The Rebound - Stefanie London Page 0,4
only out for myself. A smiling assassin. That I abandoned my family and I’m only back because I want to get my hands on my father’s company.
Only one part of that statement is true.
“Whatever Mike said about me...” I don’t even know why I’m trying to reassure her about this. I shouldn’t care what she thinks. But for some reason, this woman’s ethereal silvery-blue eyes watch me like she sees way more than I ever want anyone to see. “Our family relationship is complicated.”
“I got that impression,” she replies.
The air is shattered with the sound of her phone ringing—the electronic melody slicing through the tension in the car like a knife. A name flashes up on the screen: Sherilee. She quickly cancels the call and places the phone face down in her lap.
“It’s one of the bridesmaids,” she explains. “I’ll call her back once I’ve got my dress. Oh, turn here. It’s quicker.”
She points to an exit that will take us under a bridge and along Clarendon Street in South Melbourne. The traffic moves slower and Drew taps her foot to an agitated beat. She turns the phone over in her hand, flipping and flipping and flipping the device until it’s a white-and-silver blur.
“We’ll get you back as quickly as possible,” I say. “There’s no point stressing now. The weather is great and everyone will be enjoying themselves, so who cares if we’re half an hour behind?”
Punctuality was never my strong suit. Not because I can’t organise my shit, but because I determine where I go and when. It seems that the key to success isn’t in turning up to things on time, but in determining whether you should turn up at all. Priorities. Most people can’t seem to figure them out, but I know exactly where I’m going with my life and how I’m going to get there.
And, in my experience, nobody ever made it to the top by clinging to an unhealthy sense of obligation.
She looks at me, the edges of her lips curling up ever so slightly. But there’s a hint of something sad in her smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.” I shrug. “Honestly, I didn’t even want to come to this damn wedding. So you’re doing me a favour by delaying my arrival.”
She lets out a dry laugh. “That’s a weak attempt at making me feel better, but I appreciate the effort.”
“It’s not an attempt. It’s one hundred percent the truth.” I shoot her a knowing look. “Since I get the impression you’re not too thrilled about this wedding, either, maybe later we can stake out the bar. Trade stories over something bitter and extremely alcoholic.”
“Deal,” she says softly. “You seem like a decent guy. I’m sorry Mike doesn’t seem to agree.”
“There’s nothing I can do about that.” Frankly, the feeling is mutual. “I promised my dad I would come and so...here we are. Well, here we almost are.”
She points to a small road marked Love Street. “It’s just in here.”
“Love Street? Seriously?” I shake my head.
“Tell me about it.” She rolls her eyes. “They may as well have called it Unicorn Poo Lane.”
I snort and flick the indicator, waiting for a break in traffic before I ease the Merc onto the small street. It’s a sleek building, tall and silver, with a fancy-looking entrance. Across the road is a funky pub and a few other shopfronts. It’s a great spot. If I had any intention of moving back to Melbourne on a permanent basis, then I would definitely consider living somewhere like this...but with an address that wouldn’t make me cringe every time I had to write it down.
“You don’t have to wait.” Drew presses her hand to my arm and looks up at me with those luminous silvery-blue eyes.
She’s so gorgeous, I’m almost speechless. But it isn’t her looks—or her state of undress—that really socks me in the chest. There’s something raw about her, something...genuine. And fuck knows that isn’t a quality I encounter too often these days.
“Of course I’ll wait,” I say. “Remember that whole thing about me not being in a rush to get back?”
“Seriously, I can get an Uber.”
“I’m waiting.” I wave my hand. “Now go, quickly. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
She looks at me for a long second before leaning over and planting the softest of kisses on my cheek. I’m hit by a wave of something honeyed and floral, something so intoxicating I almost lean into her, as if pulled by an