Page 19 of Arrogant Heir

I audio-messaged Shanella in Australia as it’s too tricky to find a time to talk. She was even more outraged than me. ‘He what?’ She spluttered in a quick-fire audio. ‘Do not, under any circumstances, take him back now. What a fucking nerve that douchebag has!’

I miss hanging out with Shani. When she’s home, we see each other a lot and I know she feels bad being away when he ended it so brutally. She was supposed to be my maid of honour and was due back a few weeks before the big day. But as there is no big day, it looks like she will extend her trip.

A sexy satin emerald-green dress catches my eye. It’s a classic revenge dress. I don’t know if I’ll get to wear it when Simon’s around, but it has my name on it. It skims my curves and looks even better than I hoped; the colour sets off my hair beautifully.

Shopping really makes you feel better, even if the buzz wears off quickly. I probably won’t get a chance to wear my revenge dress while I’m staying at Greystone, but you never know. And if not, it’s perfect for a night out in London when Shani gets back. She says the best remedy for a broken heart is to get back on the horse, and I think she may be right. Now it’s officially over with Simon, no matter what he says, I feel as though I have nothing to lose and it’s strangely liberating. May as well have fun and date some different guys after being exclusive with him for five years.Nob.What a waste, I mutter, as I head back to the carpark just in time to avoid a flurry of heavy showers.

My Mini passes through the electric gates at the end of the drive, and Greystone stands before me in all its majestic glory. The gothic turrets give it the air of a fairy-tale castle. You forget how impressive it is until you return and see it from a distance. I can’t imagine what it must be like to call this place home. My thoughts flutter back to Damian, and I wonder when he’ll be back. We don’t have another session scheduled until next week and I’m on edge not knowing when he might appear.

He's the last man on earth I would expect to miss, but somehow, I do miss him. His smiles are so rare that when his handsome face lights up, it’s like the sun bursting out from the clouds and it feels like a personal achievement. I think of how he arches his brow in that challenging manner and realise that I’m no longer in awe of him, like at the beginning. He’s growing on me, and his forbidding manner has melted away without me being able to pinpoint when it happened or why.

What surprises me even more is I don’t miss Simon, but I rationalise that’s probably down to my disappointment. He hurt me, so it’s only natural to feel confused about my feelings for him.

Isn’t it?

Also, he’s been in touch a lot since we split, so I guess a part of me thinks getting back together at some point is an option. It’s not the dramatic ending it promised to be when he called off the wedding. If we get back together, I’ll make him grovel. He can’t get away with treating me like that and expect everything to just return to normal.

As I gather my bags and jump out of the car, my phone pings with a message.

Darling, please don’t stay mad at me. I can’t stand it. You’re killing me! I miss you so much and I want you back. When are you coming home?

I don’t reply to Simon yet. Let him stew. I don’t know what to say, anyway. It hits me it’s a relief not having to listen to his constant whingeing about work, and, well, everything actually… Being away from him for a month, I’ve noticed how much he complains, which considering he’s a successful investment banker raking in the big bucks, is a highly unattractive quality and there’s no excuse for it.

It’s odd how you get so used to someone’s habits that you don’t notice them anymore. When we first met, he was ultra-charming and made me feel like a queen. It was probably just to impress me, but even so, it was a lot more enjoyable than listening to him moan about his co-workers and clients.

I realise it’s been a long time since he treated me like a queen, and that thought lingers in my mind for the rest of the day.

Alice brings in a tea tray and Arthur offers me a chocolate digestive. Honey settled down after excitedly greeting me, but sniffs around my ankles as soon as the biscuits come out. Arthur gently nudges her away. ‘Chocolate is not for you, my sweet girl,’ he says.

‘Ah, she’s so cute. These are my favourite,’ I say, munching on the biscuit.

We’re in the library, which was the scene of our first meeting. I gaze around, admiring the floor to ceiling bookcases and oak panelling while I sip my tea. ‘What a stunning room this is,’ I say.

‘Yes, I’ve always loved it. I spend most of my time here these days. Damian’s office used to be mine, you know.’

‘Yes, Damian mentioned that.’

‘It was a symbolic handing over of the business to my grandson, but truthfully, I couldn’t bear to be in there after Julian died.’ Arthur raises the gold-rimmed teacup, and his hand shakes ever so slightly. ‘Lost the appetite for the kill, you know. That’s a sign to move over and let the younger blood take over.’

‘I’m so sorry for your loss. It must have been dreadful for you all.’

He cradles his teacup and his eyes mist over. ‘No one should have to see their child go before them. It’s a torture of the worst kind that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.’

He looks so terribly sad that I long to comfort him, so I lean over and pat his crinkled liver-spotted hand. There are no words I can think of to do the situation justice, so we just sit in quiet companionship for a while, drinking our tea. I like how he doesn’t rush to fill every second with words. It’s clear where Damian gets his poise and charismatic presence. He can sit for ages without speaking or making any gesture to fill the awkward silence, but unlike with his grandfather, where the silence is peaceful, Damian and I experience a lot of awkward silences.

Too many.

Sometimes I think he hates me, and I don’t know why. He’s definitely not sexist like I originally thought. He works with too many women for that. Rochester Media alone employs an army of women, and there are women on the board too. I know because he’s left me waiting loads of times while he takes calls with them, and I hear their names. I don’t mind because I learn more about how he operates by seeing him in action than I ever will by what he tells me. It’s fascinating watching a billionaire run his business empire. You’d think it would be manic, but it’s smooth and steady. He’s the most productive person I’ve ever worked with, and I’ve worked with a lot of successful business owners. He makes quick decisions and reminds me of a panther. And he’s quiet, and sure-footed, and then strikes when his opponent doesn’t even know he’s coming. I’ve heard him negotiate the takeover of many companies and it’s impressive.

Damian does not waste words. I’m getting well paid to spend time with him. There’s no rush on my end, so I’m learning all I can. I realised one day when I was feeling awkward about waiting around for him that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to have a seat at a billionaire’s table. And let’s be honest, he’s incredibly easy on the eye with his shiny black hair and good looks. It could be a lot worse, but still I wonder why he’s so buttoned up and unwilling to be friendly with me. I’ve overheard him being friendly with women colleagues on the phone, so what is his problem with me?

It's out of my hands. I’ve slowed down to the pace of life in the country. My novel is coming along nicely, and I’m stunned. I’ve heard authors talk about novels writing themselves and always thought it must be wishful thinking. But mine seems to write itself. As long as I show up at the keyboard, the words flow. It’s the most effortless writing I’ve ever done, and my head is full of ideas. I go to bed at night thinking about my characters and wake up at the crack, knowing their next move. The silence at the cottage is a blessing and such a contrast from the sounds of London life at home, where I rarely leave the window open at night because the squalling horns bother me.

In my new routine, I make a pot of tea and settle down to write at my favourite spot with a blanket on my knees to keep out the chill as the sun rises. I could get used to this relaxed lifestyle and am not missing the hectic pace of London at all.

Still not missing Simon. The texts from him land several times a day now. He’s trying to woo me, but it’s having the opposite effect to what I imagine he intends. He’s used to getting what he wants and is super-competitive, but the more he texts, the less I want him and the more I wish he wouldn’t. I’ve asked him to give me some space, as I don’t want to string him along, but he’s an investment banker. That says all you need to know, really. He doesn’t accept no for an answer.

Our wedding day was supposed to be next week, and apart from the occasional email confirmation about cancellations, I wouldn’t know it. To give Simon credit, he took care of cancelling everything and notifying our guests. I couldn’t face it and he said it was the least he could do. My mum agreed and said I should leave him to it. I know he gets his assistant to do anything like that, anyway. As I see it, that’s one of the biggest benefits of having staff to take care of everything for you. You don’t have to do the dirty work, and so I stepped back and let him deal with the shit storm he created.

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