Twenty
The Calm Before Gloria
AUSTIN
THE BOARDROOM EMPTIES OUT, and chairs scrape against the floor as the team files out one by one.
Callum, my head of finance and my best friend, hangs back.
His laptop is tucked under one arm, as he watches me like a hawk.
I pretend not to notice, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, but I know what’s coming. The man’s not subtle.
“Alright,” he says, letting the door click shut behind the last person. “Spit it out.”
I glance up, feigning confusion. “Spit what out?”
Callum narrows his eyes, dropping his laptop on the conference table. “Don’t play dumb with me, Conall. What’s going on? You’ve been distracted for weeks, and now you’re sitting on a golden opportunity like it’s nothing. Who are you, and what have you done with the real Austin?”
I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bollocks,” he snaps, crossing his arms. “You’ve been off your game. And let’s talk about that York project—what kind of lunatic doesn’t jump at a career-changing opportunity like that? You’ve been dreaming about something like this since we were fresh out of uni.”
I drag a hand down my face. He’s not wrong. The York project is everything I’ve ever worked for—a landmark, a game-changer. It’s the kind of project that sets a man apart, and cements his name in the industry. And yet . . .
“It’s not that simple,” I mutter.
Callum stares at me like I’ve just sprouted a second head. “Not that simple? It’s York, Austin. You’d be insane not to—” He stops mid-sentence, his mouth twitching as the realisation hits. “Oh my God. This is about her, isn’t it?”
I shoot him a warning look. “Don’t start.”
“Bloody hell, it is!” He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not taking the project because of Mia. Your fake fiancée—except she’s not so fake anymore, is she?”
I told my best mate about our so-called ‘arrangement’, and now I’m left wondering why I didn’t just keep my bloody mouth shut.
“Leave her out of this.”
“Like hell I will.” Callum shakes his head, grinning like he’s just cracked the code to life. “You? Turning down York? The project that could put us on the world map? You’re whipped, mate. Absolutely fucking whipped. Does she even know what you’re giving up for her?”
“She didn’t ask me to give up anything,” I snap.
Callum’s grin softens, but the disbelief is still there. “Right. Because you’re the kind of guy who just happens to change his entire career trajectory for no reason. Give me a break, Austin.”
I exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like?” He raises an eyebrow, waiting.
My mind flashes to Mia—her sharp wit, her stubbornness, the way she’s been slowly but surely worming her way into every corner of my life.
The truth is, I’d give up a hundred York projects just to keep her looking at me the way she does.
“It’s complicated,” I finally say, my voice quieter.
Callum rolls his eyes. “Complicated, my arse. You’re in love with her.”
I glance up, meeting his gaze head-on. “And if I am?”
He’s quiet for a moment, studying me. Then he sighs, shaking his head. “Christ, you’re hopeless.” He continues to stare at me and I’m determined not to wither under his intense gaze. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you wake up one day wondering what could’ve been.”
“I won’t,” I say firmly.
Fucking prick.
“Alright,” he says, grabbing his laptop. He starts to leave but stops halfway to the door, turning back to me. “You do realise this project could make you a bloody legend, right? People will be fighting to work with you. And you’re just going to let it go?”
I shrug, though my chest tightens. “York will still be there. There’ll be other projects.”
Callum gives me a long, searching look. “You’re betting a lot on her, mate. Hope she’s worth it.”
“She is,” I say without hesitation.
He studies me for another beat, then shakes his head with a wry grin. “You’ve changed, Conall. For the better, I think. But man, I didn’t see this coming.”
“Neither did I,” I admit.
When Callum finally leaves, the silence feels deafening. I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
Am I crazy?
Probably.
But as much as the thought of turning down York stings, the idea of leaving Mia stings a hell of a lot more.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I glance at the screen. It’s a text from Mia.
Mia: What are you doing? I’m bored and waiting for my next client.
A grin tugs at my lips as I type back.
Me: Saving the world. You?
Mia: Contemplating a nap. But I’ll settle for you bringing me home chocolate ;)
I chuckle, the weight on my chest lifting slightly. Yeah, Callum’s right—I’m betting a lot on her.
But for Mia? I’d fucking bet it all.
THE RESTAURANT WE’RE IN is one of those dimly lit, overly polished places that screams ‘pretentious date night’.
There are marble tables that gleam under soft lighting, gold accents that catch every flicker of the candles, and staff who glide around like well-dressed ghosts, who probably judge your wine choice when you’re not looking.
It’s fancy, sure, but it’s the kind of fancy that makes you feel like you should sit up straighter and keep your elbows off the table.
It’s nice—no arguments. But right now? I’d rather be anywhere else.
And it’s not because of Mia. It’s never because of Mia. She could make a tin shed feel like a palace.
No, the problem isn’t her. It’s the dark cloud hanging over tomorrow—the engagement soiree.
Our engagement party.
It’s looming over me like an impending shit storm, one I’m not entirely sure we’re ready to weather. Something about it feels like a disaster waiting to happen, and this dinner we are having right now? Yeah, it’s giving off major calm before the chaos vibes.
Mia is sitting across from me, studying the menu like it holds the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. Her hair’s up, a few stray curls framing her face, and she’s wearing a dark green dress that does sinful things to my blood pressure.
“Anything jumping out at you?” I ask, taking a sip of my scotch.
“Mm,” she hums, not looking up. “The risotto, maybe. Or the lamb. What about you?”
“Probably the steak,” I say, setting my glass down. “Rare. Bloody enough to make your mother faint if she saw it.”
She smirks, finally glancing up at me. “You do realise tomorrow’s event is a celebration, not a gladiator match, right? You don’t have to prepare by channeling your inner carnivore.”
“Pretty sure I’ll need my strength to survive your brother,” I counter. “Danny’s been looking for an excuse to grill me since we met, and an engagement party is prime hunting ground.”
Mia laughs, and it’s the kind of sound that makes me forget about the impending chaos, if only for a second. “He’s not that bad. He just likes to test people.”
“Test people? He interrogated me like I was applying for MI6 the first time we met. What was that one question? Oh, yeah—‘If you could only save one, would it be Mia or a bus full of orphans?’”
She groans, covering her face with her hands. “He did not.”
“He did,” I insist, leaning back in my chair with a grin. “And when I hesitated—because who wouldn’t? It’s a bus full of orphans!—he called me a sociopath. I felt like I was in a fucking court room!”
Mia’s shaking her head, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “I can’t believe you fell for that. He’s been using that question since I brought home my high school boyfriend. He likes to freak people out.”
“Mission accomplished,” I mutter, picking up the menu. “Anyway,” I say, putting my glass down. “Which boyfriend was that?”
“Why? Are you jealous?”
“No, of course not. Just curious.” I mutter.
A waiter appears, all polished manners, and we place our orders. Mia opts for the risotto, I go with the steak, and then we’re left in that pocket of silence where the weight of tomorrow sneaks back in.
“So,” Mia says, breaking the quiet, “guess what happened at work today?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You cut someone’s ear off with your scissors and had to go on the run?”
“Close,” she deadpans. “This guy came in asking for a mullet. A mullet, Austin. In 2025.”
I blink at her, fighting the urge to laugh. “Was he serious?”
“Deadly,” she says, leaning forward like she’s about to share state secrets. “He even had a picture. It was like a cross between Billy Ray Cyrus and Joe Exotic. I swear I could hear Achy Breaky Heart playing in the background.”
I snort, covering my mouth with my fist. “Please tell me you refused.”
“Oh, I did it,” she says, sitting back with a shrug. “And it was glorious. But I made him promise not to tell anyone where he got it done.”
“That’s the most unhinged thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, shaking my head.
“Welcome to my world,” she says, her lips twitching.
I’m mid-sip of my whiskey when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out, frowning at the screen.
It's my aunt.
Of course it is.
“Who’s that?” Mia asks, glancing up from the menu.
I sigh, already regretting what’s about to happen. “My aunt.”
Mia arches an eyebrow. “The one who thinks avocado toast is a government conspiracy?”
I gave Mia the full rundown on Aunt Gloria when her mum was sorting out the guest list for the engagement party. Let’s just say Gloria’s . . . an acquired taste—like black licorice or Turkish Delight.
“The very one,” I mutter, answering the call with a resigned, “Aunt Gloria.”
“Where are you?” she demands without so much as a hello.
“Out for dinner,” I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“Well, you’d better not be eating seafood. Did you know the mercury levels in fish are practically lethal these days? I read a study—”
“I’m not eating fish,” I cut in, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What do you want?”
“I was just confirming the dress code for tomorrow,” she says, completely ignoring my tone. “Because I’m not wearing one of those ridiculous cocktail dresses. And I refuse to sit next to your Aunt Judy. She chews like a cow and smells like mothballs.”