Chapter 2
Ben
“You’re telling me you can’t manage a cafe owner?”
I lean back in my chair, arms crossed, watching as James pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s seconds from losing his shit. James lets out a short, sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. “Plus she’s a florist, Ben. Don’t forget that.”
James exhales sharply, rolling his neck like he’s trying to shake off the irritation.
He’s been with me since the beginning, back when we were just two broke apprentices in steel-toed boots, laying bricks for someone else’s paycheck.
We worked on other people’s projects, building houses we could never afford, until I decided I was done lining their pockets.
I took the risk, left the security of working for someone else and threw everything I had into my first deal.
James didn’t hesitate. He was there, just like always, backing me up even when it made no sense.
And when it paid off, when the business grew and I needed someone I could trust at my side, there was never a question.
It was always James and yet, here he is, looking like a florist has just wrecked his entire week.
“She’s persistent. Every time I think I’ve handled it she comes back with something new, an environmental assessment, now a bloody business coalition.”
He practically growls the last word.
I smirk. Oh, this is entertaining.
“I’ve dealt with push back before, but this one? She’s got teeth.”
I raise a brow. “So, you’re telling me a florist is outmanoeuvring you?”
James scoffs. “Oh, fuck off. It’s not just her. She’s got backup. The business owners, hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts chaining herself to the building next.”
I chuckle. Now that I’d pay to see.
“She’s demanding a meeting,” he grinds out. “With you.”
“With me.”
“What, London too comfortable for you now? You forget how to handle business in the trenches?”
I shoot him a dry look. “That’s what happens when you’re the boss.”
“She wants to deal with the head honcho.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting with something close to amusement. “Don’t you come from Nottingham? You could throw in a family visit with it at the same time.”
I keep my expression blank, but my grip tightens on the desk. It’s been years. And I like it that way. I push back from my desk, standing to my full height. “Fine. I’ll handle it.”
James smirks, cocky as ever, like he’s just passed off a particularly irritating problem. “You do that and when you realize what a stubborn pain in the ass she is, I’ll be here. Waiting. Laughing.”
As I pass, I clap a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just enough to be a dick about it. “James?”
“What?” He glares, already knowing I’m about to wind him up.
I smirk. “Next time, try not to get outplayed by a florist.”
His scoff follows me down the hall. “Fuck all the way off, Ashcroft.”
***
Back in my office, alone, the silence settles in. I sink into my chair, James’s words still turning over in my mind. This woman. Persistent. Difficult and wants to deal with the person at the top.
I’m curious now, despite myself. My lips curve into a slow, humourless smile. That’s what she wants, is it?
The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times.
Just as I’m about to hang up, the voicemail kicks in.
“This is Lila Ng. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Her voice is smooth, calm, with just the faintest husky edge. Confident. Collected. A little too controlled. It’s the kind of voice that lingers in the back of your mind, refusing to be ignored.
Something about it snags my attention, but I can’t quite place why.
Ng. The name doesn’t ring any bells, but her voice… It feels familiar, like a song I’ve heard before but can’t remember the lyrics to.
I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the end-call button. I could hang up, let her wonder. That would be the smart move. Keep her waiting.
But then I change my mind.
“Ms Ng,” I say, my voice low and deliberate. “This is Ben Ashcroft.”
I pause for effect, measuring my words carefully.
“You’ve been persistent about speaking with someone at the top,” I continue, my tone smooth but firm. “I thought it was time we connected directly. Call me back at your earliest convenience.”
I end the call and sit back in my chair, drumming my fingers on the desk. Something tells me this isn’t going to be a typical meeting.
I lean back, staring at the ceiling. I’ll wait for her callback.
An hour passes. Then three.
I glance at my phone, the number I called earlier still in my recent calls. Nothing.
A slow burn of irritation creeps up my spine. Most people scramble to return my calls immediately, bending over backward to accommodate my schedule. But not Ms Ng.
The fact that she’s not playing by the usual rules only makes me more curious and more annoyed.
I’ve moved on to reviewing another report when the phone rings.
“Mr Ashcroft, there’s a Lila Ng on the line.”
I set my pen down slowly, masking my irritation behind a calm exterior. Hours later. She’s calling hours later.
“Put her through,” I say, my voice calm, measured.
Claire hangs up, leaving me alone with the blinking line. I let it ring once. Twice. Three times.
Make her wait.
Finally, I press the button.
“Ms Ng,” I say smoothly, my tone sharper than it was earlier. “I was wondering if you were ever going to call back.”
There’s a slight pause, barely a beat, before her voice comes through, steady and unaffected.
“You did say ‘at my earliest convenience,’ Mr Ashcroft,” she replies. “This is it.”
I smirk, despite myself. Bold. I like that.
“So,” I say, bringing us back to business. “What can I do for you?”
She jumps straight in, laying out her argument with precision and efficiency. No unnecessary pleasantries. No hesitation.
Most people plead, try to appeal to the company’s goodwill. She doesn’t. She’s not asking for a meeting. She’s demanding one.
Her voice is sharp, controlled, but there’s a heat beneath it. Passion. Frustration. Fight.
I listen, more focused on the way she speaks than the words themselves.
She pushes without pushing too hard. She knows exactly when to hold back.
Impressive. Most people don’t know how to handle me.
I tell her the meeting will be next month. Let the frustration build. See how she handles resistance.
As expected, she pushes back immediately.
“Next month?” Her voice sharpens. “We were aiming for something sooner.”
I smirk. Predictable.
I smile, sensing the tension behind her words. She’s trying to take control. I respect that, but she’s not in charge here. I let the pause stretch just long enough to make her wonder if she’s overstepped. Make her feel the weight of silence.
Then I exhale, as if I’m making an exception.
“Unfortunately, my schedule is full.” I keep my tone smooth, impassive. “But… well. I do have an opening next Wednesday.”
Another pause. I imagine her grinding her teeth, hating that I’ve dictated the terms.
“Fine,” she says lightly, but there’s an edge beneath it. She doesn’t like being backed into a corner.
Good.
“We’ll see you Wednesday at one. Bloom and Brew.”
The cafe. Her turf.
I hum in acknowledgment. “I’m looking forward to hearing your spirited opinions.”
“I’m sure you are.”
The line clicks off.
I set the phone down, my fingers tapping idly against the receiver. That was… unexpected. She didn’t flinch, didn’t scramble to appease me like most people do. She pushed back. Matched me.
Curious.
I lean back, considering for a moment before pulling my laptop closer. Let’s see what I’m dealing with. I type Bloom and Brew into the search bar. The first image that pops up is of the shop front covered in flowers, charming but otherwise unremarkable.
Then I see her picture.
Lila.
My breath catches, my pulse steady but heavy. I click on the image, leaning closer.
Sharp cheekbones, full lips, same fire in her eyes. My stomach drops. It’s her. Lila. The last person I ever expected to see again. The girl I walked away from. She’s standing outside the cafe, one hand resting on her mum’s shoulder, a small smile softening her face.
Confident. Effortless. Unmistakably her.
She’s laughing. Carefree, like the years between us never existed. My chest tightens.
I sit back in my chair, staring at the screen. For a moment, everything else disappears. The reports on my desk, the endless calls and meeting. None of it matters.
Memories hit me like a sucker punch. Her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she argued with me, the way she tilted her head just before she said something she knew would piss me off.
The way I walked away without a word.
I close my laptop slowly, my heart thudding in my chest.
What the hell are you doing here, Lila?
Of all the people who could’ve stood in my way, it had to be her.
I stand and walk to the window, the London skyline stretching out beneath me. Glass towers glinting in the afternoon light, the pulse of power in every direction. My city. My empire.
It’s been years since I left Nottingham. I’ve built a life here in London, clean, controlled, and miles away from the mess I left behind. Far away from her. There’s nothing there for me anymore. At least, that’s what I thought.
But fate clearly has other plans.
Fifteen years of building my empire, climbing higher with every move. Power, wealth, control, everything carefully crafted. Unshakable. Untouchable.
Does she know who I am? Does she remember?
The way she spoke to me, sharp, confident, like she had nothing to lose. It tells me she has no idea who she was talking to.
Not yet.
I grimace, turning away from the window, shoving down the unease creeping through my chest. The thought of stepping back into Nottingham leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I never planned to set foot there again.
But this is business.
I roll my shoulders, exhaling slowly, grounding myself in logic. Lila Lau is gone. The name that once sat on my tongue so easily, the girl I once—
I cut off the thought before it goes too far.
Ng. A different name. A married name.
Of course she’s married. Women like her don’t stay single forever.
I open my laptop again, my jaw tightening as my gaze lingers on the photo. Her smile is softer than I remember, her posture still carrying that effortless confidence. She’s settled. Happy. Probably has a husband, maybe even kids.
Good. That’s good. It means whatever happened between us, whatever she thought we were. It’s long buried.
I force my expression neutral. This changes nothing.
Clean cut. Go in, get what I need, and get out. Just like I’ve always done.
No attachments. No lingering. No second-guessing.
It’s worked for years.
It’ll work now.