Page 243 of The Grand Duel

Lissie was right before, I have changed. In almost every way I hated myself, I’ve changed.

I’m simply happier.

“Do you not get a headache from smiling like that?”

“Don’t be smart,” I tell her, leaning across the car to kiss her goodbye. “I’ll see you when you get back from lunch.”

“Hmm,” she says, going in for another quick kiss, her eyes softly closed. “I already miss you.”

I smile against her mouth when she kisses me again. “Tell me again.”

She grins, our teeth catching. I kiss her. Over and over.

“I…” She chuckles, our mouths fused.

“You what?” I ask.

She pulls back, grabbling hold of my face with one hand, keeping me back. “I love you.” She plants a quick kiss on my lips and then twists, throwing open her door and rushing away from me with her bag.

I roll my lips, still feeling her there, my eyes glued to her back as she disappears inside the office.

I’m about to pull away from the side of the pavement, heart full, when my phone rings through my car, the name on the screen making me frown.

I accept it. “Bronwyn?”

I walk into The Montwell with the world feeling like it’s falling away from around me, unsure why or how I’m still standing. I enter the lift and just stand on the spot, the doors closing and opening again before security sticks his head around the door, double-takes, and frowns.

“You alright, Aldridge, lad?”

I shake my head, my stomach churning, the blood draining from my face.

He reaches around the door and hits the button for the seventy-ninth floor.

I grit my teeth and swallow down the saliva in my mouth, the contents of my stomach churning.

As the doors open to Ellis and Frey, I step forward and run right into Nina. “Charlie, just the man?—”

I lock eyes with her, and I don’t know what it is she sees but her face falls. “Oh god, what is it? Not Lance?”

I frown, shaking my head. “What? No.” I step around her, walking towards Mason’s office and then straight inside.

“Aldridge?”

I don’t look at him.

I can’t.

I run my hands through my hair, walking to his mini bar. “It’s all wrong.”

He rounds his desk, his eyes assessing. “You’re shaking.”

“I’ve fucked up.”

He takes the bottle from my hands and then passes me the glass of whiskey. I gulp it back, the contents burning my throat and making my stomach feel a million times worse.

“Aldridge,” he pushes.

I meet Mason’s stern gaze, his eyes shadowed by his low brow.