I feel as though I’ve been burned by the gods of lust. I put a bit of distance between us since the last thing I need to be doing is rubbing up against this man in any way. It’s not at all safe for my sanity or my libido.
“So how have you been?” I finally ask in what I hope is my calm voice. “How are your parents doing?”
“As well as can be expected.” His response is curt.
There’s a long silence between us. I can imagine his brother William’s death is not a topic he wants to discuss. I don’t blame him at all, but I felt obliged to ask.
“How is Clayton?” I ask softly as I sneak a peek at him.
I’ve become email pen pals with Sophie, Clayton’s American girlfriend, who I met at my “almost wedding” to Dimitri. I really liked her, and we stayed in touch after she left London. I know Clayton’s been staying out with her in Los Angeles and from the sound of things, it seems like they’re both doing really well.
I’m happy for my cousin. Even when he was younger, he was always rigid and almost unapproachable, but since Sophie’s come into his life, he’s slowly become a whole new man.
“He sounds like he’s doing well,” Michael says. “But I’ll know for sure when I go out and visit him.”
“Do you have a trip planned to Los Angeles?” I ask.
“Maybe,” Michael shrugs and looks over at me. “I guess it depends on how much longer my brother will be staying out there.”
“Well, it sounds like he’s doing well and I’m very happy for him,” I say. And I mean it.
“Me too,” Michael admits then turns to me and laughs. “There’s hope for me yet, Abby.”
“Hope?” I question.
“Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a woman to change me too.”
My heart sinks in dread at the thought of any woman other than me reforming Michael.
“Watch where you’re going!” Michael calls out as he grabs hold of my arm and pulls me out of the way of the telephone pole I’m an inch away from plastering my face into.
“Thanks,” I stammer, pulling myself out of his grip.
I’m angry at myself for being annoyed at the possibility of Michael settling down. He is not my boyfriend. Nor has he ever been. And besides that, I should want him to be happy. He deserves the best because he is a good man. He deserves to find love.
But can’t he find all that with you? My inner voice asks the question that’s plagued me from the first moment I set eyes on him.
We reach the entrance to the Indian restaurant, and I’m thankful for the distraction.
“We’re here,” I tell him.
We walk in the small family-owned restaurant, and since there are only a few tables, we seat ourselves in the intimate space. Pictures of famous views in India and a collection of off-season fairy lights have been hung up but other than that the décor is pretty bare. The smell of Indian spices fills the air and my stomach growls in anticipation. Michael looks around and shakes his head.
“Do you come here often?” he asks in disbelief.
“I do,” I admit, noticing the startled look on his face. “Why do you ask? You seem surprised.”
“I am,” he admits slowly. “This is just not the kind of place I’d picture you eating at.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a Sloanie.”
My back stiffens.
“Come on, Abby,” Michael laughs as he takes in the look on my face. “If there were a picture of proper in the dictionary, it would be yours. Can you deny you spent your teens in and out of high-end retail stores, running around in A-list social circles, all while hoping to make the match of the century? A husband to outdo all other husbands?”
“Is that what you think of me?” I’m horrified even though his observation about my life isn’t far from the truth. The only thing I didn’t do from his list is the search for the match of the century. That was a duty I left to my mother.
Michael pins his gaze on me.
“Am I wrong?”
“I’d like to think my life has had a bit more meaning,” I return curtly and try my hardest not to let on that I’m hurt by his words. “And I’m not always so proper.”
The waitress c
omes to stand next to our table.
“I’ll have a green tea,” I say without missing a beat. She nods and looks over at Michael.
“I’ll take whatever beer on tap you have.” I watch as the woman’s eyes light up when she looks at Michael. I try not to roll my eyes. It’s annoying that no female seems to be immune to his charms.
“And we’ll just need a minute to look over the menu,” he continues as he gives her a charming smile.
The second she turns and leaves us, Michael’s hand reaches out and grabs mine. The single gesture sends a surge of electricity through my body. I try to pull my hand back, but he won’t let me.
“I apologize if I hurt your feelings,” he says sincerely. “It wasn’t intentional.”
“I’m fine,” I shrug and do my best to keep eye contact.
“Are you?” he asks, studying my face.
“Perfect.”
We stare at each other for a long time, and I wonder if Michael Sinclair can see into my soul. If he can see all my insecurities, fears and doubts. Because he’s absolutely right.
I am not fine.
I am the opposite of fine.
And I don’t know how to fix it.
I tug my hand and this time he lets me pull away. I pick up the menu and stare blindly at the items.
“What do you recommend?” he asks after a moment.
“Everything is really good here. You can’t go wrong.”
“Then I’ll let you order,” he says to my surprise as he leans back in his chair.
The waitress brings our drinks, and I order a few of my favorite items. When she leaves us, I take a nervous sip of my tea and try not to openly gawk at his gorgeousness.
“So how’s work treating you?” Michael asks, lifting his beer to his lips.
I watch the way his bicep flexes against the thin material of his shirt when he brings the drink to his mouth. Oh dear. I hope I’m not drooling. Now that would not be very proper of me.
“It’s great,” I shrug indifferently.
“How long have you been working there?”
“A little over three weeks.”
“I can’t say I’m not surprised,” Michael says.
“That I’m actually working or that I’m a barista?” I’m sure he can hear the annoyance in my voice.
“By both.”
“Aren’t you just full of compliments this morning,” I remark sarcastically.
“Abby,” Michael leans forward and stares at me with those sexy eyes of his. “Come on. Your current predicament is a far cry from being the fiancé of a Russian oligarch.”
“Things change.”
“Things don’t change,” Michael says firmly. “People do.”
“Then I guess I’m different now,” I say defiantly.
It annoys me, really.
Michael thinks he knows me so well. But he doesn’t. He only knows a picture. A facade that I carefully put up through all the years. An image for people to see. It’s a far cry from the real Abby.
Unfortunately, I don’t even know who that woman is yet. I’m still trying to figure that part out, and sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever really know. But at least I feel like I’m finally on the right road.
My own path.
In charge of my destiny.
Finally.
“Why did you break off the wedding?” I’m not surprised when he asks.
“It’s not something I’d like to discuss.” It’s my go-to answer for anyone who asks the obvious question. And it’s the truth.
“I’m curious.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I say. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Was he unfaithful?”
“No.”
“Did he hurt you?” His tone is protective, and it touches me.
“No,” I shake my head. “He did not.”
“So there’s no need me for me to avenge your honor?” He sounds serious.
“You can put the pistols away,” I tell him with a laugh. “I’m fine. He’s fine. We’re both better off, and I’m sure he sees that now. It’s a chapter I’ve closed in my life that I don’t ever wish to revisit or even discuss. It’s over. That’s all there is to know.”
“So you say,” he says as he leans back in his chair, his face impassive.
I hope he’s satisfied with my answer.
“I can only assume your mother didn’t take the news too well?” he says, half joking.
“Not at all,” I try to laugh it off, hoping I don’t come across like I care. Even though I do. No matter her flaws, she’s the only mother I have, and it hurts to know that I’ve disappointed her.
“She wasn’t thrilled with my decision,” I say to him. “To be honest, she’s barely speaking to me.”
“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Michael admits, looking at me with concern. “Has it been hard for you?”
I can feel my body tense at his words. The only person who ever asks how I’m doing is Georgie.
It’s nice to hear someone worry about me.
Especially him.
“It was at first,” I admit to him with a shrug. “But then, I got used to it. It’s not like I’m surprised by her behavior.”
“You should be.” Michael’s voice is harsh. “She’s your mother.”
He’s right, I know. But then, he didn’t grow up with her.
“It’s all right,” I wave my hand dismissively. “I’m resigned to the fact that I can’t ever seem to make her happy.”
“You shouldn’t worry about making anyone but yourself happy, Abby. That’s all that matters. Trust me.”
The genuine concern and empathy I hear in his voice is nearly my undoing.
“Well, you can rest assured that I’m happy with my decision,” I tell him with as much composure as I can muster. “And I really have no regrets.”
“That’s good to hear,” he murmurs before his eyes flicker to my lips, causing my thoughts to drift away from my mother and enter into a more sinful zone.
“If you’ll humor me,” he says softly, “I just have one last question for you.”
“What’s that?” I ask, hoping I sound calm.
“I’m really hoping you’ll answer this time,” his voice lowers seductively.
“This time?” I all but whisper back.
Michael tilts his head and gazes at me.
“Was he good in bed?”
Unfortunately, it just so happens I’m taking a sip of my green tea when he asks that question. I spit the liquid out clear across the table. Remarkable really, how far my spit flies. Michael has a good chuckle before busying himself with wiping away my mortifying mess while I gasp for breath and try to think of a suitable reply.
“That’s quite a response,” he says with a smirk.
“That was quite a question,” I reply indignantly.
“I’m trying to understand why you’d agree to marry him.”
“That question is still as completely inappropriate as it was the last time you asked!” I growl, crossing my arms.
Memories of the kiss we shared at my engagement party flood my mind. How good would it feel to have those strong hands of his all over my body right now? It’s shocking really, just how turned on I am in a matter of seconds.
“Then why would you want to stay with him?” he prods, completely unaware of the turmoil he’s causing.
“People can make mistakes.”
Michael watches me intently.
“They can,” he agrees. “But you. You’ve always been in control. So wound up—”
“Wound up?” I interrupt in surprise.
“Very,” Michael’s smile is slow, seductive. “That’s why I’ve been so curious to know if Dimitri was able to break that perfect composure of yours...”
In bed.
I know that’s what he’s implying.
It’s almost impossible for me to get my thoughts under control. It’s not fair how fast Michael always ends up making me feel so confused.
“It’s fun breaking the rules,” he goes on. “You should try it sometime.”
I don’t even know how to respond to him. Is he just teasing me? Is it just fun for him to see how far he can push me?
I can feel the heat rush to my face as his penetrating gaze continues to study me.
“What?” I finally say after I can’t bear the silence any longer.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” He grins teasingly.
“Absolutely not,” I lie with as much bravado as I can muster.
Michael throws back his head and laughs.
“I think you’re lying,” he tells me.
“I think your ego would prefer I was,” I counter.
He shrugs and gives me a sexy smile.
“Maybe.”
I can feel my heart pound in my chest. My only hope is that he can’t tell what he’s doing to me. How thoroughly turned on I am.
Wet.
Literally.
Wet.
I wonder how much more of this torture I can take.
“So if this is the new and improved Abby,” Michael says after a moment, “come and work for me.”
My world stops.
“What?”
Is he serious?
“You’re not a very good barista,” Michael points out the obvious. “And I don’t mean to be insulting because I’m only telling you what the entire line of customers were witness to.”
He has the audacity to deliver that insult with another one of his sexy smiles. I should be offended, but instead, my libido goes into overdrive.
“I’m still trying to get the hang of it,” I finally manage to say as it dawns on me that his opinion of me might not be very high.
I want to tell him he’s wrong.
But the odds are stacked against me.
I’m a grown woman who’s never had a job. Who can’t manage to make a proper cup of coffee on her own and who was willingly engaged to a man she didn’t love.
What an attractive package I must appear to him.
“Come and work for me, Abigail.” Michael’s voice is forceful.
“You’re serious.”
“Quite,” Michael watches me with an unreadable look. “My PA has left me and I need to replace her. You need the money. It’s actually a perfect situation.”