“Have you noticed how much Zayn and Joaquin look alike?”
“I’m aware, and I think it’s why I’ve been holding back. A part of me thinks I’m only attracted to J because he looks so much like my ex. His eyes are almost a carbon copy of Zayn’s. It’s a little freaky.”
“Maybe they are long-lost twins.”
“Don’t even joke about that. Can you imagine?” A shudder works its way through me.
“It would be a shit show for real. You should still come to the party with me. We can let loose, and maybe you’ll be feeling it with Joaquin for real, and it’ll be the perfect solution. If Zayn knows you have a boyfriend, he’ll have to back off.” A giggle bursts from her lips. “J will kick his ass if he doesn’t.”
“True.” A wide smile spreads over my mouth. “I would pay good money to see that.”
“Me too. If anyone deserves a good ass kicking, it’s fucking Zayn Becker.”
I’m still worked up two hours later as I drive myself to the restaurant. Who does that guy think he is just casually showing up at my place of work, smiling at me like butter wouldn’t melt in his gorgeous mouth, and looking way hotter than any guy has a right to look? I was always super attracted to Zayn, but he’s evenmore gorgeous now. I hate I noticed, and I hate how his stunning big brown eyes suckered me in the instant his gaze locked on mine. How I was dumbstruck under the intensity of his attention and the electrifying chemistry we’ve always shared.
Pain cuts cleanly through my heart, devastating me all over again.
I’m fifteen minutes early when I pull into one of the staff spaces in the parking lot behind the restaurant. Switching off the engine, I rest my head on the wheel and think about what I’m going to do.
Zayn reappearing after all these months has upended my life for a second time. Anger burned through me after I got over my initial shock and ripped into him. I’m embarrassed I likened him to my dad and Lindsay. It’s not true. Yes, he has wronged me, but his motive was a good one.
The fact is, I approve of what he did. He took them down, ensuring they couldn’t hurt anyone else, but why did he have to use me to do it?
My heart hurts all over again. Swallowing thickly over the lump in my throat, I admit the truth to myself. It only hurts this much because I love him. I don’t want to. I want to cling to the hatred that resides in part of my heart and use it to shove all the love aside. Zayn might have done a noble thing, but he sacrificed me in the process. He didn’t even give me a chance to help. He made my choices for me, and I can’t forgive him for that.
Wiping my eyes, I strengthen my spine and toughen my heart as I climb out of the car. Fuck Zayn Becker. He doesn’t get to do this to me again. I won’t let him. I’m in control of my emotions and I alone hold the power. He will only get to me if I let him. I’m not giving him a free pass to destroy everything I have overcome and achieved.
It doesn’t matter that I love him.
He trampled all over that love when he decided to betray me.
The only good thing to arise from it is the distraction he gave me today. I’ve had no time to feel nervous about tonight, which is a blessing.
After a bit of a wobbly start, thanks to delayed anxiety, I have found my stride, and I smile as I sit at the piano in the center of the large dimly lit dining room with my fingers dancing along the keys. The manager suggested I use the old pianist’s playlist for tonight, and I readily agreed. If this works out, he told me I can choose from any of the timeless classics, and he seemed encouraging and open to me stamping my own mark. Guests approach with requests from time to time, and Pierre confirmed it was okay to indulge them if I knew the song.
I’m twenty minutes from my break when Zayn shows up with Everett in tow. I hit a bum note, quickly recovering because that jerk is not costing me this job. It takes enormous effort not to glare at them as they are seated at the empty table right in front of the piano. I bet the asshole requested it on purpose. I grind my teeth as I fake smile, looking at my sheet music so I’m spared looking at his annoyingly handsome face.
Both guys are wearing designer suits, and I can smell their expensive cologne from here. My traitorous gaze keeps wandering to their table, and I suck in a breath when Zayn snags my gaze and blows me a kiss.
What the hell is he doing?
I look away, growing hot under my elegant black dress. Thank fuck, I pinned my hair up in a chignon because I can already feel little sweat beads forming on the nape of my neck.
When the current piece draws to a close, Zayn gets up and walks over to me.
My heart is pounding behind my rib cage, and I discreetly rub my suddenly clammy hands down the front of my dress.
“You look stunning,” he says, leaning in close and holding out a piece of paper.
“What are you doing?” I hiss in a whisper, something that is hard to do while maintaining a fake smile.
“Eating dinner. Why else would I be here?” He cocks a brow, and I want to slam my fist in his face. He chuckles. “I’m quite partial to that feisty look on your face, Em. It seriously turns me on.”
“I am going to kill you,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Is everything okay, Ms. Emery?” Pierre asks, appearing behind Zayn.
“I assume requests are no problem?” Zayn straightens up, pinning the manager with a haughty stare.
