CHAPTER 2

~ JAMIE

Overnight, I became the woman everyone pitied.

The wedding was canceled. My life derailed. I ended things with Oliver, and within two weeks, they went public. Within three months, they were married. Ten years together, and it was like I never existed. He moved on as if I'd been nothing. And all the while, people whispered about the jilted bride.

The gossip reached my office—I still don't know how people got the details. Six months later, no one seemed to forget.

"Jamie, are you okay?" Elizabeth from accounting hovered near my desk, her face pinched with pity. "You look... you know."

"Fine." I forced a smile. "Totally fine."

"I just remember last year and..."

"Different year. Different life." I turned back to my computer. "Thanks for asking."

She hesitated a moment longer before retreating. I let out a slow breath.

My phone buzzed. Mom.

"Hey, Mom."

"Sweetheart! How's my favorite daughter?"

"Your only daughter."

She laughed. "Listen, I have wonderful news. You remember Linda from my book club?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, her son just moved back from London. He's a lawyer. Very successful. Thirty-five. Handsome, if I do say so myself, and I know what you're thinking—"

"Mom, I don't want to be set up with anyone."

"Jamie, it's been six months! You're thirty-two. I don't want you to end up alone."

"I'm not going to end up alone. I'm just..."

"Just what? Bitter? Wasting your best years?"

"I have work. Can we talk about this later?"

"Fine, but I have something to tell you. Your grandmother is turning eighty-seven next week, and she really wants you there."

My throat tightened. Oliver and Vanessa would probably be there too.

"Mom, I'm not going."

"Jamie, listen." Her voice went serious. "Your grandmother has cancer. Advanced stage. The doctors gave her months. This might be her last birthday."

The world stopped.

"What?"

"I know it's hard, sweetheart. I know what happened. But she loves you. She's asked about you every day. Please come. For me. For her."

My heart split in two—one piece for my grandmother, the other pure terror at facing those people.

"Okay, Mom." My voice came out hollow. "I'll think about it."

I hung up. The tears came hot and fast, streaming down my face before I could stop them. I didn't know if I was crying for my grandmother or the humiliation waiting for me. Maybe both.

My office door opened.

Shit.

I turned my face away, yanking at my drawer for a tissue. My shaking fingers found nothing.

"Counselor?" Simon Hart's sardonic voice filled the room. "You're..."

He stopped. Those blue eyes scanned my face, the tear tracks, the red nose.

"Hold on." He tilted his head, a crooked smile on his lips. "Were you crying, Counselor?"

"Shit." I muttered, giving up on the drawer.

Simon walked to my desk and held out an immaculate handkerchief, embroidered with the initials S.H.

"Here."

I wiped my eyes, trying to salvage my dignity.

"Thanks." My voice came out hoarse. "I'll get this back to you, washed."

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat, crossing one leg over the other like he had all the time in the world.

"Still the neurosurgeon?"

I swallowed.

"So you know?"

"Wouldn't know it if this company didn't talk about nothing but the lawyer who got cheated on seven days before her wedding by her fiancé and her cousin in her own bed." He propped his chin on his hand. "Tell me, the tiara story—is that true?"

I closed my eyes for a second.

"Yes. It's true."

"Damn." He let out a low whistle. "What a piece of shit."

I opened my eyes and stared at him. Simon Hart, the billionaire playboy who had a different woman at every gala, calling me Counselor and judging my ex-fiancé. The irony was almost funny.

"Want to vent a little?" He leaned forward. "Why are you crying?"

"It's nothing." I grabbed my tablet from the desk. "Let's talk about the contract with the—"

He didn't move. Just sat there, staring at me with those eyes that seemed to see right through me.

And I don't know why, but I cracked.

"My mom just called." My voice came out trembling without permission. "My grandmother has cancer. I have to go to her birthday party. And to make it worse, my ex and my cousin will probably be there. Newlyweds. Happy. And everyone's going to look at me with that poor thing face I already get here every single day."

Simon tilted his head.

"Got it." He ran a hand through his hair. "So you're crying because you have to face your ex and your ex-best friend on the battlefield while your grandma's dying. That it?"

"Pretty much." I let out a bitter laugh. "And the worst part is my mom wants to set me up with her friend's son. Some lawyer from London. Like I'm a dish that needs to be served up."

"Your ex was an idiot." Simon shook his head. "Ten years and didn't marry you? That says it all."

"And you're different?" I raised an eyebrow. "How many women have you had in the last year? Eighty?"

He let out a low, genuine laugh.

"First of all, I've never cheated. Second, if I stayed with a woman for ten years, I'd have married her in the first one." He leaned in. "And third, my girlfriends are all consenting adults who know exactly what they're getting into. I don't fool anyone."

"What a gentleman."

A smile escaped my lips.

He held my gaze for a moment.

It was enough for reality to crash back in like a punch.

"You know what's worse?" I kept going, letting the mask fall completely. "People looking at me with pity. That's what's killing me. And this birthday... my mom wants me to go, but I don't know if I can handle it."

Simon stood, walked to the window, and stared down at the city below.

"Find someone else."

"Like that's easy?"

He turned to face me.

"It's hard if you don't put in the minimum effort."

"I don't want to find anyone, actually." I crossed my arms. "After ten years down the drain, the last thing I need is another man."

"Do something." He shrugged. "Find a guy. Pay him, I don't know. Figure it out. Don't let them drag your name through the mud, Jamie Collins. You're my favorite lawyer. Don't disappoint me."

He headed for the door.

"Wait!" I stood. "Aren't we going to talk about work?"

"Leave that for the end of the day." He glanced back, that dangerous smile on his lips. "In the meantime, think about it. You deserve more than being the poor thing in the story."

And he closed the door.

I stood frozen, his handkerchief still in my hand. The faint scent of his cologne—wood and something citrusy—lingered in the air.

I took a deep breath.

How am I supposed to find a boyfriend in a week?

I grabbed my phone, staring at my mom's message with the contact info for that London lawyer.

I shook my head.

"No chance."