Page 27 of If We Were Young

“Ronnie, Matthew has come onto the project to steer this rebrand and guide our re-launch.”

At last I made sense of something. I snapped back into the present, the gleaming cutlery and crisp tablecloth; sapphire eyes watching me under dark lashes.

I glanced between the two of them and tried not to look like I stared deep into the enemy camp. I mean there was no need to think they were in cahoots with each other; that would be paranoid not to mention unprofessional.

“Okay.” Could someone stop my voice from sounding like I was drowning. Please. “Matthew.” I forced myself to look at him. Those cheekbones, the dark brows, the expressive lips that never used to purse that way. His mouth wore a foreign line, like it was unknown territory on an undiscovered map. “Do you know much about frozen foods?”

“Matthew’s father-in-law owns Supersaver Foods, Ronnie,” Amanda said like I should know. Which I should. I really should. But…

“Craig McStandish is your father-in-law?” I directed my question straight to him. “I didn’t know Julie was a McStandish.” Her name burnt my tongue on the way out. It squeaked and my small cough afterwards didn’t hide the awkward note it held.

If I knew I didn’t remember.

It was fifteen years ago. Would I have remembered anyway?

Yes. Yes, I would have.

McStandish was one of the most notorious businessmen in the United Kingdom. He made Dragon’s Den look like a playgroup for toddlers.

I glanced at Matthew’s ring hand, blatantly staring, like aiming at a moving target and priming to shoot. My brow furrowed, and I bit on my bottom lip as I stared at his wedding ring that wasn’t where it should be. The ring Angela told me about just the other day was nothing more than a small imprint and a strip of white skin.

Did he know someone had stolen it? Maybe he’d fallen asleep on The Tube and a pickpocket had taken the opportunity. I was about to say something when he said, “I took Supersaver Foods as part of my divorce settlement.”

Divorce?

My eyes stung from staring so hard.

Divorce?

Had I heard that right?

His eyes danced like fireflies, long dark lashes fluttering, and I caught a snapshot from the past I didn’t think I’d see again.

Divorced?

It was the final straw.

“Excuse me, I just…” Nope. I pushed my chair back and headed straight across the restaurant with its white clothed tables and shining cutlery to the small corridor with the sign for the ladies. Bollocks though, because the doors to the relevant toilets weren’t there, only a long draughty corridor which led to a set of stairs at the end.

I broke into a sprint, wincing at the navy shoes I’d burn when I got home.

Wiping my mouth, I stared back at myself in the mirror. When would this end? I couldn’t remember a time when my stomach didn’t tangle into knots, when my heart didn’t escape from my throat at the first sign of a situation I didn’t find comfortable.

There were the years at uni when I could breathe, but they’d been short-lived. Once I’d re-entered the big wide world my old habits had found me again, fast.

Angela, in her best friend capacity, always seemed to be right; how had I run this company for so long by myself?

I met my reflection and smoothed my blonde hair down, pushing my fingertips into the skin under my eyes to pat away the sheen of sweat.

This was business. My business, and I couldn’t fail now.

Rinsing my mouth with water, I steeled my nerves with a stiff mental bitch slap.

I didn’t know why he was there. Or why he was divorced. Divorced. I needed to push Matthew Carling back into the past where he’d belonged for the last fifteen years. The man I once knew no longer existed. He would have said hi and given me a kiss on the cheek outside the restaurant, he would have squeezed me tight and lifted me off my feet. He would have jumped out of the lift at the hotel for the reunion and he would have grasped my hand and helped me to breathe through the panic. I had to hold on to all the things he now wasn’t, for the sake of the staff, for this business I’d built from nothing for the last five years.

I opened the door to the bathroom, but the past bounced back at me like a slap in the face.

“Oh, you’re a boy.” The wine heated my blood and I clutched onto the doorframe of room eighteen. I waited for the panic to arrive, as it always did, clawing and suffocating, although the wine helped, maybe a bit too much.