Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (the beginning after the end novel read .TXT) 📗

It is an opportunity for me. To go and tell Nathan that he needs to disappear from our life for good. I can’t start fresh if Nathan keeps invading my space, and that of my family, with random guilt-flowers and pity-handout job offers.

I turn to Abuelita and Laia, with a determination settling in my heart. “I’m going to meet Nathan.”

“Now?” Laia squeaks. Her voice is less condemning than this morning, but I dismiss it. I don’t want to obsess about whether my cousin is crossing over to my grandmother’s side. I need to keep my head focused on my mission—eradicating Nathan’s presence from my life.

“Yes. I’m going to his office. And…” I lift the card and take the flowers from Laia. “Bring these back to him.”

“You need to change then,” Abuelita says in an excited voice.

I glance at my V-neck blouse and blue jeans that Laia picked for me this morning. “Why would I do that?”

“You know, the guards might not let you pass in a pair of jeans. It’s AMEA, hijita!” But the blush on her face tells me she just wants me to pretty up some more so that her idealistic rekindling fantasy between me and Nathan might happen more easily.

No, no. If I had time, I’d rather change back to sweatpants. But I can’t stop for that now. If I don’t keep rolling with my current state of spirit, I’ll begin to question whether seeing the man who still fills my dreams but shattered my heart is a sane choice or not.

“Huh, I’d like to see them try to stop me,” I growl, grabbing my bag.

I put the card inside, shoulder it, and tighten my grip on the daffodils. I tromp to the door.

outside, I pause for a second to inhale and considering if I’m truly ready to face Nathan. Only a week has passed since the ball but each memory is still painfully clear and raw.

I shake my head and sprint to our sedan.

No, I must do this. I can do this.

Chapter 38

(Eva)

My car engine dies with a miserable thump as I turn off the ignition. I jump out with more moxie than I actually feel, and grab the daffodils from the passenger seat, along with my bag.

The ride to AMEA was long enough for doubts to infiltrate the back of my mind, and I can feel those insidious little voices getting to work. By the time I’m thirty feet from the building’s glimmering surface and well-designed curtain walls, which create the illusion of the massive structure floating, my stomach is burning as if I just fed on Tia Maria’s seasoned chili peppers. A whole jar at least.

But I keep my chin high and force some extra sass into my steps. I don’t want to give the impression of a lost Latina girl who doesn’t know how she ended up in the office district.

The sliding doors spring open and my gaze falls on the metal detector and the two impeccably-dressed security guards. Perhaps I shouldn’t have dismissed Abuelita’s advice to dress up. No, I’ll just say I’m a delivery girl from a florist shop. That might be enough to make them disregard my casual clothes.

The two bulky men call out to me in almost perfect unison. “Good morning, Miss Flores.”

I miss my step and almost tumble to the floor from the surprise.

What? How do they even know my name?

Then I recall the eerily similar experience at Nathan’s house. So it’s proven. The Montgregors employ help only after they make them memorize a stash of pictures and names of possible visitors. Including all loosely tied acquaintances of the family probably.

As the word “acquaintance” pops into my mind, a cynical voice in my ear screeches.

Huh, isn’t that swell? First strangers, then friends, then hope-to-be soulmates and now acquaintances? As long as you keep looking for terms that describe your relationship with Nathan, you’re still a slave to him…and I will come each night and claim your heart…

I swallow and plaster on a smile. I can’t let a mythical creature’s gloating cause me to lose my manners. “Good morning. I’m here to see—”

The older one give me a polite smirk. “Mr. Nathan Montgregor. Yes, we’re aware of that.” He steps over to me and holds out a paper where all my details, even my address, have been filled in. I only need to sign and I’m apparently good to enter.

I take the pen and write down my name, while an odd sensation washes over me. These two guards are either the most prepared security officers I’ve ever seen or someone must have anticipated my arrival. Could it be Nathan?

Before I can follow this line of thought, the younger guard, who has an asymmetrical blondish haircut that makes him look like a grown-up version of Peter Pan, points at the elevators. “Would you like me to accompany you or do you prefer to take the lift alone?”

“Alone, please,” I mumble. I definitely don’t want any company while I’m rehearsing my first verbal attack on their CEO.

Also I may or may not intend to comb my hair if the elevator has a mirror. Not because I want to look my best for Nathan. Only to honor Laia’s hard work with my knots this morning. She would be furious if I return home with messy tresses.

“Very well.” Peter Pan beams at me. “It’s floor twenty, then.”

“Nah, it’s twenty-three. Mr. Montgregor is on that floor now,” the older one corrects his colleague promptly.

Right. There need to be at least three floors between an executive director and a CEO for sure. Nathan must’ve gotten the upgrade after his promotion went through.

I keep myself from saying my cynical comments out loud and march to the elevator. I think I hear the older guard whisper, “Huh, I just saved your butt, Bob…” but I don’t care enough to turn and see if I imagined it.

My head is already occupied with how I’ll address Nathan when I step into his office. Would “Mr. CEO”