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An email pinged and my heart leapt. It wasn’t from Jensen, but Bryce’s name caused a different sort of excitement.
I know you’re thinking about joining us on the yacht for New Year’s, but do you
fancy Christmas Day with us as well?
My fiancée insists you join us if you don’t have plans.
I would love to see you too.
Bryce
I read and re-read it, unable to stem the expanding hope in my chest.
In a moment of weakness a year ago while in New York, I’d had lunch with Savannah, and blurted
out my desire to reconnect with Bryce. Her store opening had been the perfect opportunity to fly to Singapore to attempt to salvage things with Bryce. I’d come away with a suitcase full of exquisite
lingerie and a growing hope that my relationship with my brother would be rekindled.
I fought back tears that sprung out of nowhere, daring to accept that things weren’t so hopeless with my brothers after all. I was dashing away tears when Elsa knocked and entered. She looked flustered, her eyes a little too bright. ‘Umm, sorry to disturb you, but Mr Scott’s just turned up. He says he has a meeting with you, but—’
I jumped up to my feet, despite the sudden nerves and the memories of our parting. ‘Where is he?’
‘I’m setting him up in the conference room, but you have an appointment in fifteen minutes.’
‘Cancel it,’ I blurted.
Her eyes widened as I rounded the desk and headed for the door. ‘Which of the conference rooms
is he in?’ I asked, my heart slamming against my ribs.
‘Conference Room Three.’
I nodded, pleased. It was the most secluded one, the one with the best soundproofing. Which we
wouldn’t need, of course, because this was purely a perfectly civil business meeting. A last meeting before we parted ways.
If you are so unaffected, then why is your heart racing? Why are you shaking?
I ignored the taunting voice, walked with measured strides to the door.
‘Umm... Miss Mortimer?’
‘Yes?’ I answered, impatience and anxiety ramping high. ‘Was there something else?’
Elsa nodded at my face. ‘You might want to fix your make-up.’
I grimaced and reversed direction, tossing my thanks over my shoulder as I headed to the private
bathroom adjoining my office. When I saw my reflection, my jaw dropped in shock. I looked a mess.
No wonder Elsa had been casting me concerned looks all day.
My mascara was smudged to clown-like proportions, my lipstick non-existent from stress nibbling.
My hair looked as if I hadn’t brushed it in days.
Who cares? He’s seen you without make-up for three straight days.