Chapter twenty-nine
Violet
“Nag’s Head tonight, Violet?”
“Who’s head?” I stare at my co-worker Rory blankly. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.
“You know, that old boozer in Shoreditch.”
“Oh sure,” I say, still no idea what I’m letting myself in for.
“How about you, Sally?” He quirks a brow at my new desk buddy, Sally, who rolls her eyes in her usual fashion.
“Sorry, no can do. I’m saving up for a lobotomy.” She flashes him a sarcastic smile, which is like water off a duck’s back for Rory.
“That’s a shame, Sally,” Rory fires back. “But I thought you already had one years ago.”
When I first met Sally, I wasn’t sure what to make of her. But I quickly discovered that sarcasm is her love language. She’s perfected the art of being a bitch with a polite smile on her face — but she’s far from it. Since I moved to London, she’s taken me under her wing and shown me all the corners of the city I’mbeginning to Love. Portobello Road market. The trendy bars in Shoreditch. Sunset on Primrose Hill.
Another misconception was that Rory and Sally hated each other. But now I think they secretly want to hump the hell out of each other. Apparently, constant roasting equals the highest level of affection. I’m beginning to think that the receptionist, Susie, who always delivers me the politest hello, must hate my guts.
“Well,” Rory sighs, all faux disappointment, “I guess you’ll have to miss out on one of Martin’s expense blowouts.”
He strolls off, but the smug curve of his mouth deepens when Sally calls after him.
“Wait! Did you just utter the words expenses blowout?”
“I did.” He glances back, smirking.
“What’s the occasion?” Sally says carefully, as if this is one big elaborate ruse.
“Fuck knows, he’s been in a good mood all week. Going off all those closed-door meetings, my guess is he’s lining up a new deal.”
“Okay, we’re in — as in, me and Violet.”
“She already said she was coming. What are you, her mum or something?”
Sally’s eyes stay fixed on Rory as he disappears back to his desk to grab his jacket. Yep, she’s got it bad.
“Come on then,” Sally says, turning to me, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Let’s go get rat-arsed, then hit a club. It’s the weekend, after all.”
“Rat-arsed?” I blink. “Should I be worried about that?”
“Yes, you should be.” Rory’s laugh floats over from the other side of the office. “Especially when Sally’s involved.”
I snicker as Sally jumps to her feet, pulling on her coat. I follow her lead—the thought of unwinding after a week trapped in endless software revisions is too tempting.
“Hey, wait for me,” Rory huffs out as he jogs up behind us.
Passing through reception, Rory pauses, flashing his signature charm at Susie. I don’t miss the faint clench of Sally’s fist. But my attention shifts when something else catches my eye—a copy ofForbessitting crookedly atop the waiting area’s glass table.
My lungs stutter.
There he is. Chase. Staring out from the glossy cover with that same arrogant, maddeningly gorgeous face. Eyes so piercing it almost seems like he’s right here, watching me, reminding me there’s nowhere to hide.
Coming to London helped me shut everything Chase-related out. Helped me breathe again. Heal. But even this small reminder seems like the universe is playing a cruel joke. A warning that no matter how far I run, I might never really be free of him.
Most days, I’m fine. I tell myself I’m fine. But it’s at night, lying in bed with silence pressing in, that I miss him most. His touch. His scent. The way he’d hold me like he couldn’t bear to let go.
