Nikki Logan - How to Get Over Your Ex

‘That’s what I told him, but he insisted.’

Him. Was it Daniel? Immediately, new guilt piled on top of the old that she’d not been brave enough to face him personally yet. ‘Wh...who is it?’ she risked.

Pause.

‘Alekzander Rush. With a K and a Z, he says.’

As if that helped her in the slightest; although some neuron deep in her mind started firing.

‘Now he says he’s not a journalist.’ Tyrone sounded annoyed at being forced into the role of interpreter. His job was just to check the ID of visitors passing through his station, not deal with presumptuous callers.

‘OK, send him through. I’ll meet him in the visitor centre. Thank you, Tyrone,’ she added before he disconnected.

It took her about seven minutes to finish what she was doing, sanitise, and work her way through three buildings to the public visitor centre. It was teeming with weekend visitors to Wakehurst all checking out the work of her department while they were here seeing the main house and gardens.

She glanced around and saw him. Tall, dark, and casually but warmly dressed, with something draped over his arm. The guy from the elevator at the radio station. Possibly the last person in the world she expected to see. Relief that he wasn’t some crazy out to find The Valentine’s Girl crashed into curiosity about why he would be here. She ignored two speculative glances sent her way by total strangers. Probably trying to work out why she looked familiar. Hopefully, she’d be back in her office by the time the light bulb blinked on over their heads and they remembered whatever social media site they’d seen her on.

She walked up next to him as he stared into one of the public displays reading the labels and spoke quietly. ‘Alekzander with a K and a Z, I assume?’

He turned. His eyes widened as he took in her labcoat and jeans. That was OK; he looked pretty different without his pinstripe on, too.

‘Zander,’ he said, thrusting his free hand forward. She took it on instinct; it was warm and strong and certain. Everything hers wasn’t. ‘Zander Rush. Station Manager for Radio EROS.’

Oh. That wasn’t good.

He lifted his arm with something familiar and beige draped across it. ‘You left your coat in the studio.’

The manager of one of London’s top radio stations drove fifty kilometres to bring her a coat? No way.

‘I considered that a small price to pay for getting the heck out of there,’ she hedged. She hadn’t really let herself think about the signed document on radio network letterhead sitting on her desk at home, but she was thinking about it now. And, she guessed, so was he.

The couple standing nearby suddenly twigged as to who she was. Their eyes lit up with recognition and the girl turned to the man and whispered.

Zander didn’t miss it. ‘Is there somewhere more private we can speak?’

‘You have more to say?’ It was worth a try.

His eyes shot around the room. ‘I do. It won’t take long.’

‘This is a secure building. I can’t take you inside. Let’s walk.’

Conveniently, she had a coat. She shrugged into it and caught him as he was about to head back out through the giant open doors of the visitor centre.

‘Back door,’ she simply said.

Her ID opened the secure rear entrance and deposited them just a brisk walk from Bethlehem Wood. About as private as they were going to get out here on a Saturday. It got weekend traffic, too, but nothing like the rest of Wakehurst. Anyone else might have worried about setting off into a secluded wood with a stranger, but all Georgia could see was the strong, steady shape of his back as he’d sheltered her from prying eyes back in the elevator as her world imploded.

He wasn’t here to hurt her.

‘How did you find me?’ she asked.

‘Your work number was amongst the other contacts on our files. I called yesterday and realised where it was.’

‘You were taking a chance, coming here on a Saturday.’

‘I went to your apartment, first. You weren’t there.’

So he drove all this way on a chance? He was certainly going to a lot of trouble to find her. ‘A phone call wouldn’t suffice?’

‘I’ve left three messages.’

Oh.

‘Yes, I...’ What could she say that wouldn’t sound pathetic? Nothing. ‘I’m working my way up to my phone messages.’

He grunted. ‘I figured the personal approach would serve me better.’

Maybe so; she was here, wasn’t she? But her patience wasn’t good at the best of times. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Rush?’

‘Zander.’ He glanced at her sideways. Then, ‘How are you doing, anyway?’

What a question. Rejected. Humiliated. Talked about by eight million strangers. ‘I’m great. Never been better.’

His neat five o’clock shadow twisted with his lips. ‘That’s the spirit.’

Well, wasn’t this nice? A walk in the forest with a total stranger, making small talk. Her feet pressed to a halt. ‘I’m so sorry to be blunt, Mr Rush, but what do you want?’

He stopped and stared down at her, his eyes creasing. ‘That’s you being blunt?’

She shifted uncomfortably. But stayed silent. Silence was her friend.

‘OK, let me get to the point...’ He started off again. ‘I’m here in an official capacity. There is a contract issue to discuss.’

She knew it.

‘He said no, Mr Rush. That makes the contract rather hard to fulfil, don’t you think? For both of us.’ She hated how raw her voice sounded.

‘I understand—’

‘Do you? How many different ways do you hear your personal business being discussed each day? On social media, on the radio, on the bus, at the sandwich shop? I can’t get away from it.’

‘Have you thought about using it, rather than avoiding it?’

Was he serious? ‘I don’t want to use it.’

‘You were happy enough to use it for an all-expenses-paid wedding.’

Of course that was what he thought. In some ways she’d prefer people thought she was doing it for the money. That was at least less pathetic than the truth. ‘You’re here for your pound of flesh—I get that. Why not just tell me what you want me to do?’

Not that she would automatically be saying yes. But it bought her time to think.

Grey eyes slid sideways as his gloveless hands slid into his pockets. ‘I have a proposition for you. A way of addressing the contract. One that will be...mutually beneficial.’

‘Does it involve a time machine so that I can go back a month and never sign the stupid thing?’

Never give in to her mother’s pressure. Or her own desperate need for security.

His head dropped. ‘No. It doesn’t change the past. But it could change your future.’

She lifted her curiosity to him. ‘What?’

He paused at an ornate timber bench and waited for her to sit. Old-school gallantry. Even Dan didn’t do old school.

She sat. Curious.

‘The media is hot for your story, Georgia. Your...situation has sparked something in them.’

‘My rejection, you mean?’

He tilted his head. ‘They’ll be interested in everything you do. And if they’re interested, then London will be interested. And if London is interested, then my network will want to exploit the existing contract however they can.’

Exploit? He was happy to use that word aloud? She tried not to let her surprise show.

‘Georgia, under its terms they could still require you to come back for follow-up interviews.’

Her stomach crimped. ‘To talk about how very much I’m not getting married? How I suddenly find myself alone with half my friends siding with my ex?’ And the other half so determinedly not talking about it. ‘Not exactly perky radio content.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s what they could ask. But I have a better idea. So that the benefit is not all one-way.’