7 #2
A small laugh escaped her. “They are diamonds,” She sighed at my wide eyes. “Yeah, the corporation he works for has a subsidiary? Or is the parent company of…Singhania Diamonds.”
My expressions didn’t falter, if anything my eyes grew wider. “Oh…Oh wow.”
Singhania Diamonds were known for the status they held alone.
Owners of the rarest stones in the world, their name showed up at royal weddings, museum exhibitions, film festivals, and on the necks of celebrities who pretended being draped in enough diamonds to redirect sunlight was somehow effortless.
Even people who knew absolutely nothing about diamonds—me—still knew their name.
“Yeah,” She rubbed her temple like she had a migraine climbing up behind her eyes. “And this year, they’re becoming one of the team sponsors for Montclair. They want a big launch event for the partnership. Something cool and exclusive. In Monaco.”
“Hm.” I turned another page, my curiosity sharpening. “And they want your approval because...?”
“Ishaan wants my agency involved, and he wants me to be the lead on this.”
That made more sense. Samyra’s PR agency had somehow become the place brands crawled toward whenever they wanted an event to feel glossy and impossible to get invited to.
Still, something about her felt off.
Not nervous exactly. Hesitant.
Like she’d already spotted a problem somewhere inside the proposal and hadn’t decided whether she wanted to say it out loud yet.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What?”
She bit on her lower lip, like she was contemplating deflecting. “I was going to tell you this, last weekend…but everything just blew up and then just things kept on going downhill for you.”
“Samyra Thorne.” I said pointedly, planting my hands on my waist. “When has the mess in my life ever stopped you from telling me what’s going on with you?”
She sighed, placing her bagel on the plate. “You can’t blame me for holding back. You may have finally convinced yourself to enjoy this promotion over the last three days, but before that? You hadn’t stopped sulking since you came home from your father’s place.”
She paused deliberately, like she was building toward a closing argument, before pointing an accusing finger at me. “And I saw you sneak in that tub of Peanut Butter Half Baked ice cream at two-am.”
I froze.
Which, honestly, probably confirmed her point more than denying it ever could have. I almost never ate ice cream unless things were genuinely bad. It had become such a reliable warning sign over the years that Samyra treated the disappearance of a tub in our freezer like a national emergency alert.
Recovering quickly, I forced myself to shrug. “One ice cream slip and a little bed rotting does not qualify as justification for hiding things from me.” I softened my gaze. “We could’ve shared the ice cream, you know?”
Samyra made a strangled sound under her breath before slouching dramatically into her place, both hands covering her eyes like the conversation alone had exhausted her.
It was a very specific expression. The Samyra version of fine, the universe has defeated me that she rarely displayed to the me, let alone the world.
I immediately straightened. “Oh no. What did you do?”
“Nothing,” she muttered from behind her hand.
“That’s not very reassuring.”
She dropped her hand just enough to glare at me. “Do you remember that guy from Manchester?”
I didn’t need to rake my memory to understand who she was talking about. “Yeah, the one you ditched me for?”
“Yes.” She already sounded resigned.
“The ridiculously attractive one” I continued, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. “The same man you were fully prepared to ignore until he handed you his room key?”
Samyra pointed at me. “You told me to go.”
I practically pushed her into the lift.
“Because once I got a proper look at him, I appreciated the vision too much to let the opportunity go by.”
She groaned and dropped her head onto the table, banging it softly against the surface.
“I was annoyed for, like, ten minutes,” I admitted generously. “Then I saw his face and realised I actually would’ve judged you harder if you hadn’t gone back to his room.”
“That is not helping.” She groaned.
“And if I remember correctly,” I continued sweetly, “you came back the next morning looking like you’d descended from a different planet.”
Samyra groaned, again. “Yes. I get it, you remember him vividly.”
My grin widened. “What about him?”
Her expression shifted into something between irritation and disbelief. “Apparently, he’s an F1 driver.”
Silence blanketed our flat as I blinked, processing her words.
“Excuse me?”
“Axel Beauman. That’s his name,” She nodded, almost like she wasn’t pleased.
“I didn’t know at the time,” she defended.
“And before you say anything, I genuinely didn’t.
I only found out last weekend when Ishaan sent me the first draft of the proposal to look over, and it included their driver line up at the end. ”
I stared at her for a long moment. “You hooked up with a Formula One driver and somehow forgot to mention that detail?”
“I didn’t know he was a Formula One driver!” she repeated, exasperated. “To me he was just...some guy I bumped into in a club in Manchester and had a one-night stand with.”
“That sentence alone should get studied by scientists.” I replied, sounding half-dazed already, before I paused. “Is he any good?”
She narrowed her eyes like I was betraying some kind of silent promise.
“Well. Is he?” I pressed.
When she only shook her head and reached for her yoghurt instead, I leaned across the counter and grabbed her phone before she could stop me.
“What are you doing?” she demanded immediately, her pitch raising with concern as I stepped back until I was out of her reach.
“Research,” I replied calmly, already unlocking her phone and typing his name into the search bar. The violent scrape of her bar stool against the floor echoed through the kitchen as she lunged upright.
But the screen had already finished loading making me burst into laughter. Samyra’s expression turned murderous just as she snatched the phone back out of my hands.
“How many times have you looked him up,” I gasped between laughs, “for his profile to come up as ‘You visit often’?”
“That means nothing,” she said far too quickly, clutching her phone to her chest.
“It means you looked him up enough times for the search engine to place a banner on his profile—”
“It means I was verifying information.”
“You verified him multiple times?” I raised my brows.
Her glare sharpened. “People usually double-check things when they accidentally discover the man they hooked up with is internationally famous.”
“How famous are we talking?” I arched a brow. “Because, that answer will poke holes in your story that you didn’t know him.”
She held her palm up. “I would like to remind you that the mess you are in began with a lie—and your lack of knowledge. So this is like pot lecturing kettle.”
I gaped, pointing a finger at her. “Okay, you want to play that game? Name all the rookies on this year’s squad ‘Miss-I-grew-up-watching-only-cricket’ because I know the next two things you’re gonna say before you even say them.
” When she stayed silent, I lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
The smug satisfaction barely lasted three seconds before my stomach twisted in protest. Glancing at the clock hanging over the counter once, I started putting together my own yogurt bowl while Samyra drifted somewhere far beyond the kitchen.
I still had almost an hour before I needed to be at Lord’s, plenty of time, but I needed food in me before my stomach started growling like I’d been on a hunger strike that had lasted a week.
Settling in next to her once done, I finally nudged her with my shoulder. “Was that all? Or are you still not telling me something?”
A loud exhale confirmed what I already suspected. “It’s just…He’s a…” She groaned hiding her face before slurring out her next words in a single breath. “Ifeelstupid.”