Page 10 of Chasing his Ex

“Mr. Sterling, I’ll show you to your table,” a man dressed in a three-piece navy suit says. He holds a clipboard and hasn’t asked for Jameson’s name, but ticks it off his list. He holds his hand out, steering us in the correct direction.

The event is outside in the large hotel gardens, taking advantage of the unusually balmy English weather. A late-spring breeze passes over us as we step down the navy colored carpet which covers the concrete steps. From there, we’re ushered to a ten-person table in front of a stage.

“Thank you,” Jameson says.

I scan the immaculate gardens as more people make their way toward the tables. Some sit and some walk around, chatting.

Women wear their evening gowns with jewels dripping from their wrists and necks. Not that I’m much different, though I'm sure their diamonds are real.

“Ava,” a female voice I recognize calls.

The smile that plasters my face is totally natural. “Lily,” I squeal. She takes my arms and leans into me.

“Thank God you’re here. These events are so stuffy,” Lily breathes. I look lower and she’s holding her enormous belly. “And this one is killing me.”

She’s six months pregnant with her second child, but regardless of her face, she’s deliriously happy. Her husband looks at her in a way I can only dream. And most other women, to be fair.

“You remember Ava?” she asks her husband, Seb.

I met Jameson through Lily; and she introduced us one day when we met for a coffee.

He laughs, kisses her cheek, and wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Of course I do. She's your ex-colleague and she’s dating Jameson.”

Dating?

Jameson gets a friendly slap on the back.

I don’t understand why everyone thinks we’re dating.

“Where are you sitting?” I ask, hoping she’d be at the same table or at least not too far away.

“Table two. I expect you’re at the center table.”

I nod. “Swap the name tags around, and we can have a chat. We really should get all the girls together and have an evening out. We haven’t caught up with you for ages,” I say.

“Yeah, it’s been too long. Wait for me to have this one,” she says, rubbing her tummy. “And then I can have a glass of wine.”

“Excellent plan.”

A bell rings and everyone turns to the master of ceremonies, calling for everyone to take their seats.

As the guests seat themselves around the tables, Jameson takes his speech from his pocket, pecks me on the cheek, and makes his way onto the stage ahead of us.

There’s a moment of strangeness, as I meet the same dark gaze from earlier. I brush it away as the noise of the crowd fades, and he speaks.

I look up and there’s something about the way he tilts his head as he looks at me that slows everything down. Not my rapid heartbeat, though, that flutters and pounds and the blood roars in my veins.

Calm down.

My eyes raise from the sensation of being watched. Jameson waits for something, maybe just a smile.

Smile. This is his night.

His stare becomes dark and demanding. He stands tall, his hair and eyes the same midnight-black as his tuxedo.

He says something else on the stage, but my mind travels to another time and dimension. Until I crash land back to earth and Jameson’s furrowed brow and frown exaggerate his angular jawline and then suddenly time speeds back up quickly.

I blink back.

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