Chapter 7

Nicholas's POV

I flipped the pen I was holding. A spreadsheet was laid in front of me, but I haven't bothered to read more than the first line. I kept thinking of the girl I should have married. The girl I should have as my wife.

If only I hadn't forgotten my car keys that night, I would have taken her home and wouldn't have to be here wondering why I could find her. For some reason, it seems she has been swept away from the earth's surface.

“Sir.” James, my P.A., called my attention. I jolted back to reality. I raised my brows lazily to look at him. “I've been here for over five minutes. What's your decision?” He asked. James was not just any P.A.; he was also a friend. We had both attended university together.

He is a calm and tactful man, which was one reason I quickly asked him to work for me after colleges offered him more than anyone would. “Well,” I said, straightening and flipping the spreadsheet in front of me. “Well,” I began and paused.

I had already forgotten the question he had asked. “What did you ask?” I asked him, meeting his curious gaze. “What are you thinking about? You've been so lost in thought.” He said.

James was the only one who could do this. Asking a question in reply to my question. “I am thinking about her,” I admitted. He didn't need much explanation to know who I was talking about.

“You need to forget about her, Nic.” He said. There were no formalities when we were alone. I forbade it. “Then what will you have me do?” I need her. It's not my fault; I can't get her out of my head.” I said that and sighed.

“I know, but you have to forget about her, especially now that you have a wife.” He advised calmly. "Oh, come on. We know I didn't want that girl.” I said.

“But it doesn't change the fact that you are married.” I massaged my head and said, “I gave her the papers.” I said, and his eyes widened. “You did?” He asked. I nodded in response. He had prepared the papers like I had asked him to do.

But then he had asked me not to give her the papers. “She agreed,” I said. A slow, thoughtful nod came from him: “I see.” That was the only thing he said. “How about the girl? The stripper?’ I asked.

“We've been searching for her, just like you asked.” He replied. I placed the pen on the table with a small thud. “Find her no matter what. I don't care if the city has to be flipped over. Make sure you bring her to me.” I commanded.

“You don't have to worry about that.” He said. I smiled internally. This was one thing about him: he was meticulous. “Also, take pictures of something to clean up the sour sight I had at home.” I said.

“Fine.” I told him that too. “How about the deal with the Woods?” He asked. I sighed. I have to go back to reality. A little tinge of sadness grew in my chest. I didn't know how attached I was to the girl until I had to stop daydreaming about her and get back to work.

“We'll talk about that later,” I said. My mother had given me a mall; she promised to give it to me if I got married to Debra. “I'll leave to check up on the mall,” James said. I waved him off. He could do whatever he chose.

A few minutes after James left, someone knocked on the door. I allowed a few minutes to pass before inviting the person in. “Neymar!” I said when he entered, a small smile tugging at my lips.

I stood staring at a perfect reflection of myself. “Brother,” he said, walking towards me. He pulled me in for a hug. I held him close. When was the last time we had seen each other? Three or four years ago.

“How have you been?” I asked him when we finally pulled away from the hug. He was seated on the sofa at the side. “As you can see, I've been fine.” He said.

“You didn't change this time,” I said. “You want me to change?” He asked, and I scoffed. He knew what I meant. Whenever he chose to come back home from any of his numerous travels, there was always something new about him.

It could be that he began growing beards, or he shaved all his hair—you name it. He always comes back looking weird. “You got married to Nic.” He said. I inhaled the scent of breath sharply. “Yes. I did.”

I wanted myself to look bright while discussing it with him. He should know that I am not happy with this marriage. “You went home already?’ I asked, and he nodded. “I'm disappointed you didn't think of calling me to tell me.” He said.

“If I had known you were coming back early, I'd have been a little patient,” I said. “Well, it doesn't matter anymore.” He said. I promised to make it up to him by treating him to drinks one of these days.

“But then...” he said and paused as if he were looking for the right words to say. “Yes?” I raised a brow, urging him to continue.

“You don't like your wife?” He stated more than asked. I tried to fake a laugh, as if this was a kind of joke or prank he was pulling. “So funny. How could you say that?” He furrowed his brows. “Do I look like someone who would marry someone they don't like?”

“Does that mean she was lying?’ He looked confused. My heart dropped at that statement. Surely Debra didn't tell him about the deal, right?

“She made a strange statement earlier today," he said. He went ahead to recount how Debra had seen him with a man and had let it slip that they were in a loveless marriage.

Anger counts through my blood. How could she let something so important slip? I had asked her to keep it a secret. “Let me explain,” I said. Neymar crossed one leg over the other and leaned into the chair. “Alright, go on.” He said.

I explained how we got married and that I wasn't ready to open my heart to her yet. I didn't tell him about the stripper who was already in my heart. “She seemed to love you.” He said. This cracked me up.

“She doesn't. I know her more than you think. Before her accident, she was as against this marriage as I was.” I said. I asked him to help me keep it a secret, promising to give her my heart when I was ready.

Neymar stayed in my office for a very long time, and when he finally left, I tried to go through some documents, but I couldn't concentrate. I had to speak to Debra. I know this was not her fault. She didn't know Neymar was the one in the room, but then she just showed she wasn't tactful. At all.

When I got home, I was greeted by the perfect scent of food that oozed from the dining table. I ignored it and walked straight to her room. I flung the door open and stepped on it, but she was in. I walked out.

Where could she be? Why was she walking around in the house? If she had stayed in her room as she should, she wouldn't have bumped into Neymar. I stopped a maid and asked Debra, “I saw her walking in the direction of your room.” She said so, and I arched my brow and clenched my teeth.

Without another word, I started towards my room. The door was opened. I stepped into the room, and to my surprise, Debra was bent over my table, going through the stack of files. I walked towards her, and she was too engrossed to notice.

“What are you doing here?” I asked and watched her stiffen my voice. Slowly, she stood and turned to me. “What are you doing here? Why are you in my room?” My voice was sharper than I intended.

I watched her and waited for her to open her mouth and give me the perfect excuse. “Well, well,” she began, and I watched her. “Come on, say something, or has the has the cat caught your tongue?” I asked.

“I just wanted to arrange the desk.” She said she was fiddling with her hands. “Do I look like a fool to you?” I asked.

“I never said that.” Her voice was calm—so calm that I felt a pinch in my chest. I suddenly felt bad for being sharp with her. “I was just...” she inhaled, her eyes stung with tears, my chest tightened, and just then a maid appeared at the door.

“Sir. You have a visitor.”