Page 3 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)

TWO

WEST

She steals the air from my lungs and takes it with her the moment the door shuts behind her.

She stands on the sidewalk for a few seconds, looking up at the sky.

Rain pelts her face as her mouth falls open and her eyes squeeze shut.

She’s absolutely stunning. Her raven hair is quickly drenched, and before I can gather my thoughts, she swipes her hand across her forehead and marches on, soon disappearing out of view.

Then it truly does feel as if every ounce of oxygen is gone, the raven-haired girl taking it without regard.

“Wow, it really just came out of nowhere, didn’t it?” my bartender Lewis says. He moves to stand beside me, but I’m paralyzed, still trying to fucking breathe.

From the corner of my eye, Lewis plants his hands on his hips and stares out the window, shaking his head in disapproval. “I hate the rain.”

I don’t bother mentioning the fact it’s been cloudy all morning and rain was inevitable. I’m still speechless, wondering how the fuck I’m going to go the rest of the day acting as if I didn’t just see and talk to her .

When I don’t respond, Lewis moves to the beer taps and starts wiping them down. They don’t need to be cleaned, but I can tell he’s nervous. He’s always nervous when I show up. They all are.

“I didn’t think you were coming in today,” he adds, polishing the gold piping of the taps.

“I come once a month to check on the place. You know this.”

My mind is still tangled up in London. An inexplicable pull urges me to follow her.

I let her go one too many times before, and now, here I am, allowing her to slip through my fingers again.

But how can I go after her when she just dropped back into my life out of the fucking blue?

How can I follow her when I’ve been reduced to nothing but being a complete stranger to her?

“Yeah,” Lewis continues. “But it usually isn’t until the end of the month. And, well, I heard about your brother, so I figured…”

This time, Lewis’s comment pulls my attention away from where London last stood.

“You had some ideas about how to better market this location,” I cut him off, switching subjects. “I’m here to listen to you.”

“Really?” Lewis’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops.

He’s young—in his mid-twenties, at least—but I love his eagerness to pitch ideas on how to better some of the properties I’ve bought, from bars to restaurants, on the verge of collapse.

Places such as this one. I’ve put in the work to revamp this old speakeasy, but I know there’s still room for improvement.

Lewis was hired by the bar manager, Piper, a couple months ago, and the few times I’ve met him, he’s offered up his opinions. Ones I’m open to.

I raise my eyebrows, silently telling him I’m all ears, but I know I’m not being completely honest. My mind is still reeling from my conversation with London .

Lewis is right: I wasn’t meant to be here today, and I wouldn’t have been if it weren’t for my need for a distraction. A distraction from the endless calls from my mother. Or the debate I’ve had in my mind ever since I found out about my brother’s untimely, suspicious death.

My need to come up with any excuse to not go to my own brother’s funeral led me straight to London.

London and her gray eyes, black as night hair, and perfect, pouty lips that I haven’t stopped thinking about since the last time I saw her. Lips I haven’t stopped thinking about since the last time we spoke to each other.

Before everything changed.

I’m still thinking about that perfect mouth of hers and the glinting silver ball pierced into the center of her tongue. Something she definitely didn’t have the last time we spoke.

Lewis scratches his chin and looks around the dining room. I almost forgot we were in the middle of a conversation.

He points to the tables and then the walls. “I think the overall cohesiveness of this place is scattered. A singular message would work better. Maybe some new artwork or furniture that blends seamlessly together.”

I’m looking around the dining room, studying the tables and chairs before scanning the walls. Most of them are blank, but the few pictures that are hanging are old photographs of the city. They’re beautiful and artistic in a way, though I can see how they could be improved.

“You may have a point,” I tell him. “I’ll start thinking about it and let you know. Maybe we can talk about it in more detail another day.”

“Wow.” He gapes, practically bouncing on his feet as he takes a step back down the bar.

“Thank you so much. I’m not an expert in design, and I can’t draw for shit, but I’m studying advertising in grad school right now, so I can bring a vision to life.

Charcoal sketches would be great in here.

The contrast of the classic colors up against the rough black and white would bring warmth and comfort to a place like this. ”

I pause, digesting Lewis’s suggestions. I don’t disagree.

“Thank you, Lewis. And thank you for taking inventory of the bottles in the storage room for me before I head out.”

“No problem.” He nods. “I’m sorry you had to cover the bar. Anna was scheduled to come in an hour after me. I know you probably have a million other important things you could be doing.”

“It’s fine.” I wave him off, biting back the sting of his assumption that I’m just another corporate douchebag too busy to pay attention to those who work for me on every level, even those in Lewis’s position.

“There’s a reason I own bars across the city.

I like serving customers, and I like getting away from the sterile environment of corporate America.

It’s important for me to keep life balanced. ”

I wasn’t always this way. I didn’t always have privilege and wealth, but no one in my life knows my past.

That reality hits me in the fucking stomach like a fucking wrecking ball.

A heavy weight bears down on my shoulders, and I can’t explain the immense sadness and regret washing over me. I’ve lived a lifetime of regret for a series of decisions I’ve never been able to correct.

People often say they wish they could go back in time and change one thing.

They believe a singular moment would have changed everything.

But me? I have endless. A series of missed opportunities to regain what I’ve lost. The one person I promised I would never forget.

But somehow, I was the one who ended up being forgotten.

I fight the urge to bend over and vomit all over the rubber mat lining the floor. I clear my throat and run my fingers through my beard, needing to get out of here.

My driver Alden is still sitting at the end of the bar, sipping on his club soda with a slice of lime. He’s been the only person there for the past hour.

Sensing my attention has shifted to him, he drops his glass on the bar top. “Are you ready to leave, sir?”

I open my mouth to answer him, but turn to my left when Lewis points to London’s untouched beer.

“Is this someone’s drink?” he asks. “I haven’t seen anyone sit here.” He grabs the glass and reaches for the napkin resting beside it.

Too quickly, I close the distance between us, and snatch the napkin from the bar top before Lewis has the chance to toss it in the trash.

I hadn’t realized London left it.

I glance up at Lewis’s worried expression. “They left. You can toss the beer.”

He pours the beer into the sink while my gaze drops to the napkin in my hands.

There are a list of five numbers meant for London’s dead husband.

A blank list with nothing but the name of my bar beneath it.

The napkin shakes in my nervous hands. I flip it over, and this time, I’m certain I can’t breathe.

Sketched in black pen is a pointed clock tower beside a river. The distinctive hands on the face of the clock and the detailed architecture are unmistakable.

Big Ben.

Blood drains from my face.

“Sir?” Alden says behind me. “Are you alright?”

“He’s as pale as a ghost. I’ve never seen him like this.” Lewis says. “Are you okay, Mr. Knight? ”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I fold the napkin gently in half and shove it in my pocket. I begin to unroll my sleeves and walk around the bar, toward the exit, only to stop near the door and turn to face Alden as I’m buttoning my cuffs.

The shrill sound of the wooden barstool against the floor fills the silence when he stands quickly. “Are you ready to head over to your next bar?”

He’s already closing the gap between us, ready to follow.

“Change of plans.” I swallow thickly, knowing that, despite how I feel about today, I won’t risk losing her again. Not when I’ve been given this chance.

London’s drawing burns a hole in my pocket.

I button the top three buttons of my shirt, ensuring my necklace is tucked safely beneath it.

“Where to, Mr. Knight?” Alden lifts his chin, waiting for my direction.

I close the last button of my shirt and swipe my jacket from the back of the barstool. “My brother’s funeral.”