Too Late To Regret.

Chapter4

By the time I was finally done dressing for dinner, I was already running late.

“Damn it!” I muttered, checking the time on my phone before grabbing my handbag.

I had chosen a fitted black satin dress that hugged my figure in all the right places, falling elegantly to just above my knees. The neckline was modest enough for a business dinner but the way the material clung to my curves made it impossible to miss the work I had put into my body over the past few years.

The gym had become a regular part of my life after my divorce. At first, I had gone because I needed something to distract me from the pain. Eventually, it became a habit. My waist was more defined and my legs toned.

My hair fell in soft glossy waves around my shoulders, framing my face.

I looked good….I knew I did.

“Don’t wait up for me, Josh. I’m sure I’ll be pretty late!” I called across the living room as I hurried towards the front door.

“Sure. Have fun.”

His reply was curt, and he didn’t even bother turning to look at me.

I paused with my hand on the doorknob and frowned.

What was that supposed to mean? I thought as I glanced back at him.

He was still seated on the sofa, his attention fixed on the television as though I hadn’t spoken.

I wanted to ask what his problem was, but one look at the time made me reconsider.

I didn’t have the energy for another argument, especially not when I had a more important one waiting for me at dinner.

“Fine,” I muttered under my breath.

I stepped outside into the cold night air and locked the door behind me.

I was fashionably late by the time I arrived at The Aurelia, an upscale restaurant in the heart of New York.

Damn traffic, I thought as I stepped out of the car.

The restaurant was every bit as expensive as its name suggested. Well-dressed guests occupied the tables all around and the place smelled faintly of expensive perfume and freshly prepared food.

Everything about it screamed money and I loved it!

I handed my car keys to the valet and walked through the sliding glass doors, lifting my chin as a waiter approached.

“Good evening, ma’am. Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes. A dinner under Mr Smith.”

“Of course. Please follow me.”

I followed him through the restaurant, trying to smooth the front of my dress as we approached a quieter section towards the back.

The moment I saw the table, I realised this wasn’t going to be the large gathering I had imagined but it was rather an intimate dinner.

Mr Smith sat with two of the men I had met during the morning meeting and beside them, a woman I hadn’t seen before.

And then there was Brian, with no sign of Myma. Somehow, that didn’t surprise me as much as it should have.

The sound of my heels approaching the table must have alerted them to my presence because every head turned in my direction.

Mr Smith smiled first.

“Olivia. There you are.”

But I barely heard him. Brian’s eyes had already found me but he said nothing as his gaze travelled over my dress, taking in the effort I had put into my appearance before finally settling on my face.

There was nothing warm in his expression, no smile.

His face was cold and his eyes remained unreadable as he gazed directly at me.

The look sent a strange shiver down my spine, leaving me suddenly aware of every step I took towards the table.

Stop it, Livvy. I chastised myself silently.

Get your feelings under control. You’re here for business, nothing else.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I said with a small smile as I reached the table. “The traffic was terrible, but I’ll do better next time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mr Smith assured me, pulling out the chair beside him. “We haven’t been waiting long.”

I thanked him and took my seat.

Unfortunately, I was directly opposite Brian.

Of course I was.

I placed my handbag beside my chair and arranged my napkin on my lap, determined to act as though sitting across from the man who had shattered my heart was the most ordinary thing in the world.

The man seated beside Brian chuckled.

“Oh, don’t worry, Ms Roland. If you’re going to look this good every time you arrive late, I think we can make an exception.”

Laughter rippled around the table and I smiled politely.

“Then I’ll have to be careful not to make it a habit.”

Everyone laughed again.

Everyone. Except. Brian.

His expression remained unchanged, but I noticed the way his fingers tightened around his wineglass.

What is wrong with you, Brian?

I hated that I could still read the smallest changes in his expression even after five years apart. I was supposed to hate him. I had spent years convincing myself that hatred was all I had left for him yet there I was, sitting across from him and desperately trying to draw even the smallest emotion from a man who had once begged me never to leave him.

How pathetic.

“You do look very pretty Ms Roland. I'm Jesusa by the way.” The lady whispered to me and I smiled back at her, returning her compliment and introducing myself too.

Dinner began with light conversation about the contract, the company’s future plans and the opportunities our partnership could create. Mr Smith and the executives discussed the next steps, occasionally asking for my input.

I answered when necessary, keeping my attention on the conversation.

Or at least, I tried to.

Every few minutes I found myself becoming aware of Brian again, the sound of his voice and the way he held his glass. Together with the brief glances he sent in my direction when he thought I wasn’t looking.

It was infuriating.

“Ms Roland.”

I looked up.

Brian was watching me.

“Yes, Mr Bruce?”

“I was asking whether your team would be able to meet the revised implementation schedule.”

For a second, I wondered whether I had missed something important. Then I realised he had asked me a perfectly reasonable business question.

I straightened in my chair.

“Yes. Provided your team supplies the necessary information on time, we shouldn’t have any difficulty meeting the schedule.”

“And if we don’t?”

I held his gaze.

“Then we’ll address the delay when it happens. I’m sure your company has dealt with unexpected challenges before.”

One of the men gave a quiet chuckle.

Brian didn’t.

“I’m asking whether you can guarantee the results you presented this morning.”

There it was.

That tone…..calm and just condescending enough to make me want to throw my wine in his face.

I smiled sweetly.

“I can guarantee that my team will deliver the work outlined in our agreement. What I cannot guarantee is that every other party involved will do their part.”

His jaw shifted tightly.

“Are you suggesting my team won’t cooperate?”

“Not at all, Mr Bruce. I’m simply stating that successful partnerships require cooperation from everyone involved.”

The woman beside Mr Smith glanced between us before taking a sip of her wine.

Mr Smith cleared his throat and took that as his cue to chirp in. “That’s a fair point. We’ll ensure that both teams have clear responsibilities from the beginning.”

“Of course,” Brian replied, still looking at me.

I picked up my glass and took a small sip.

He was doing this deliberately and I could feel it.

Perhaps he wanted to test whether I was still the same woman who had once lowered her head whenever he challenged me. If that was the case, he was about to be disappointed.

“Is there something else you’d like to ask, Mr Bruce?” I said.

His fingers stilled around his glass.

“Yes, actually.”

I waited.

“How long do you intend to stay in New York?”

The question caught me off guard.

It had nothing to do with the contract, and we both knew it.

I placed my glass on the table.

“That depends on how long the work requires me to be here.”

“And after that?”

I tilted my head.

“Is that relevant to our agreement?”

A brief silence fell between us.

His eyes hardened.

“I was simply asking.”

“And I was simply answering.”

The man beside him shifted in his seat, apparently sensing that something about our exchange was no longer quite right.

Brian leaned back, his expression turning even colder.

“Fine. We should have no problems working together, then.”

I smiled.

“I’m glad we agree on something for once.”

His hand tightened around his wineglass.

For one reckless second, I wanted to push him further. I wanted to ask him whether he was enjoying his new life. Whether he was happy with Myma.

I wanted to ask him why. Why he had looked me in the eyes and demanded a divorce as though our marriage had meant nothing. Why he had left me to pick up the pieces while he moved on with his life.

But I couldn’t ask those questions here and certainly not when I had spent a year preparing to get close to this company for reasons that had nothing to do with my broken heart.

So I swallowed the words.

Brian looked away first and the onversation gradually resumed but I barely heard a word of it. I concentrated on my food, answering questions when necessary and forcing myself to smile whenever someone made a joke.

Across the table, Brian was just as quiet.

Yet every time our eyes met, I felt as though we were still in the middle of an argument neither of us could afford to finish.

I was reaching for my glass when Mr Smith’s hand settled on my thigh beneath the table.

He gave it a brief, firm squeeze and I turned towards him. His smile remained fixed as he continued listening to one of the executives but his eyes flicked towards me in warning.

I had been pushing too far and judging by the look Brian had given me moments earlier, I wasn’t the only one struggling to keep my emotions under control.

I took a slow breath and set my glass down.

“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching for my napkin. “I need a moment to use the washroom.”

“Of course,” Mr Smith replied.

I dabbed my mouth, placed the napkin beside my plate, and rose from my chair.

I needed air and a moment away from Brian’s cold eyes and the memories that refused to leave me alone.

Without looking in his direction again, I turned and walked towards the washroom.

I had no idea that the moment I left the table, Brian pushed his chair back and followed close behind me.