Chapter 2 - Reed Sterling

Reed:

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” my father asked, getting to his feet and packing his laptop. I shook my head and replied that I didn’t have anywhere to be. He knew I was lying but didn’t push the issue. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, or your mother and I will be late for the de Villeneuve dinner,” he said, and I bade him goodbye and wished him and my mother a good time as he headed toward the door. It felt like he would never leave.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, I grabbed my phone and made the call I had been dying to make the whole time he was here. I didn’t understand why he had come to the office on a Saturday since he didn’t work on weekends. I put my phone to my ear, and a nervous smile made its way across my face. However, it didn’t last as the phone rang unanswered until it went to voicemail. I tried again, and there was still no answer. After the third attempt, I called Ricardo, our family driver, and he said he was still at the mall, and Scarlett was inside the spa with her friends, making me realize that’s why she wasn’t picking up. I thought they would be done by now since it had been hours.

“A text it is,” I muttered, typing. And just as I finished, there was a knock on my door. I looked up to see my mother entering with a young woman who looked familiar, but I couldn’t recall who she was.

“Mother,” I said, surprised to see her here, and we shared a hug.

“Reed, you remember Camille, don’t you?” my mother asked, and my eyes widened. Camille’s father and my father were business associates, and our families were friends, but I hadn’t seen Camille in years. Her mother was Pierre de Villeneuve’s first wife, and when she died, Camille moved back to France to live with her aunt. Her mother and my mother also grew up together and were best friends. I don’t remember that since I was still very young at the time, but my mother told me. I was only five when the whole thing happened, and Camille was around ten. I knew her from a picture that our families took on a joint vacation they went to many years ago.

I asked my mother what she was doing here, and she said she was looking for my father. I told her she just missed him, and she said she knew he was here and grabbed her purse again as she added that she would see us later, confusing me since it looked as though she was leaving Camille behind. Camille took a seat, and we exchanged pleasantries. She asked how I had been, and I told her I had been good. She repeated that it had been a long time, like she didn’t know what to say but was forced to stay behind.

I offered her something to drink, and she accepted, glancing at her wristwatch as she muttered that she wouldn’t be long. After I placed her drink in front of her, I took my seat and decided to ask her if I could do anything for her. I didn’t do well in awkward situations. She said she was passing through, and I nodded, the tension in the room getting thicker as it became apparent that neither of us knew what to say next.

I took a sip of my drink, and there was a moment of silence before she spoke up again, admitting that the whole situation was awkward. She said she had lied to her father about her whereabouts and was visiting someone in the next building. But when my mother saw her, she panicked at the thought that Mom might mention seeing her here. So, she lied and said she came to see me instead. She added that she knew her father would understand if she said that.

I felt my brow twitch, trying to rise in question at her strange explanation, but I fought it, not wanting to seem rude.

Why would she think my mother would tell her father where she was?

After downing the shot, a text came through on her phone, and she got to her feet, saying the person she came to see had arrived. I got to my feet too as she apologized for the strange encounter. I told her not to sweat it, wished her a good day, and walked her to the door.

I stood and watched as she strutted down the empty corridor. She was definitely not the Camille in the pictures anymore. She was hot. I locked the door this time after closing it and sprang into action. Waiting might have been a good idea since I hadn't received a reply yet from the person I was doing all this for.

I dimmed the lights and took long strides to the cabinet, where I hid everything from my father. I took out the scented candles and placed them in safe spots throughout the room. Then I laid out a plush throw and some comfortable cushions to create a cozy and inviting picnic area.

"Okay," I muttered, impressed that it was all coming together. I took out the basket with the champagne and then the premade charcuterie board and placed it in the center. "Music," I whispered, taking long strides to the remote to turn it on. I took a step back, giving the whole setup a once-over, feeling nervous suddenly as the doubtful voice inside my head grew louder, telling me this wasn't going to work, but I had to try.

It had been months since she called things off between us, but I couldn't stop thinking about her. She didn't even give me a real reason for breaking up with me because I didn't consider the half-assed explanation about how our worlds were different a real reason.

She said I was Reed Sterling, and she was just a maid's daughter, like that ever made a difference to me before. I wanted to fight for us, to assure her that it meant nothing to me, but I was too shocked that she was saying that to me. After the shock wore off, I was angry, so I let her go. We grew up together. She knew I wasn't about that. I knew who she was; I knew where she came from, and it didn't matter to me. She knew that—she knew me, but she still spoke to me as if I was some random guy she couldn't trust.

In my angered state, I told myself that maybe it was right for her to end things if that's how she felt. I even tried to move on and had a couple of one-night stands to try and forget about her, but I couldn't. So, this evening, I was going to do what I couldn't do that day. I was going to assure her that I love her and that it didn't matter to me what she was or wasn't.

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, and just then, a text came through on my phone. I rushed back to my desk to get it, praying that it was her.