Page 113 of My Secret Bandit

“Name, please,” the burly man at the entrance of the charity event said, clipboard in hand.

“Flynn. Jam—“

“Jameson?” he asked.

I cringed as the syllables fell from his lips. The last time anyone used that name was six weeks ago. I missed it, missed hearing it come from the smooth, soothing voice my ears became addicted to.

Now instead of the name stirring up butterflies, it acted as a painful reminder of the massive piece of my soul I left at the house that day.

“Miss Flynn?” A heavy hand on my shoulder pulled me back.

With misty eyes, I looked up at the man.

His gaze held the same sympathy I saw from everyone lately. “I said you need to talk to Diane. She’s there by the double doors.” He pointed to a middle-aged woman dressed in a blue gown, holding a clipboard of her own.

“Why?”

Shit. Did I just say that out loud?

He shrugged, unfazed by the question. “They give the orders and I follow ’em.” His hand replaced itself on my shoulder long enough to give it a gentle squeeze.

Was my pain that apparent? Was I that much of a mess where even a stranger noticed?

With a deep breath, I tossed my shoulders back and went to see Diane.

A small romantic part in me hoped this had something to do with Mateo. Hoped he planned some grand gesture. Since the day he used me as a target for his frustration by digging into my biggest insecurity, I felt like half a person. At times it was hard to breathe. My nightmares returned. I dropped more weight in six weeks than I did through six months of dieting and exercise, and I fucking hated it.

All of it!

I wanted everything to go back to the way it was.

“Excuse me, Diane?” I gave a small wave to catch her eye. “I was told to see you. I’m Jameson Flynn.”

“Oh, yes!” she said sweetly, fanning herself with the clipboard. “Just a slight problem on our end, but I think we have it figured out. We had you down twice. Once with press and another as a guest of one of the players. I don’t know how we missed it. We were going to see where you’d rather sit, but Mr. Brooks said to put you with him.”

She watched me, my expression as it changed from nervous to pained to confused.

“Mr. Brooks?” I asked, searching my mind for the name only to come up blank.

“Yes, Xander Brooks.” She still watched me, probably thinking I might be crazy or having a stroke or both.

How could I not know Xander’s last name?

Apart from Sierra, the man’s basically been my only sense of comfort in the last few weeks.

“Are you okay sitting with him?”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. The emerald chandelier earrings Sierra loaned me rocking against the movement. “It’s been one of those days.” I managed half a laugh and Diane’s head bobbed in agreement.

“I understand. Believe me.” She ushered me through the decorated ballroom with softly lit chandeliers, draped curtains and centerpieces filled with flowers.

My eyes immediately focused on Xander. Expertly put together, he looked every bit of a GQ model in his black button down and deep emerald suit that perfectly matched my shoes and earrings.

But something looked off.

With his phone pressed to his ear, stress and exhaustion covered his carefree, give-no-fucks attitude. His eyes squeezed closed while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Here you are.” Her hand stretched out to show the card with my name written in gold calligraphy. A stabbing pain in my chest caused my breathing to falter as I looked to the empty chair next to mine.Mateo Linxwritten in the same script one card over.

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