Chapter 10: Mr Garcia: Chapter 10

“He’s what?” I gasp.

“Yeah, he’s all over the news lately. How haven’t you seen him?”

My blood begins to boil. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Duke frowns. “Do you know him?”

I raise my brows, realizing how I must sound. “He used to come into a café I worked at years ago.” My nostrils flare as I try to hold in my unexpected surge of anger. “He was a real asshole.”

Duke chuckles. “That’s probably how he got into office.”

I fake a smile.

My cheeks begin to heat as my temper soars. How dare he be here? How dare he breath in the same air that I am?

I get a vision of his face as he held the phone to his ear, and I grit my teeth. I should have smacked him straight in that stupid square jaw. The elevator doors open, and Duke takes my hand and leads me out into the large conservatory.

I try to calm myself, knowing my anger shouldn’t be here.

What happened between us was years ago.

I don’t care what he does. I don’t care at all.

I look around at all the sports memorabilia and the people gathered at their tables.

“Do you want to walk around and see what’s for auction before we get a drink at the bar?” Duke asks.

I fake a smile. “Sure.”

We begin to walk around to look at stuff, but my mind is anywhere but here.

I should have said something.

I should have told him off. Why didn’t I?

In my mind, I’ve gone over and over what I would say to him if our paths ever crossed again. I hate that, all those years ago, I ran like a coward and never got to say my piece. For so long afterwards, I would have imaginary arguments with him while driving or in the shower, going over all the things I should have said to him.

Hurtful things, like the things he said to me.

My stomach twists as I’m taken back to that fateful night.

I hate that it still gets to me.

I exhale heavily and shake my shoulders, trying to forget that I just saw him.

Let it go, April. Stewing over him is not achieving anything.

It’s fine. Totally fucking fine. What do I care anyway? He’s nothing to me.

I glance back toward the door to see Sebastian stepping out of the elevator, and once again, I see red.

Bastard.

I stand at the bar and sip my horrible wine. If you can even call it wine. Who picks the selection for these function things? Obviously, someone who has absolutely no taste.

The auction has been on. Duke paid ten thousand pounds for a signed surfboard of Kelly Slater’s. What the heck he’s going to do with that? Oh well, it is for a good cause, I suppose.

We have had a few drinks and chatted to a few people, and now Duke is signing autographs over at a table with six other sportsmen.

He’s scheduled on for an hour, and then we can go.

Sebastian is on the other side of the conservatorium with two other men—one blonde and handsome, the other one dark and broody looking.

They look around Sebastian’s age and are undeniably gorgeous.

I’m having a hard time not watching him, and I’m beating myself up for not saying something. Although, what would I have said? I have no idea.

Stop it!

I take out my phone and text Penelope.

Who would have ever thought my archenemy from the Rave Cave would now be one of my closest friends?

You’re not going to believe who’s here…

A reply comes back.

Who?

I glance over at Duke as I type.

Sebastian Garcia.

We ran into each other in the elevator.

Apparently, he’s the Deputy Prime Minister now

A response comes quickly.

Oh, shit, that’s right, I saw that.

He was elected this week,

I keep forgetting to mention it.

I hope you spat in his slimy face.

I giggle.

I wish

“Is this stool taken?” a man asks,

“No, take it.” I smile.

“Thanks.” He lifts the stool over to his table, and a reply bounces back from Penelope.

Fuck him. He’s just an asshole.

Be grateful you don’t have to see him ever again.

I type my reply.

This is true. Speak tomoz.

xoxo

I put my phone into my bag and glance over the room to see Sebastian staring at me from across the room.

His face is devoid of emotion, and then, in slow motion he raises his wine glass in the air to me, as if toasting the occasion.

Our eyes are locked.

I feel adrenaline surge through my system. Are you fucking kidding me?

You have the nerve to address me?

His blonde friend looks over and then says something to him, and Sebastian chuckles into his wine glass.

What’s so funny, asshole?

My heart pounds as the hurt and shame that he caused come flooding back.

His other friend says something to him, and then all three men laugh out loud.

I sip my drink. It feels like the sky has turned red.

I’m never going to see him again. I’m never going to get the chance to tell him what I think of him.

I drain my glass as my mission becomes crystal clear, and I slam it onto the table.

Before I know it, I’m marching over to his table. I catch Sebastian off guard, and he only sees me when I am standing beside him.

“A word,” I say.

He raises his eyebrow sarcastically. “I’d rather not.”

I glare at him. “Unless you want to be wearing your fucking drink, get outside. Now.” I growl, losing all control.

“Um… wow.” His blonde friend raises his brow, too. “Do we know you?”

I turn my attention to him, and he withers under my glare.

The dark friend smirks and holds out his hand to shake mine. “Julian Masters.”

“I don’t care,” I bark.

The blonde friend chuckles. “Fuck me, who is this?”

“Outside!” I snap before marching into the foyer.

I stomp through the conservatory like I’m The Hulk. I don’t remember ever being this angry. I can taste it in my mouth like it’s poison.

I make it to the foyer, and I turn to see Sebastian walking behind me. He seems pissed off, too.

He puts his hands into his pants pockets. “What do you want?” he snaps.

I see a cloakroom. “Over here.” I walk over to it and open the door to find it’s empty. “In private.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Well, I’ve got plenty to say to you,” I whisper angrily.

He marches past me into the cloakroom. I follow him in and slam the door shut.

“I don’t have time for your shit,” he barks.

“You’ll make time, you entitled fucking asshole,” I scream. “How dare you?”

His eyes bulge, and he points to his own chest as if outraged. “How dare I?”

“That’s what I said.”

He opens his mouth to argue.

“Shut up and fucking listen.” I push him hard in the chest.

He narrows his eyes as tilts his chin to the ceiling in defiance. “Touch me again and see what fucking happens to you,” he growls.

“I will do whatever I want, and you are going to listen to every fucking word I say. First of all,” I say. “I never touched your son. Not once,” I cry. “If he had a crush on me, it was completely one-sided. I had no idea about it until we were on your front porch.”

He opens his mouth to argue.

“Shut the fuck up, Sebastian, or so help me God!” My chest rises and falls as I fight to stay in control. “Second of all… you called me a lying whore.”

His eyes hold mine. “That’s right.”

I slap him hard across the face, the sound echoes throughout the small space. His eyes flicker with fury, and he pushes me back up against the wall to get me away from him.

“I’m nobody’s whore, least of all yours,” I whisper.

He holds me tight, his face so close to mine. “You sure about that?”

I push him off me, and he stumbles back.

“You pay for sex, you pathetic piece of shit, and you have the audacity to judge me?”

“Go to hell.” He clenches his fists by his sides.

“I won’t.” I smile sarcastically. “You see, Mr. Garcia, my conscience is clear. I’m a good person with a good heart, and I don’t have double standards. And you,” I whisper. “You are just another sleazy… entitled… politician.”

His nostrils flare, and I know I hit a nerve.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” I sneer. With one last look, I march out into the foyer and straight into the ladies’ room. Once in the cubicle, I close the door as tears fill my eyes.

I can feel my heartbeat pounding everywhere. I drop my head into my hands, overcome with anger.

I hate Sebastian Garcia with all of my being. I hate him. I hate that he still affects me.

I hate that I still care.

I un my hands through my hair as I try to calm down. Fuck!

What is she doing here?

I thought she went back to America. I pinch the bridge of my nose and stay in the cloakroom for a moment alone. Her words come back to me.

You… Are just another sleazy…entitled… politician.

Bitch.

That’s it. I’m out of here. I open the door and march out with purpose.

She turns up here, tells me that she’s going to throw a drink on me if I don’t speak to her, slaps me across the face, and then she calls entitled.me

What the fuck?

“Sebastian,” I hear a woman’s voice call from behind me.

I turn and see Gisselle, an old friend that I have recently reconnected with. We’ve been chatting online and over the phone for a few weeks.

Fuck…worst timing ever.

I fake a smile. “Gisselle, hi.” I kiss her on the cheek. I glance down at her, and although I’m too angry to even see what she looks like, I pay her a compliment. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” She beams, and I remember why I had begun messaging her. She is stunning. “I didn’t know you were going to be here. Are you having a good night?”

“I am.” I pause. “Unfortunately, though, I’m on my way out. I have another engagement for work I have to attend.”

Her face falls.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe we could get a coffee or something?” I offer.

She smiles. “I’d like that.”

“Okay.” I bend and kiss her on the cheek before I brush past her.

I walk into the conservatorium, straight over to Spence.

“I’m leaving,” I tell them

Spencer frowns. “Why?”

“Because I’m not in the mood for this fucking shithole, that’s why. Are you coming or not?”

“Masters!” Spence calls over to Julian who is talking to someone. “We’re heading off. You coming?”

Julian frowns, still focused on the man he’s talking to. He holds his finger up to tell Spence to wait a moment. Moments later, he turns back to us. “What?”

“We’re leaving,” I say, as I head for the door.

“Why?”

“Please tell me it has to do with that smoking hot blonde bitch,” Spencer says, following me out.

“Bitch being the operative word. What the fuck was her problem?” Masters asks dryly.

“You know, I think it’s hot when women are bitches,” Spencer says as we walk out through the foyer. “It’s a real turn on, you know. I don’t like you but just fuck me hard anyway.”

“Will you shut up?” I roll my eyes. “The shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes, Spencer. Honestly.”

“It’s a fine line for the bitch level to be worth it,” Masters chimes in. “She was fucking hot, though.”

“I said, will you two shut the fuck up?” We get into the back of my waiting car.

The driver turns to us after we’ve climbed inside. “Where to?”

The boys both look to me.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” I ask.

“I guess.” They both shrug.

“Hugo’s in Kensington, please.”

The car zooms through the streets of London, and the boys chatter between themselves leaving me to stare out the window at the passing traffic, lost in my own thoughts.

You are just another sleazy…entitled…politician.

“Who was that chick?” Masters asks.

“Nobody.”

“Shit, she sure seemed like a somebody. She dragged you out to the foyer, and then you come back looking like you saw a ghost.”

“Shut. Up,” I hiss.

“How do you know her?”

They’re going to keep going on about this, so I have to give them something.

“We dated a few years ago. It went badly.” I give a subtle shake of my head. “That was the first time I’ve seen her since and—”

“And now she wants to cut your dick off,” Spencer finishes for me.

“Basically.” I stare out the window.

“Well, see if she can do it with her teeth,” Masters says.

Spencer laughs. “Right?”

Masters phone beeps, and he reads a text and rolls his eyes. “Fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath.

“What?” Spence asks.

“Bree is busting my fucking balls over this renovation for Willow.”

I get a vision of Bree giving it to my grumpy friend, and I smirk.

“Why?”

He holds his phone up and looks at us deadpan. There are two images of different types of carpet. “Who thinks about carpet on a fucking Saturday night?” He raises his eyebrows. “I mean, seriously.”

Spencer and I laugh, and I feel a little of my anger dissipate.

I stare back out the window as normality comes back into focus and I feel my equilibrium return.

I have the best friends in the world, and that’s all that matters.

“Hi, mom,” I answer my phone.

“I’m sorry to call you at work darling, I know you’re busy but I couldn’t wait until tonight, have you heard anything about your new position yet?”

I smile, my mom is so excited about my new job, maybe even more than I am. “Not yet, I should find out something this week, I guess.”

“Oh, this is so exciting, are you getting a big pay rise? What about a company car?”

I giggle, “I don’t know, probably not.”

“Eliza thinks you will,” she replies. “Hi, chick,” I hear Eliza call in the background.

I smile broadly, “Tell Lize I’ll call her tonight.” I would say Eliza, my sister, is my best friend. I speak to her daily, sometimes twice.

“She said that she’s calling you tonight,” my mother tells her.

“April, your next appointment is here. Helena Matheson,” sounds through the intercom.

“Thanks, Melissa. I’ll be right out.”

“I’ve got to go mom,” I say. “I’ll call you later.”

“Bye darling, love you.”

“Love you too.”

I click out of the file I’m working on, and I make my way out into the waiting room in the foyer.

“Helena?” I ask when I see a beautiful woman with long dark hair.

She stands, her smile warm, and we shake hands. “Hi. Yes.”

“I’m April.” I smile. “This way, please.” I lead her to my office and gesture to the chair at my desk. “Take a seat.”

She’s breathtakingly beautiful and kitted out in designer clothing from head to toe. I glance quickly at her Prada handbag. Damn, I love that bag. I bet it cost ten thousand pounds, or something as equally ridiculous as that.

“How can I help you today?” I ask.

“I would like to go over the terms of my divorce.”

“Okay.” I try to understand her better. “So, you’re looking for someone to represent you in your divorce?”

“No, I’ve been divorced for seven years.”

I frown. “You’ve already been through the settlement?”

“Yes.” She clutches her handbag on her lap. “But I feel that I was wrongly represented.”

“I see.” I get out my paper and pen to take notes. “Tell me a little about what you would like to achieve.”

She straightens her back as if steeling herself. “I want the dog.”

My eyes hold hers as I get an off feeling. “Okay…” I say wearily, writing my first note. “Are there any children involved?”

“No.”

“And did you ask for the dog in the first settlement? What’s the dog’s name?”

“I didn’t at the time, although I have mentioned it over the years. His name is Bentley.”

“And what kind of dog is it?”

She shrugs as if uninterested. “A Labrador.”

“And how old is Bentley?”

“No idea but fucking old.”

I’m really trying to understand what I’m dealing with here. “And what were the terms of the initial agreement?”

“Well, my ex-husband completely ripped me off. He paid for the best lawyer’s money could buy so I had no chance. He has money.” She dusts something invisible off her shirt.

“What did you receive?”

“I got the house.”

I make more notes. “And how much was that worth?”

“Six million at the time. I got two of the cars, including a Porsche and a Maserati.”

I try to keep a straight face as I take the notes.

“I got the holiday house in Italy, too,” she says.

I scribble some more. This guy must be loaded.

“What did he request in the settlement?” I ask.

“The dog.”

My eyes rise to meet hers. “Bentley,” I correct her.

“Yes.” She crosses her legs with attitude. “He got nasty.”

“How many other…” I pause, trying to get my wording right. “I mean, what else did he own at the time?”

“Nothing.”

“You got everything?”

“Yes, but he got nasty.”

“How so?”

“I had an affair.”

My eyes rise to meet hers. I hate this bitch. “And was it a one-time thing?”

“No, it went on for a few months. It was with our gardener, and it was my ex-husband’s fault, anyway. He was always away working, and I had needs.”

My stomach twists as my own history rears its ugly head.

I scribble down my thoughts. “And you said he got nasty. Can you tell me how so?”

“In order for me to get any assets, he demanded that I change my surname.”

I frown. That’s a weird request.

“I wasn’t legally allowed to have his surname. Like, who the hell does he think he is?”

I bite my lip to hide my smirk. “I see. So, his only requests were that he wanted the removal of his surname and the custody of Bentley.”

“Yes.”

My eyes rise to meet hers. “What’s changed, Helena? Why do you want to rehash this when you clearly did so well from the first settlement?”

“He’s doing very well now, and I feel…”—she hunches her shoulders — “I deserve more.”

“You want the dog?’

“God, no, I don’t want the stupid dog. The dog is my only bargaining tool.”

Spiteful bitch.

“I see.” I want to tell her to get the hell out of my office. “Has your ex-husband remarried?”

“You’ve got to be joking,” she huffs. “He’s pathetic.”

I run my tongue over my bottom lip as I stare at her. I really don’t like this woman. “He doesn’t even date. Oh…” She laughs as if remembering something. “There was that one time about a year after we separated, where he fell in love with a prostitute… but she was also sleeping with his son.”

I begin to hear white noise ringing in my ears.

No, it can’t be!

“What kind of an idiot would fall in love with a prostitute?” she smirks.

“Who told you that?”

“Told me what?”

“That he fell in love with the prostitute?”

“His sister and my sister are still friends. It was a big family break-up. Apparently, the son and my ex-husband were both in love with her at the same time.” She flicks her hair. “The son didn’t speak to him for months when he found out. What a joke. At least I was only sleeping with one other man. He should have stuck with me.”

I stare at her. “What’s his name?’

“Who, the son?”

“Your ex-husband. What was his name?”

“Sebastian Garcia.”