Mr Garcia (Mr Series)
Mr Garcia: Chapter 19

I drop my head. My furious heartbeat hammers in my ears.

I have no words for this man.

How could he?

What the hell is going on? I know he has feelings for me. I fucking know it.

Coward.

My cheeks heat with anger, and I try to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. Sebastian tears off his bowtie and throws it onto the desk as he sits down. I pretend not to look at him as he dials a number on his phone. He holds it to his ear and waits.

“Pick up.” He hangs up and then dials another number.

I stare at my phone, pretending to Google whatever crap it is that I’m supposed to be searching for, but there is no searching going on. There’s only dread and red rage fury.

He slept with someone else last night, it’s obvious.

I know we aren’t Romeo and Juliet or anything, but fuck, I thought we were more than that.

“April, how are we going with the surveillance?” Bart calls, making me jump.

“Coming.” I fumble with my phone. I’m completely flustered and on the edge of control.

Fuck… focus.

With shaky hands, I type into Google:

Number for Aletta Rehab

“You all right?” someone whispers. I turn to see Jeremy.

“Yep,” I snap, outraged that I’m even being asked this question.

“Can someone please explain to me how a person escapes from a maximum-security rehabilitation facility?” Sebastian growls. “What the fuck kind of establishment is this place?”

Jeremy glares at Sebastian. “He’s fucked,” he whispers.

I bite my bottom lip so hard that I nearly draw blood. “I don’t care,” I lie.

“Yeah, sure, I believe you.”

Not helping.

“Will you stop? I don’t have time for this crap, and I don’t care what he fucking does. He’s an asshole.”

Jeremy rubs my shoulder sympathetically and walks back over to his desk.

“Has anyone spoken to Leona?” Sebastian calls.

“No,” Bart replies.

“Wouldn’t calling his wife be the obvious fucking thing to do?”

“We’ve been trying. She isn’t answering.”

“Is she in the country? April, get her on the phone.”

“I’m doing something else,” I reply.

His eyes rise to meet mine. “Well, stop what you’re doing and get Leona on the phone.”

I glare at him, and he glares right back.

I keep doing what I was doing.

Don’t push me, asshole. I am not in the fucking mood for you today.

“Did you get her?” I hear him ask.

I keep Googling.

“April!” he shouts. “Did you get her?”

“No, I did not,” I growl. “I am doing something else, and I don’t appreciate your tone, Mr. Garcia. Do not raise your voice at me again.”

The room falls silent, and he narrows his eyes. “I asked you to do a task.”

“And I am already doing something else. Perhaps you could ask one of the twenty other people in the room to do it. I am not your secretary, Mr. Garcia. I am a lawyer. Stop insulting my intelligence.” I turn my back on him and march from the room.

My heart is hammering.

How dare he?

He makes me fall for him, fucks with my head, and then when I ask him about it, he ends it. Then he goes and sleeps with someone else to get over me.

That’s it. We are finished.

Done.

“Good Evening, Aletta Private Facility,” the receptionist answers.

“Hello, this is April Bennet. I’m a lawyer who represents Theodore Holsworthy. I need to speak to the head of security, please.”

“Yes, of course. One moment, please.”

I hear Sebastian’s voice bellowing from the conference room behind me as he directs his anger at someone else. I roll my eyes.

Fucking hell. I need a new job.

Stat.

Sebastian

I walk into the café at 7:00 a.m.

Masters and Spence are already in our regular seat at the back. “Hi.”

“Hey,” they both reply.

I take off my jacket and fall into my seat.

Julian is reading the morning paper and, as usual, Spence is smiling up at me.

I exhale heavily. Has there ever been a more faithful friend?

Spencer Jones, my biggest cheerleader, and the sweetest man on Earth.

Masters flicks his paper in the air before turning the page. “This time next week, we’ll be on a plane.”

“Fuck, yeah. Five days in paradise.” Spencer smiles as he raises his coffee cup in the air. “Good thinking getting married in the Maldives, Ricco. Just what I fucking need.”

I roll my eyes. “I doubt I’ll even be able to go.”

“Can I get your usual?” the waitress interrupts me.

“Yes, please.”

“What do you mean, you won’t be able to go?” Spencer asks. “We have had this weekend planned for twelve months.”

“Yeah, don’t fucking start,” Julian agrees. “You’re coming.”

“Yeah well… I’m having the week from hell.”

Julian rolls his eyes. “So dramatic.”

“Right?” Spencer chimes in.

“Listen, fuckers,” I lower my voice to a whisper and lean toward them. “Between you and me, the fucking prime minister has done a runner from rehab.”

“What?” they both gasp.

“Where is he?” Julian frowns.

“If I knew that, I would go there and give him a swift uppercut to the throat. I don’t have time for this shit.”

Spencer screws up his face. “You really don’t know where he is?”

“No idea. We have security and police searching for him everywhere. If the press gets a hold of this, he’s completely screwed.”

“I don’t understand. I mean, he’s always been a bit of a loose cannon, but…” Julian’s eyes hold mine. “What’s happened to tip him over the edge?”

“His wife left him.”

“Of course, she did.” Spencer throws his hands up in the air in disgust. “There’s always a fucking woman involved.”

“Will you keep your voice down?” I hush them.

“Sorry.” They both look around guiltily.

“What happened?” asks Julian.

“Gardener?” Spencer blows into his coffee. “Was it the fucking gardener? I’m telling you one thing, there is a very good reason my gardener is eighty.” He taps his temple. “It’s called forward thinking, boys. Take notes.”

“Or just plain slave labor.” I roll my eyes.

“Your fucking gardener is eighty. Christ almighty, you’re an asshole.” Julian winces. “Poor bastard is going to have a heart attack.”

“Anyway,” I cut them off. “Theodore is missing, and I’m having to hold the fort. I don’t know how long I can cover for him. Unless he turns up very soon, I seriously doubt I can come away next week.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Spencer sighs. “I only called Ricco yesterday and told him you were bringing a plus one.”

My face falls. “What? Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Now you can bring your new girl.” He smiles sweetly.

“You are such a fuckwit,” I whisper angrily. “I am not bringing her. Besides, she’s now my old girl. It’s well and truly over.”

Masters rolls his eyes as he sips his coffee. “Another one bites the dust.”

“What the fuck did you do, you idiot?” Spencer fumes. “You like her. You really like her.”

I glance over to Julian, who smiles and winks. He loves watching Spencer lecture me over women. It’s his favorite pastime. Not too long ago, it was him on the receiving end.

“I didn’t do anything. She just isn’t the girl for me.”

“Oh, fucking bollocks,” he says. “Fine.” He rearranges the napkin on his lap with renewed purpose. “I’ll invite a date for you. I have a million women lined up waiting.”

“I don’t want a fucking date, Spence. Stay out of my business.” I sip my coffee. “Stick to your pregnancy sex.”

Julian rests his face on his hand and smiles dreamily. “Is there anything better than pregnant sex, though?”

I wince as I get an image of a heavily pregnant woman having sex. The thought is disturbing. “I can think of a million things, you fucking pervert.”

“So, what happened with June?”

“April, you idiot,” I correct him.

“I knew it was a month.” Spencer shrugs. “April. What happened with April?”

“Nothing. I fucked it. I’m moving on. End of discussion.”

Spencer’s eyes hold mine. “What did you do?”

“Will you get off his fucking case?” Julian snaps. “Leave the poor bastard alone.”

“Thank you,” I sigh.

“Well?” Spencer asks again.

“It was too hard.”

“Nothing worth it is easy,” Julian says.

“You’re supposed to be on my side, fucker.”

Julian holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying.”

“Don’t.”

“Here you are.” The waitress smiles as she puts our breakfast on the table in front of us. “Three omelettes.”

We thank her, and the boys forget all about me as they begin to eat and chat. I eat my breakfast in silence, my mind is miles away.

It’s with April. It’s always with April.

I feel like shit.

April

I watch the dial in the elevator as it goes up the numbers, my mind is filled with poison.

Did he think of me while he was inside of her?

Was I anywhere in his thought process? Or am I imagining something that isn’t there?

The worse thing is, deep down, I know he cares. I know we have something, and we shouldn’t, because we hardly know each other.

Every time I’m in the room with him, my heart is on standby, waiting for him to look my way, waiting to smell his cologne. To feel the power emanating from his body. To feel my own physical reaction to him. The goosebumps, the butterflies, the flush of my cheeks when he makes eye contact. Every little thing means so much.

And it sucks. I fucking hate this.

I’ve waited seven years to feel something for someone. Anything.

It’s ironic that I’ve fallen for someone who has as much baggage as I do.

Maybe even more.

Poor Duke, is this how I made him feel?

It makes me sick to my stomach. I inhale deeply to try and fight off the nausea.

The unwelcome vision of a woman on her knees in front of him comes to mind plays like a horror movie in my psyche.

Was it dark and moody, or were the lights on?

How many times did he come?

Oh.

I remember the way he puts his hand around my throat when he fucks me. The darkness in his eyes. His primal urge to dominate.

The fire and fear he lights up in me.

It’s wrong. I know it is.

So, why does it feel so right?

I close my eyes, knowing there are no winners here. This will never work. Sebastian Garcia is an entity all of his own.

And I am an island.

The elevator doors open, and I drag myself up the corridor, I close my eyes as I brace myself to knock on the door. Come on, you can do this.

I knock twice.

“Come in,” Sebastian’s strong voice calls.

I open the door and walk in as I act unaffected. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” He points to the chair with his pen. “Please, take a seat.”

I stare at him, wondering if I can lie across his desk in protest until he wipes the last week away from my memory. I sit down. “What is it?”

His dark eyes hold mine, and for an extended time we stare at each other.

“You wanted to see me?” I prompt.

“Yes.” He regains his composure and holds his pen in his hands. “How are we going with the security footage?”

“I’ve done the report, but it appears that he stole a security card from a cleaner’s trolley and simply walked out in the middle of the night.”

“And none of his credit cards have been used since?” He frowns.

“No.”

He rubs his pointer finger over his lips as he thinks. “I’m beginning to get worried.”

“Me, too.”

He leans back on his chair, deep in thought. “Let’s hope they replace him today, hey?”

“Yes.” I nod.

There’s no denying that this situation is dire. Not because he’s the head of the country but because he is a human being with depressive addiction problems who is missing.

Sebastian and I remain silent, unsure what to say next.

“Is that all?” I ask.

“You know…” His eyes hold mine. “You are better off without me.”

I stare at him.

“I can’t be what you need, April.”

But, you are.

Emotion rushes through me like a freight train, and I turn my head to evade his gaze. Damn it, why does he make me so weak?

“If I could fix this, I would. I can’t,” he continues.

Liar.

“Okay.” I square my shoulders. I don’t want to be here listening to his lame excuses for one minute longer. I stand. “Is that it?”

A frown creases his brow.

“I won’t bother you again, Sebastian,” I say.

He looks disappointed, but what does he want me to do? Beg to be his prostitute so that I can clear his conscience? As easy as it would be to carry on having no-strings sex with him, I can’t do it.

I care too much.

I’m already hurt. I can’t imagine the state of my heart if I let this continue. Maybe this is God punishing me for treating Duke the way I did for all those years.

This is how he felt about me. The roles were reversed but the scenario the same.

One person was in love. One person wasn’t.

“Is that it?” Sebastian asks. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”

I stare at him, my heart aching. He wants me to take him back on his terms…and I want to.

He slept with someone else.

“Goodbye, Seb.” I force a smile. “I hope you replace what you’re looking for.”

His face falls, and I turn and walk from his office.

That’s it. It’s over.

My phone vibrates on my kitchen counter. I pick it up and smile. It’s Jeremy.

I know this is last minute and you probably already have plans, but do you want to grab a drink tonight?

I don’t feel like going out, but maybe I could do with it. Sitting around here all alone and being depressed isn’t helping.

I text back.

How about dinner and a few cocktails? I don’t want a late one. I have a million things on tomorrow.

I don’t, but I can’t stand the thought of being locked into a big night.

Sounds great. I’ll book somewhere. How’s 7:00 p.m.? Do you like Italian?

I smile and reply.

Yum. See you then. X

“Hi, honey.” My mom’s happy voice smiles down the phone.

“Hi, mom.” I get a lump in my throat, what is it about mothers? I can be as fierce and cold as they come, but the moment I hear my mom’s voice I revert back to the scared child I am.

I just want her to hug me and tell me it’s going to be alright.

“How are you sweetie?”

“Good.” I lie, I feel emotional and sad, and I don’t want to talk about it. I know I need to get off the phone, I don’t want her to worry about me. “Mom, I’m just with friends, can I call you back?” I lie to her again.

“Okay, darling, are you going out tonight?”

“Yes, just for dinner. Italian.”

“Sounds delicious. Have fun, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I close my eyes because damn it, times like this I just want to be at home with my family. Lying on my parents’ couch and eating all the chocolate.

But reality’s a bitch, I’m here in London, all alone.

“Bye, mom, love you.”

The phone clicks as she hangs up, and I go to the fridge, I guess I’ll just have to eat chocolate on my couch instead.

“What are in these cocktails?” I smile as I eye my glass.

“I don’t know. Good shit.” Jeremy shrugs.

We are at Belsito, an Italian restaurant in Kensington. It’s a trendy little place, not far from my house. Dinner was beautiful, dessert was divine, and don’t even get me started on how good these cocktails are.

It turns out that Jeremy and I have a lot in common. We’ve laughed and chatted, and we have not spoken one word about two certain people that we know. I know he’s not bringing up Bart on purpose, and I’m doing the same. I don’t want mine and Sebastian’s sordid details out there. I’ve only said we had something for a little while and it fizzled out. But I know he knows there was more. It’s awkward for both of us. I work with both men, and so does he, so it really is a case of the less you know the better.

Although, I must admit, I’m kind of hating on Bart for the way he’s treated Jeremy. He deserves so much better.

“What have you got on tomorrow?” Jeremy asks.

I let out an over exaggerated sigh. “Boring crap. Housework. Washing and grocery shopping.”

“Yeah, same.” He sips his drink. “Have you heard from Garcia?”

“Nope, and I don’t expect to.”

A set of car keys come flying onto the table with force, causing Jeremy and I to jump.

“What the hell are these?” a voice growls.

We both look up to see Bart, his face red and furious.

Jeremy squares his shoulders, clearly preparing for battle. “What are you doing here?”

“Mind telling me why your Porsche turned up at my house on the back of a truck today?” Bart fumes.

“I returned it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want it anymore.”

“It was a gift!” Bart snaps.

“Then give it to your wife.”

Ouch.

Bart’s eyes bulge and then fall to me. Oh crap, he’s wondering what I know about the two of them.

“Umm. I’m going to get going.” I stand.

“Good idea,” Bart says, his eyes firmly locked on Jeremy.

“Sit back down.” Jeremy grabs my hand.

“No, I really need to go.” I bend and kiss Jeremy’s cheek. “See you on Monday.”

I take out my purse. Bart holds his hand up. “I’ve got it.” He slinks into my seat, not wasting a single second.

“Are you sure?” I frown.

“Completely.” He just wants me out of here.

“Okay, thanks.” I give Jeremy a wave, and he narrows his eyes at me.

Sorry.

I head outside to the taxi rank. The line is long, and thunder rumbles in the air. Fuck it, I’m not in the mood for this shit. I take out my phone and order an Uber. I cross the street away to wait for its arrival.

I can smell the rain as it comes, sprinkles and then heavier and heavier.

Damn it.

I wrap my cardigan around myself and peer up the street, letting out a defeated sigh. At least Bart is pursuing Jeremy and trying to make amends.

Polar opposite of my situation,

Sebastian doesn’t give a literal fuck about me.

He’s a douche.

But deep down I know he’s not. Only to me, which is worse, I guess.

I shake my head. I hate that I keep thinking about him. I’m going over and over the last week, wondering if I overreacted, trying to analyze his behavior and what it all means.

Fucker.

The car pulls up beside me, and the window rolls down. “April?” the driver asks.

“That’s me.” I smile and get into the backseat just as the rain comes down.

I stare out the window as we pull into the traffic, glancing back at the restaurant to see if I can see Jeremy and Bart. I wonder if they’ll get through this.

I face forward again.

Oh well. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?

With my track record, I should be Godzilla by now. Strong enough to take down the world.

The car pulls into my street. “Just up on the left,” I tell the driver. I catch sight of someone sitting in a parked car when we drive past. I turn my head.

Wait, was that…?

The car draws to a stop, and I climb out. “Thank you.” I close the door and squint my eyes to focus on the car.

What?

Before I can stop myself, I march across the road in the rain and knock on the window. Sebastian looks at me and winds it down.

“What are you doing here?” I snap.

“Stalking you. What does it fucking look like?”