Page 24 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO
“First, I just wanted to say howlovelyit is to be remembered so fondly after all these years. Truly heartwarming. I did not know I was a hot topic back then and still am apparently.”
They all begin to shift uncomfortably in their seats. The nasal voice girl, who is about 23 or 24 years old, blinked, her face pale as she stammered, “I-I didn’t mean…”
“Oh, no need to backtrack now,” I interrupted, keeping my voice as light as air. “You’ve already said so much.”
“Now, let me clear a few things up. I did leave, which is the best damn decision of my life. In that time, I have managed to build a career…, a successful career, travel the world, and achieve things most people, like you, can only dream of at 25. But since you are so keen on talking about me, I’d love to know - what have you been up to? Anything notable?”
I glance around the table, my gaze settling on each of them in turn. The guy who had mocked her earlier smirked, clearly enjoying the exchange. She glared at him before turning back to me with a tight smile.
“Anything worth whispering about? No? So, is gossiping about someone else’s life the highlight of your week? I am not sure what you’ve been doing for the past five years, but if it involves sitting here tearing people down, I’d suggest reevaluating your priorities.”
The table goes silent. The woman looks like she wants to say something, but I hold her gaze, daring her.
“Got something to say, darling?” I smile as she shakes her head.
“Thought so.” I straighten, brushing invisible lint off my sleeve. “Enjoy your coffee.”
Turning on my heel and turning back around, “Oh, and one more thing,” I add, my voice light and cheerful. “If you ever need pointers on how to be memorable, let me know. Clearly, I’vedone something right if you’re still talking about me five years later.”
With that, I walk back to my table, keeping my head high, sipping my drink as if nothing happened. I pick up my bag, and head for the door. The café hums with quiet tension as I leave, the sun blinding as it reflects off the glass.
Autumn Cove might not feel like home anymore, but I will be damned if I let anyone disrespect me or make me feel out of place.
****
On the estate, on my way back to the guest house…
My legs are protesting every step, a dull ache radiating from my calves up to my lower back. The café wasn’t the only place I stopped today. Nope, I decided it would be fun to play tourist more as if I had all the energy in the world. Now? All I want is to get inside, kick off these shoes, put on my pajamas, and faceplant on the bed until tomorrow decides to show up.
Finally, the guest house came into view at the far end of the estate, and I picked up my pace. Why is it that it is in your moment of distress that you notice something wrong with what you thought was absolutely, wonderfully amazing? Right now, I am noticing and annoyed that the estate path to the guest house is unnecessarily long.
Who designs these places? I pull out my phone, checking my messages as a distraction from the fact that my feet feel like they have been run over. Twice. My focus is glued to the screen when I round a corner, and…
Wham.
My shoulder collides with someone solid - someone very solid. I stagger back a step, my phone nearly slipping from my fingers.
“What the…,” I look up, and my stomach drops.
Not again…
His jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might snap. His piercing eyes bore into me, hard and unrelenting, and his broad shoulders filled the space between us like a wall I could not get around.
What is he doing here?
I take a step back instinctively, feeling the weight of his glare.
“If this is going to be a habit,” he says, his voice cold and sharp as broken glass, "try looking where you're going next time. Or is self-awareness still too advanced for you?"
“If this is going to be a habit,” I fire back, “maybe you should stop lurking around like some overgrown shadow.”
His brows draw together, his jaw tightening. “I’m not the one glued to my phone, completely oblivious to my surroundings.”
“And I’m not the one projecting my bad mood onto everyone within a ten-foot radius,” I shoot back, crossing my arms.
His eyes narrow, his jaw tightening further. “Bad mood?” He says, his tone is low and cutting. “Trust me, Hazel, you’re not important enough to ruin my mood.”
I let out a short laugh, the sound dripping with disbelief and irritation. “Really? Because the vein in your forehead says otherwise.”
