Fuck.
Jared looks so incredibly hot in the flesh, and it’s not fair.
No man should be that talentedandthat good-looking.
A tight black T-shirt molds to his broad shoulders and carved chest and abs. Sculpted biceps and toned, tanned, tattooed arms give new meaning to arm porn. A few leather bands encircle one wrist, a flashy expensive watch is strapped to the other, and a silver chain adorns his neck. Custom fit dark denims hug muscular thighs and lean legs. Blinding-white Nikes cover his feet, looking like he just plucked them off a store shelf.
The last time I saw him, Jared was still a boy in transition. But he’s definitely all man now. Unlike his two bandmates, Jared wears his hair short. Shorn tight at the sides and long on top and at the front with disheveled strands of inky black hair brushing his brow. His jawline is sharper, his skin golden from the sun. Defined cheekbones, full lips, and the stylish layer of black stubble on his chin and cheeks only adds to the appeal. Jared is one sexy beautiful man, and I hate how my traitorous fingers itch with a craving to explore his exquisite face and tempting body.
Startling blue eyes, the color of the sky on a bright summer’s day, gaze back at me, and it’s like rewinding time. Memories flit through my mind despite the walls I’ve thrown up around my head and my heart. Jared’s presence is larger than life, and it’s bringing everything to the surface again.
Pain floods every part of me, and it’s a miracle I’m still upright.
Looking at him hurts. It shouldn’t after all this time, but it does.
It raises so many questions I never had answers to.
It reminds me of everything I lost and how he was the catalyst for my life turning to shit.
While I’ve been checking him out, his eyes have been roaming over me too. My pulse throbs in my neck, and it takes considerable effort to hold his stare and not betray any emotion. Inside, I’m a tornado about to wreak havoc. Rage is mushrooming inside me, fueled by the constant pain of his abandonment and betrayal. On the outside, I wear a mask of professional coolness as I inwardly question the nerve of him to stand before me like he didn’t destroy my world and almost ruin me to the point of no return.
How fucking dare he stand there checking me out, probing my face, like he’s trying to pry the truth from my head as if he is owed anything by me?
Tension is thick in the silent air, and it’s obvious to everyone we have history.
“Do you know her?” the tall woman clinging to Jared’s arm asks, her ice-blue eyes narrowing in suspicion as she stares at me.
Even if her heavily accented voice didn’t give her away, I would know who she is. We all do. Her face has been plastered everywhere since she started dating one of the hottest rock stars on the planet.
Vittoria Russo was a barely known model until she started dating Jared and he catapulted her into the spotlight. Long brown hair hangs in pristine sheets down her back as she straightens her six-foot frame to full height. With her broad shoulders, long legs, sharp facial features, and a cutting expression, she looks like an Amazonian warrior minus the tan, fighting skills, and requisite muscle tone. Her long white silk dress hugs her slender body, leaving nothing to the imagination. Thin with small breasts, pert nipples poking through the fabric of her dress, minimal hips, and the barest dip at her waist, she epitomizes that androgynous shape the fashion industry seems to adore these days.
It's like Jared purposely set out to find someone who looks nothing like me. Except for above-average height, we have nothing in common.
“Jared.” She enunciates the vowels as she digs long manicured nails into the bare flesh of his arm, claiming his attention.
Jared breaks our face-off to look at his fiancée. “Did you say something?”
I feel Gemma’s eyes boring a hole in the side of my face, but I avoid looking at her.
“Do you know this girl?” Vittoria hisses, lifting her other hand to Jared’s arm, ensuring I get an up-close view of the ostentatious rock on her ring finger.
“Our parents were friends when we were kids,” Jared explains, leaving out the most important part of our history. “I haven’t seen Sydney in over ten years.” His eyes drill into hers as he snakes his arm around her back and holds her close to his side.
“What a funny coincidence,” Francesca says over a glowing fake grin, eager to get the meeting back on track, no doubt.
“I’ll tidy this up so you can show the clients around,” I say, pleased my voice is even and devoid of the turmoil churning in my gut.
A muscle clenches in Jared’s jaw as he swings his gaze back to mine. His hand tightens around his fiancée as he levels a glare in my direction.
Like, what the fuck?
What gives him the right to glare at me?
My natural instinct is to glare back, but Francesca would kick my ass all over Florence if I cost her such a lucrative client. His smirk is firmly in place as he leans in to kiss Vittoria’s cheek. I’m tempted to throw the cake in his face, but I wouldn’t waste good cake on that lying, cheating asshole. Visions of lunging at him and clawing my nails down his face race through my mind, and it’s tempting. So fucking tempting. But this job isn’t worth losing over my piece-of-shit ex.
Smiling sweetly at the loathsome couple, I say, “Enjoy your viewing,” and I grab the cake and stride with confidence toward the rear of the showroom with my coworkers hot on my heels.
Setting the plate down on the counter in the staff room, I grip the edge and count to ten as I close my eyes and try to talk myself off the ledge.
