Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

t.” He storms up the hall, and I find myself running after him.

“What lie?” I cry. “What are you talking about, Spencer?”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t have feelings for the man who took your virginity, because I know you do. It’s fucking eating me alive.”

Huh…?

“Do you really fucking expect me to believe that you wait twenty-five years to lose your virginity, only to give it to someone you don’t care about?”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m not fucking stupid,” he barks, making me jump. “Who is he?”

We stare at each other as we pant, both of us furious. I’m not telling him like this, he’s too angry. He’ll go berserk about me lying to him in the first place.

I go to touch him, but he flicks my hand off his arm. “Don’t fucking touch me, you piss me off.” He storms out. I hear him walk down the hall, and then the spare bedroom door slams shut.

I drag my hands through my hair.

I walk up to the spare bedroom and stand outside the door.

I hear him kick off his shoes, and then I hear something hit the wall. I hear the blankets get thrown back. “Fuck off!” he mutters angrily to himself before something else hits the wall.

I slide down the wall and sit on the floor in the hallway. At least he hasn’t left me.

But what now?

Edward

I run through the profit and loss sheets for Macao, checking the losses myself with a calculator. They’re two percent higher than expected, and I want to find where we are slipping. My father Harold is in his office next to me, going through some refurbishment details with our interior designers.

My phone rings and the name Alexander York lights up the screen.

I smile and answer with, “Yorkie, how are you?”

“Good, good.” He laughs.

Alexander is one of my closest friends. The two of us went to boarding school together and have only gotten closer over the years.

“Why are you calling me at…” I glance at my watch. “5:00 a.m. your time? Did you wet the bed?”

“Ha, very funny. I’ve been contemplating calling you all week. It’s finally got the better of me.”

I frown, suddenly interested. “What’s up?”

“You know how I took Charlotte to the charity ball last Saturday night?”

“Yeah.”

“There was this guy sniffing around her.”

“Who?”

“Spencer Jones.”

I immediately type the name into Google on my laptop.

“Define sniffing,” I urge while I wait.