Mr Garcia

Duke raises an eyebrow. “You.”

“Apart from my vagina.” I smirk.

“Your ass.”

I laugh, and he puts his arm around me and pulls my head into a playful headlock.

The doors open on level one. A man is waiting, he's talking on his phone. He glances up at us as he goes to walk in, and he stops midstep.

My eyes lock with Sebastian Garcia.

His brow furrows, and he stands dead still.

We stare at each other, and I get a lump in my throat at the sight of him.

I haven’t thought of him for so long, and yet seeing him here and now brings back the sting of his betrayal as if it happened only an hour ago.

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears as it thumps hard in my chest.

He hasn’t changed.

Sebastian doesn’t move as he stares at me, phone still to his ear, and the elevator doors close.

He didn’t get in.

I drop my head as a barrage of emotions slams me hard.

“MP looks like he saw a ghost,” Duke says.

I frown. “What?”

“The MP, minister of parliament.”

“The who?” What’s he talking about?

“That dude on the phone just then. You recognize him, don’t you? He’s all over the news lately.”

I stare at Duke, I knew Sebastian had gone into politics, I have heard his name in passing over the years, but I don’t stay up to date with everything in the UK, I still watch the American news …. damn it.

“April, that was Sebastian Garcia.”

I know who it was.

My heart races hard in my chest.

“He was just appointed as the Deputy Prime Minister.”

“When?” I frown, how do I not know this?

“Like three days ago or something.”

I stare at Duke, wide eyed.

Can’t be?

10

April

“He’s what?” I gasp.

“Yeah, he’s all over the news lately. How haven’t you seen him?”

My blood begins to boil. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Duke frowns. “Do you know him?”

I raise my brows, realizing how I must sound. “He used to come into a café I worked in years ago.” My nostrils flare as I try to hold in my unexpected surge of anger. “He was a real asshole.”

Duke chuckles. “That’s probably how he got into office.”

I fake a smile.

My cheeks begin to heat as my temper soars. How dare he be here? How dare he breath in the same air that I am?

I get a vision of his face as he held the phone to his ear, and I grit my teeth. I should have smacked him straight in that stupid square jaw. The elevator doors open, and Duke takes my hand and leads me out into the large conservatory.

I try to calm myself, knowing my anger shouldn’t be here.

What happened between us was years ago.

I don’t care what he does. I don’t care at all.

I look around at all the sports memorabilia and the people gathered at their tables.

“Do you want to walk around and see what’s for auction before we get a drink at the bar?” Duke asks.

I fake a smile. “Sure.”

We begin to walk around to look at stuff, but my mind is anywhere but here.

I should have said something.

I should have told him off. Why didn’t I?

In my mind, I’ve gone over and over what I would say to him if our paths ever crossed again. I hate that, all those years ago, I ran like a coward and never got to say my piece. For so long afterwards, I would have imaginary arguments with him while driving or in the shower, going over all the things I should have said to him.

Hurtful things, like the things he said to me.

My stomach twists as I’m taken back to that fateful night.

I hate that it still gets to me.

I exhale heavily and shake my shoulders, trying to forget that I just saw him.

Let it go, April. Stewing over him is not achieving anything.

It’s fine. Totally fucking fine. What do I care anyway? He’s nothing to me.

I glance back toward the door to see Sebastian stepping out of the elevator, and once again, I see red.

Bastard.

I stand at the bar, and sip my horrible wine. If you could even call it wine? Who picks the selection for these function things? Obviously, someone who has absolutely no taste.

The auction has been on. Duke paid ten thousand pounds for a signed surfboard of Kelly Slater’s. What the heck he’s going to do with that? Oh well, it is for a good cause, I suppose.

We have had a few drinks and chatted to a few people, and now Duke is signing autographs over at a table with six other sportsmen.

He’s scheduled on for an hour, and then we can go.

Sebastian is on the other side of the conservatorium with two other men—one blonde and handsome, the other one dark and broody looking.

They look around Sebastian’s age and are undeniably gorgeous.

I’m having a hard time not watching him, and I’m beating myself up for not saying something. Although, what I would have said? I have no idea.