Chapter 8
“Can’t have it both ways, Mr. Foster.” Neil didn’t even blink at Gavin’s threat, his smile sharp. “You brought in a new secretary, you moved on. If you and Ms. Jordan are truly done, you don’t get to decide who asks her out.”
“Done? Who said that?” Gavin’s expression darkened. He hadn’t anticipated vultures circling Cecilia so soon, their constant hovering was already getting under his skin. “We never broke up!”
For seven years, from campus romance to corporate life, Cecilia had stood by him. He had been the center of her world. That’s why Gavin refused to accept she had really walked away. The idea was unthinkable.
“Relax, it was work,” Neil said easily. Then came the dig, “But a woman like Ms. Jordan? She’s got choices. You’re not really handling this by giving me the evil eye, are you?”
“Mr. Crawford, lovers‘ quarrels never last,” Charles cut in with a grin. “Cecilia’s already planning their wedding. You’ll get an invite.” Having known them for years, Charles had seen their unshakable bond. Childhood sweethearts don’t break that easy.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Crawford. You’re on the guest list,” Gavin said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Front row seat and everything. After all, I’d hate for you to miss seeing Cecilia in her wedding dress.”
Xavier stepped between them, holding up his hands. “Come on now, let’s not turn a simple misunderstanding into some soap opera scene.” He shot them both a look. “We’re all friends, right?”
“Feeling that sure of yourself?” Neil’s competitive smirk turned razor–sharp. “If Ms. Jordan chooses you, I’ll happily raise a glass at the reception. But if she doesn’t?” He leaned in. “I’ll be the first gentleman at her door with flowers.”
Gavin’s voice turned icy. “You’re not qualified, and you never will be.” But even as he said it, Neil’s words still lodged in his ribs like a splinter. ‘If not me, then who could it be? I’ve always been her only choice!
The group broke apart fast, some mumbling about work tomorrow, others suddenly busy checking phones. A thick quiet filled the empty space, loaded with all the things everyone wanted to say but didn’t.
Nearby, Stella hovered just within earshot, her grip tightening around the car keys. As Gavin’s new personal secretary, she knew better than to interrupt.
When she caught Gavin’s stormy expression approaching, she stepped forward. “Mr. Foster,” she offered quietly, “let me drive you home tonight.”
Gavin paused before getting in. Back when Cecilia drove him, he always claimed the front seat, close enough to drunkenly lean on her shoulder. Now, knowing Stella would be driving, he wordlessly slid into the back.
The car felt like a trap. Too much booze on an empty stomach turned Gavin’s gut. He frowned and cranked the window down. “Go easy on the perfume next time.”
“Of course, Mr. Foster.” Stella’s voice oozed false sweetness, her manicured fingers tapping a silent rhythm on the steering wheel. The rearview mirror caught the tightness around her smile as she obediently nodded.
As they pulled out of the parking lot, Gavin spotted Neil’s flashy sports car, that old competitive fire flaring up instantly. “Change of plans,” he snapped. “Take me to Clearwater Villa.” Frank’s investigation confirmed this was Cecilia’s new place.
“Going to see Cecilia, Mr. Foster?” Stella’s eyes gleamed as she spun her lie. “Funny, I overheard her at the office today. She specifically booked Tate’s Grand Feast for the meeting with Mr. Crawford. Almost like she wanted to be seen by someone.”
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“Did you actually hear her say that?” Gavin froze for a split second, and then burst out laughing. ‘Almost got me. Cecilia knew I would be at Tate’s tonight. She set this whole thing up, a meeting with Neil at the same place, same time. Classic jealousy play. No other explanation.‘
A flash of annoyance came and went, washed away by a warmer feeling. Nobody got Cecilia like he did. He was her first, her last, her everything.
***
After sealing the deal with Neil on the exhibition venue, Cecilia threw herself into the setup. For the next two days, she led her team, handling every detail. She worked straight through breakfast, not even checking her phone.
“Darling, you can’t work on an empty stomach.” Chloe, unable to reach her, showed up with takeout bags in one hand and studio blueprints in the other.
They sat on the steps like starving students. “This studio design is perfect. You always nail it.” Cecilia scarfed down her burger while checking the calendar on her phone. “Ten more days till I’m out. After the exhibition, our studio gets all my
attention.”
“Don’t burn out.” Chloe felt a mix of concern and relief. Cecilia had finally ditched that bastard and was going after what really mattered. She leaned closer. “He’s not harassing you at work, is he?”
Cecilia grinned, knowing exactly what Chloe was hinting at. She tapped her silent phone. “Not a single call or text from him. Pure peace.”
*****
Gavin’s stomach pain flared up badly after a boozy lunch. He passed out cold and ended up in the ER. Only Charles could make it to the hospital. Seeing Gavin’s worsening condition, he whipped out his phone and texted, [Cecilia, Gavin’s gut’s bleeding. Royal City Infirmary. Come now.]
Charles pushed through the ER door and saw Gavin’s grayish face. “I’ve contacted Cecilia,” he said. “You two may be fighting, but she’ll come over the moment she hears you’re sick.” Gavin frowned but didn’t argue, a quiet hope settling in his chest.
*****
Cecilia’s phone buzzed abruptly. Her face went blank for a split second before she sprang up, “Chloe, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tonight.”
At Royal City Infirmary, Gavin lay in the ER with an IV drip. When the sharp click of heels echoed down the hall, his heavy eyelids lifted. He could already see Cecilia bursting through the door, her face full of that old concern, hurrying to his bedside just like before.
The door flew open. Gavin’s hopeful look met Stella’s tearful face. His smile vanished. “Mr. Foster, are you alright?” Stella’s voice wavered with worry, but Gavin’s gaze cut straight through her, locked onto the empty hallway beyond.
Charles came back from paying the bill and instantly saw the desperate hope on Gavin’s face. “Maybe Cecilia didn’t get my text,” he said quickly. “You know she would come if she knew. I’ll try calling her.”
Gavin’s expression turned stormy. “Don’t call her,” he growled, the words ripping out. “I wasn’t waiting. Let her regret not showing up.” As the anger faded, a fresh ache spread through his chest. He couldn’t even tell if the pain was in his stomach or
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Cecilia pulled up fast outside Hall Group, barely parking straight. She dashed to the front desk, still gasping for air. “Please, I heard Mr. Hall’s back. Can I see him now?”
“Sorry, Ms. Jordan. He just left.” The receptionist gave an apologetic shrug toward the elevators. “Some urgent meeting came up. No idea when he’ll be back.”
Cecilia’s shoulders sank at the news. “I’ll wait at the café across the street,” she said, her voice tinged with disappointment. “Please call as soon as Mr. Hall returns. Thank you.”
The café sat on the third floor. Cecilia chose a window seat, perfect for watching Hall Group’s front entrance. “This Mr. Hall is really harder to catch than smoke. If I can’t meet him soon, I won’t be able to showcase my own work at the exhibition, and miss the most important part of my project.
Cecilia split her attention between her laptop and Hall Group’s entrance all afternoon. Suddenly, a movement caught her eye, a man in a sharp suit taking the seat across from her. She looked up out of habit, then stiffened. “Mr. Quinn?”
Cecilia stared, baffled by Henry Quinn’s sudden appearance at her café table. There was no reason for him to be here. Yet Simon remained perfectly at ease, casually leaning forward in his seat.
