Chapter 9
NINE
CAMERON
London, United Kingdom
I shove open the bathroom door, warm steam billows out behind me carrying the scent of bergamot and cedar.
It settles into the room like a soft exhale.
I step out in just my underwear, towel-drying my hair, my skin still flushed from the heat of the shower.
Riley’s perched on the edge of the vanity, adjusting her little black dress in the mirror, a signature one that never fails her.
Her eyeliner looks sharp enough to earn its own weapons permit, and she finished off a swipe of highlighter with the steadiness of a surgeon.
Music hums from her phone and she sings along under her breath.
“What am I going to wear?” I murmur, rummaging through semi-wrinkled clothes in my suitcase. “I didn’t pack for clubbing. I packed for long-haul flights and exploring.”
“You’ll be fine,” Riley assures, still focused on her reflection. “Your arms look good. Just cuff the sleeves a bit and smolder.”
I pull on a deep charcoal button-down, tugging at the hem self-consciously, then roll the short sleeves up a bit. “You think this works? With my jeans?”
“It’s hot,” she hypes immediately, snapping her highlighter shut. “Trust me, Gregg will notice.”
“You think?” I freeze. “I mean not that that’s important or part of the point.”
She finally turns to face me, lifting a perfectly arched brow. “You spent all afternoon with him and haven’t shut up about it since. You smiled involuntarily, Cam. That’s basically a sign of the apocalypse.”
I laugh nervously under my breath and buttoned my shirt. “It was just tea, maybe a little soul bearing.”
“A little?” she pokes. “You told him about your paintings. And Hilton Head. That’s like… third date material for you.”
“I only mentioned Hilton Head,” I protest, running a hand through my still-damp hair as I glanced at my reflection. Her words hung there, heavier than she intended. “I shouldn’t have said anything, though. I kinda deflected after that.”
“But you mentioned it. That alone is huge. It’s giving healing.”
“It’s weird. He’s… I don’t know, something’s different,” I admit quietly, unbuttoning one button, re-doing it then tugging at the collar, unsure what feels right.
Not just about the outfit. “He’s kind and observant.
He listens in this way that feels easy. And he wasn’t like, pushy.
But I think… I think he sees the wall I’ve built. ”
Riley stands, walks over, and gently fixes my collar, like she’s done a hundred times before.
“Cam,” she says softly, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “It’s okay to let someone see through it. I know you’re scared. After Drew? Of course you are. But maybe this is the first crack you’re supposed to let happen.”
I let out a long, shaky breath. “I don’t want to forget Drew.”
“You won’t,” she assures me immediately, her voice soft but fierce. “And I’m sure he isn’t asking you to. And probably never will. I think he maybe just wants a chance to know the real you, the one you’ve been hiding since… well since everything happened.”
A small ache tightens in my throat. “I think… I think I want that too. A chance.”
She smiles and squeezes my arm, then unbuttons one more button like it’s her duty. “Then get your shoes on. We’ve got a club to shut down and a hot architect waiting for you. Also, I’m starving.”
“He’s a property developer, not an architect,” I correct, stepping into my shoes.
“Even hotter,” she croons, grabbing her clutch.
The hotel’s restaurant is elegantly understated, perched on the open mezzanine above the lobby, filled with soft overhead lighting and crisp linen napkins.
The low hum of clinking glasses and murmured conversations surrounds us like a warm blanket.
Our table is tucked near a window overlooking the street below, and the fading summer light casts a soft glow across our meal.
I’m sitting across from Riley, idly pushing through a half-eaten salad while Marc launches into yet another story from a recent layover in Madrid, his wine glass waving dramatically with every beat.
“And then,” Marc declares, grinning like he’s about to deliver the punchline of the century. “The customs guy tells me my bag smells like cheese. Can you believe that? I told him, ‘That’s not cheese, that’s my cologne.’”
Riley let out a perfectly fake laugh and took a sip of her sparkling water. “Mmm, Eau de Gruyère. Very you.”
Marc smirks. “Ha ha. You’re hilarious.”
I look down at my definitely-not-strong-enough gin and tonic, and then catch Riley’s eye. She lifts her brows in a subtle and exhausted ‘please save me way,’ only she could pull off.
“I’m gonna run to the bar and grab a cocktail napkin,” Riley announces suddenly, pushing away from the table. “The condensation from my glass is committing murder on my dress.”
I stand too, taking my drink with me. “I’ll come too. Maybe they can remake this a little stronger.”
“Okay,” Marc says, already sipping his wine again. “I’ll start looking up the best way to get to—where are we meeting Will?”
“His name is Gregg,” I correct him. “And we’re meeting in Canary Wharf.”
“My fault.” He winks. “You know I’m bad with names.”
Riley and I walk a few steps away into a quiet alcove near the bar. She leans in, arms crossed, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“Girl. He’s turned his flirting meter up to, like, eleven.”
“I know,” I hiss, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s like he thinks we’re picking up where we left off years ago.”
“Well,” she pokes me lightly in the chest, “someone didn’t exactly define the end of that fling very clearly back then.”
“I thought I did. It was casual. No strings.”
Riley gave me the look.
“Okay, maybe I could’ve been clearer,” I admit, glancing back at our table, where Marc was scrolling through his phone obliviously. “But that was a lifetime ago. Then I met Drew, and I’ve been through—”
I take a long, steadying breath.
“I don’t have the emotional capacity for that dynamic. Not tonight. Not ever.”
“Because of Gregg?” Riley asks.
“Because of Gregg.” I nod quietly. “But also because I just… I don't want anything with Marc. Not even a little. Honestly, sometimes even friendship feels like a stretch.”
Riley follows my gaze to our table. “Okay. And what do you need from me?”
“I just think that I like him,” I confess. “I was thinking about what you said and I think I want to try and be openminded.”
She squeals and claps her hands together excitedly.
“And I want to go into tonight with your support. I don’t want the night getting hijacked.”
“Say no more.” She loops her arm through mine dramatically. “Operation ‘Cock Block’ is now in full effect. I am the social bouncer of your feelings, Marc will not get within flirting range.”
“Thanks, Riley.” I lean in and peck her lightly on the cheek.
“Though,” she adds, sighing dramatically, “I cannot guarantee the rest of the trip. I may be too emotionally exhausted.”
I laugh. “Understood.”
“You just focus on not looking a fool or sweating through that cute shirt.”
When we return to the table, Marc glances up with a knowing smile. “You two planning a heist over there?”
Riley slides into her chair. “Maybe. Maybe not. But if we were, I promise you’d be the last to know.”
Marc turns to me. “Did you get your drink fixed the way you like it?”
“Oh, no,” I say, settling back into my seat. “But it’s fine. There’ll be other opportunities tonight to get a good drink.”
Marc nods and raises his glass. “To a legendary night ahead.”
“I’ll toast to that,” Riley agrees, clinking his glass.
I lift mine as well, but my eyes drift to the window, and the skyline stretching across the city. Somewhere out there, maybe thinking about tonight, maybe thinking about me, is Gregg.
And for the first time in a long time… I hoped.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, and the three of us step into a polished corridor with two doors on either side. The faint scent of incense drifts toward me.
“Damn,” Marc murmurs. “Are we sure we didn’t just walk into a Bond villain’s lair?”
I force a smile. “Behave yourself. Remember, you’re a guest.”
“I’m always behaved, papi,” he assures, smoothing the cuffs of his shirt. “And charming.”
I roll my eyes and knock on the door to the left.
A few seconds pass before the door opens, revealing Gregg in the doorway.
Relaxed, sleeves rolled up just below his elbows, easy warmth written across his face.
His eyes flicker over Riley and Marc, then land on me, and his smile deepens in a way that hits me square in the chest.
“You made it,” he says, voice warm and excited. “Come in, please!”
We step inside, and I pause for a moment to take it all in.
The space is beautifully curated with cool tones anchoring the space while bold, vibrant bursts of color on the walls hinted at stories, heritage, a life lived with intention.
Nothing about it felt showy. It felt honest and purposeful. Like a space meant to be shared.
“Everyone, this is my best mate, Julian Eze,” Gregg announces.
Julian steps out from behind the bar, a full glass in hand. “Evening, new friends,” he greets, eyes sharp with quiet intensity as he studies each of us, but he lingers on Riley. “You must be the famous Riley I’ve heard about.”
Before she can react, he takes her hand and kisses it like we’ve suddenly been transported into some Regency-era ballroom.
“Oh?” Riley shoots me a look. A pink flush creeps up her neck before she masks it with a coy smile. “Famous already?”
Julian is clearly delighted, and he lifts the glass he’d been holding and offers it to her. “Care for a drink? Cucumber vodka, elderflower, dash of citrus. On nights like these I like to start soft, build toward sin.”
Riley inspects the pale green liquid with amusement. “And you always start your nights with such heavy flattery?”
“Only when it’s earned,” he says smoothly, not breaking eye contact.