I Told You To Run But You Didn't (Georgia) novel Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Georgia’s POV

Jasmine’s voice slashed through the air, cutting Lucas off before he could form a word. “Get out.”

Finished

As I stepped out of the glass-walled office, the open-plan workspace beyond was unnervingly silent. My team, usually a low hum of activity, was frozen at their desks, eyes darting between their screens and the unfolding drama. They had clearly heard everything.

Before any of them could move, the office door swung open again, hitting the stopper with a sharp crack. Jasmine stormed out, Lucas trailing behind her like a chastened dog.

“What are you all gawking at?” she snapped, her voice high and grating. She scanned their faces, a sneer twisting her lips. “Get back to work! Is it so shocking that we’re finally getting rid of dead weight?”

Her evil gaze landed on me. With a dramatic flair, she tossed the thick Helios Project binder, which landed with a heavy thud by my feet.

“I’ve skimmed this,” she said, nudging it with the toe of her designer shoe as if it were trash. “It’s not that complicated. I’m in charge now.” A cruel smile played on her lips. “And you. Don’t even think about crawling back when you’re broke. My brother is done funding your little charity case.”

A low, humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Charity?” I asked, my voice dangerously soft, yet it carried across the silent office. “Jasmine, you’ve held a ‘Head of Marke ing’ title for five years and your only measurable contribution has been the company’s credit card bill. You are the charity case.”

Rage, pure and ugly, contorted Jasmine’s face. “You bitch!”

Her hand flew toward my cheek, but I caught her wrist in a vise grip an inch from my skin. The abrupt halt was the only sound in the dead-silent office.

She gasped, her eyes widening first in shock, then in pain as she struggled fruitlessly against my hold.

“I tolerated your incompetence out of respect for my marriage,” I said, my voice dropping to an icy whisper right in her face. “The marriage is over. So is my tolerance.”

“Let go of me!” she shrieked, her voice cracking with humiliation.

“Georgia, let her go,” Lucas asserted, taking a hesitant step forward.

I didn’t even flinch. I just slowly turned my head and leveled my gaze at him. I let him see the absolute contempt in my eyes, the death of every soft feeling I ever had for him.

He stopped dead, a trace of genuine fear crossing his face. He finally understood. The woman he married

was gone.

With a final, dismissive look at Jasmine, I shoved her hand back at her. She stumbled away, clutching her wrist, her eyes wide with disbelief.

She didn’t dare try again.

And without another word, I turned, picked up my purse from my now-former desk, and walked toward the elevators, leaving them standing in the wreckage of their own making.

My feet stopped on their own, cementing me to the pavement. Of all the places in the city, my legs had

Chapter 6

carried me here. Le Petit Four.

༥ ཏྲཱ, 69

69%

Finished

The charming little coffee shop where for three years, I had been treated as nothing more than a glorified delivery girl, fetching absurdly complicated orders for Lucas and his pack of sycophants.

A bitter taste filled my mouth. I could turn around, leave this monument to my humiliation behind forever. Or, I could walk in and burn the memory to the ground.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open. The cheerful bell above sounded like a starting gun. My eyes swept the room and then locked, snagging on a target. There, at a small table, sat Estevan Salvatore. He wasn’t on his phone; he was simply watching the world go by over the rim of a porcelain cup, a predator perfectly at ease.

As if sensing my stare, his head turned, and his dark eyes landed on me.

There was no surprise. No jolt. Just a quiet, unnerving stillness. A silent acknowledgment. You.

Damn it! Every table was taken. Except, of course, for the one right next to his.

With a spine of steel I didn’t possess twenty-four hours go, I walked directly to it and sat down, placing my purse on the table with a soft, definitive click.

A cheerful waitress bustled over. “The usual, Georgia? The Sterling order?”

“No,” I cut her off, my voice calm and clear. It carried in the quiet space. “Not anymore.”

Her pen froze. “Oh. Okay. What can I

get for

you, then?

I let my gaze flash to Estevan for a fraction of a second. A double espresso. Black.”

The waitress scribbled it down and scurried away.

And as my order arrived, the coffee was burning, but the heat boring into the side of my head was worse. I didn’t need to look. I could feel his stare like a physical weight, a calculated pressure designed to unnerve

God, he was infuriating. Why was he even here?

Slamming my mug down with a sharp crack, I finally snapped, my gaze clashing with his across the small café. “You know, if you stare any harder, you might actually burn a hole through my skull. Do you have a problem?”

He didn’t even flinch. For a moment, he just held my gaze, his eyes a dangerous, piercing blue that seemed to see right through the bravado to the chaos churning inside me.

“You seem to forget,” he began, his voice a low, dangerous purr as he finally picked up his coffee. He took a slow sip, his eyes mocking me over the rim of the cup. “You put a gun to my chest.”

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