Something Old (The Jilted Series #1) - Liz Lovelock Page 0,2

pram is alive, but, thanks to fate, when they run into each other at her friend’s wedding, love blooms.

Warmth blossoms in my chest. Who doesn’t love a good love story? Like the ones in the romance books I publish.

A horn blares behind me. I jump, my heart skipping a couple of beats. I stop and face the road, seeing cars, businessmen, beautiful women.

Across the street, a tall, blond man catches my attention. Squinting, I try to make out his face. It couldn’t be. Is it Lachlan? No, my mind is playing tricks on me. There are plenty of blond men around. What would be the odds of me running into my first ex-husband the day I divorced the second?

My head must be taunting me with past mistakes. That’s all I seem to be good at. Bad choices. Poor judgment. Stupid mistakes.

My head throbs, a constant reminder of how my day has gone so far. I squint at the screen of my laptop and try to read an invitation to a black-tie event for the Big Brother and Sister Charity. I’ve spent my life attending these events. I’ll always support good causes. I’m going to have to rope either Vivian or Dylan into coming with me.

I stand from my dark-oak desk and glance out the large window of my home office. New York’s city lights glitter back. This view is why there’s no way in hell Craig would get this place. It’s my comfort zone—my home. Any other bit of real estate I own is just an investment, nothing more.

Grabbing my phone, I head out of the office and enter the large living area. Dark, wooden shelves line my walls with an overflow of books that my company has worked on. Most are my favorites.

I make my way to the kitchen, and my stomach rumbles as I step toward the marble countertop in the spacious area. I’d completely skipped lunch after the meeting today. Oops. I’ve got to remember to take more breaks.

I turn my gaze to the large flat-screen television. It’s been in the apartment since Craig and I started dating, but I’ve never been one to sit and watch anything for longer than thirty minutes. The black screen stares back at me. Maybe I should just switch it on and escape for a while.

You work too much. How could anyone love someone like that?

Craig’s words from one of our earlier arguments haunt me.

“What the hell,” I mutter before going and turning it on. The news pops up, and I leave it going. I’ll pick something else to watch after I make some dinner—well, pull a meal from the freezer is more like it.

My phone rings. Vivian’s name is on the screen. “Hey,” I answer. I click the volume button to low.

“Hey. Wait, is that the television going?” she asks.

I yank the phone back for a moment and press the speaker button, saying, “Who the heck gets excited over me turning on the TV?”

Vivian laughs. “Me, because you’ve never watched it in all the years I’ve known you. Oh, honey, did Craig break you?”

“What? No. I just thought maybe I’d try something else. You know, give something new a go.” I place the phone on the bench, turn to the freezer, and grab one of the meals I’d bought last week. Apricot chicken. My favorite.

“What are you watching?”

After shutting the food in the microwave and turning it on, I spin and come face to face with the TV and two familiar blue diamond eyes that caught my attention almost four years ago now. “Oh my . . .”

I watch his mouth move, not really listening to his words as he stands there, sweat dripping down the sides of his face, neck, and all the way to his New York Giants jersey.

Lachlan . . .

He’s still as good-looking as I remember. That sandy-blond hair and the perfectly chiseled jawline that has a little growth—not much, but enough to make him even sexier than any male model on the catwalk. My hands tremble, and my heart skips a few beats.

“What’s going on? Scarlett?” Vivian calls through the phone.

I blink once then twice. Am I imagining this? “Uh, do you remember Lachlan?”

“Husband number one? Yes, how could I forget? He was delicious. What about him?”

I can’t remove my eyes from the screen. I’m not even registering what he’s talking about. “He’s on the TV.”

“For…” Vivian pushes. “What channel?”

I tell her which one and hear her scrambling around, and then the same voice I