“Listen. If you’re looking for Cam, he’s in the conference room.”
“I don’t want to bother him—”
“You won’t. He’s waiting for you.” She looks over at Fleur. “Hi, I’m Layla, Cameron’s assistant.”
“Right, sorry.” I rub my forehead, trying to bring my brain back online after the complete one-eighty. “Layla, this is Fleur and her brother Olivier.”
They exchange greetings, and Layla mentions their beautiful accents, but I can’t shake the feeling that something about the exchange is making her sad.
I try to ignore it, grateful that I have a few days to pull myself together before I reach out to Axelle. I have to prepare myself for the possibility of seeing her and Clifford as one big happy family, and the certainty of seeing her as a mother.
“Well, fuck me stupid.”
Fleur snorts with laughter and Ollie chuckles.
Layla rolls her eyes. “Blake! Not in front of guests.”
Blake comes up beside her and pulls her to him. “How the hell did I fall in love with a woman with such sensitive ears? She gives me shit, yet she talks like a trucker when we’re alone.”
She rocks her hip into him. “Behave. Fleur and Olivier, this is my husband, Blake Daniels.”
Fleur tenses beside me, obviously recognizing who Blake and Layla are, or better yet who they are to Axelle.
“Killer.” Blake holds out his hand and I shake it. “Good to have you back.”
Seeing as the last time we were together he gave me a black eye, things are less than comfortable between us. “Thanks, Blake.”
“Haven’t missed one of your fights.” The pride in his voice swells in my chest. “Always knew you could do it.”
I nod, afraid that speaking will give away my delicate emotional state. I expected it to be difficult seeing them again. I didn’t expect it to be—
The door next to us swings open, which surprises me at first because it’s an old office that was used for storage.
A guy saunters out wearing nothing but a pair of loose workout shorts and a lazy and very satisfied smile. Judging by his size, he’s a fighter, but he’s also new. “Damn, woman, you’ve got the magic touch.” He rolls his shoulders back. “God, I love you. Are you sure you won’t marry me?”
“Easy, asshole.” Blake growls.
Blake’s reaction sends my gut tumbling, as if my body is trying to tell me something I should already know. Then I hear her.
And just like that the earth beneath me shifts.
“Oh, Trick, you don’t love me.” She appears in the doorway, and I swear to God I fucking choke on my own heartbeat. “You just want me for my hands.”
It’s her. It’s really her, and I never thought it possible for her to get any prettier than she already was, but here I am staring at the proof.
Suddenly, I’m sixteen again.
Gazing upon the kind of beauty I’d only read about in books.
Her hair is longer, pulled back in a sleek chestnut ponytail that reaches her mid-back. Her skin, at least the little I can see with her dressed in leggings and a polo, looks even softer than my dreams imagined over this last year.
She must feel me staring because slowly her smile falls as she turns her head toward me.
When our eyes meet, it sends lightning through my veins.
Everyone dissolves around us. An A-bomb could go off and I’d never know it because locked in the liquid blue gaze of this girl, this woman who I’ve loved for as long as I can remember, nothing else exists.
“Kill…”
I bite my bottom lip, suddenly at a complete loss for words.
“Oh look!” Layla says, but I can’t pull my eyes off Axelle. “There’s Jonah.”
I feel the people around us shift, as if they’re walking away, but not before Fleur’s voice is at my ear. “Will you be alright?”
Axelle rips her gaze from mine, and I could cry from the loss of it, but it zeroes in on Fleur in a way that makes me feel like I need to stand between them.
“I’m fine.”
I register the absence of her presence and take a hesitant step toward Axelle.
Her eyes dart from Fleur’s retreat to me.
“I missed you.” I cringe as the pathetic, but true, words fall from my lips.
She grins; it’s small and sweet and so fucking gorgeous it hurts. “Really?”
I blink at the disbelief in her voice. How can she even question that? “Yes.”
She nervously tugs on the front of her shirt, pulling it tight across her breasts, and my mouth waters at the memory of their