The Mighty Storm (The Storm, #1)

I watch her with interest as she puts her cell away. Oh, she’s pulling her notebook out. She wants to start the interview.

We haven’t seen each other for twelve fucking years and she wants to interview me. It stings more than I expected.

“So, I should get started with the interview – I’m sure you’re really busy and I don’t want to keep you for longer than necessary.”

I’m really in the mood to play now.

“You’re not keeping me.” I take a long, drag of my cigarette. “And I’m not busy today. My schedule is clear.”

“Oh. You haven’t got any other interviews after mine?” She looks surprised.

Stage one of getting her commences … now. Flattery.

“Well I did have … consider them cancelled.”

“No! Don’t do that on my account.” She practically squeals it at me.

Okay. So flattery isn’t going to swing it with her.

Fuck this is hard work already. Am I sure I’m cut out for this?

For her, Wethers, yes.

“I don’t mean I’m not happy to see you,” she starts babbling. “Of course I am, and would love to talk old times with you, but I don’t want others to miss out on a great opportunity because of me.”

She’s nervous again. Good sign.

“A great opportunity?” I give her another one of my panty dropping smiles.

She shrugs, looking abash. Her cheeks redden. “Oh, you know what I mean,” she says quietly.

Okay Wethers, now is the time for sensitive. Hit her with our history. Get her remembering the good old days. You’ve got thirty minutes to win her over before she walks out of that door, and you lose her again. Don’t fuck this up like you did the last time.

“Look Tru.” I move toward her, putting all my focus on her. Women love that. “I haven’t seen you for twelve years. The last thing I want to do right now is talk business with you, or anyone else for that matter. I want to know all about you – what you’ve been doing since I last saw you.”

She shrugs and looks down. “Not much.”

“I’m sure you’ve done a lot more than ‘not much’,” I urge, with a little force. I need to get her talking. Come on Tru.

She looks up at me with those beautiful brown eyes. I see a flicker of hurt in them.

It makes me feel like shit to know I once hurt her so bad to the point that she still feels it even now.

“What did I do after you left Manchester?” she shrugs. “I lived my life, I finished school.” She sounds bitter.

Fuck.

“How was it?” I keep my eyes on hers. I’m not letting her go anywhere.

“School? It was school. A little lonely after you left, but I got through it.”

“You still see anyone from school?”

She tucks her hair behind her ear. I have the urge to do just the same.

“No, I’m friends with a couple of people on Facebook but that’s about it. What about you?” she asks.

I laugh. Not fucking likely. The only person I ever wanted to keep in touch with was her, but I just couldn’t.

“No,” I reply. “Then what did you do after school?”

“Moved here to go to uni. I got my degree in journalism. Then I landed a job at Etiquette, the magazine I work for, and I’ve worked there ever since.”

“Cool.” I take another drag of my cigarette.

Let’s move this on now.

I’m itching to know if she has a boyfriend or not. I know she’s not married, but I also don’t want her knowing I checked for that already.

Play it cool

“You’re not married?” I let my eyes go to her left hand giving her the impression it’s the first time I’m checking for sign of a ring.

“No,” she says.

“Boyfriend?” I take one last drag on my smoke and stub it out.

There’s a long pause. I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing.

“Yes,” she finally replies.

Bad thing.

Even though I figured she’d have one, it still drives a jealously nail through me I didn’t know existed.

Holding my calm, I ask, “Live together?”

“No. I live with my flat mate Simone in Camden.”

She sounds a bit pissed that I’ve asked. I wonder why? Maybe she wants to live with him and he doesn’t.

What fucking idiot wouldn’t want to wake up to that beautiful face every single day?

One thing on my side is that it can’t be serious if they don’t live together. But then it also depends on how long they’ve been together.

“How long have you been with the boyfriend?”

“His name is Will, and we’ve been together for two years.”

Two years and not living together. Very good sign.

“And what does Will do for a living?”

“He’s an investment banker.”

Yep. He’s a prick. “Smart guy.”

“He is. He’s very smart – top of his class at uni and he’s climbing the ladder at work very quickly.” She sounds defensive over him, and it pisses me off.

I grab my smokes and light another one up.

Tru unclips her pen from her notebook, and opens it up. “It’s been really nice catching up with you Jake, but I really should get to the interview - especially if I want to keep my job.”

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