Billionaire, Let's Divorce!

Mark cleared his throat when I didn't look up. "Sydney?"

I looked up with a smile. "I'm sorry. I got distracted. What were you saying?"

His eyes strayed to the phone in my grip and lingered there and I thought I saw his jaw harden but his voice was calm and soft when he spoke again. "I got you a gift."

"Oh yes,

of course," I spluttered, then I quickly took the box from his outstretched hands.

As he stood there, smiling at me as if he was waiting for something. I contemplated transferring the break up f*e to him now so I could just leave with some of my things tonight. That way, I'll get to spend the first hours of the day with Grace but then I looked down at the gift he got me and my gaze slid back to his.

He had never gotten me a gift before. Perhaps, it was to dissuade me from insisting on the divorce. I couldn't bring myself to bring up the divorce issue now

"Thank you," I said instead, observing my handiwork. "It's a beautiful bracelet."

"I made sure of that," he muttered, his voice didn't sound as hopeful as it did a few minutes ago. He slid his hands in his pocket. The atmosphere suddenly felt awkward and the room felt like it was too small for the both of us as he stared intently at me.

"I'll go to bed now," without waiting for his reply - if he had any - turned on my heels and went straight for

my room.

When I woke up the next day, the first thing I laid my eyes on was the bracelet I had placed on my bedside. I hadn't even bothered to try it on.

What's suddenly up with him? Why is he giving me a gift? I sighed and looked away from it. I picked up my phone and shot Grace a sweet succinct birthday text.Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

I also texted the supplier I had an appointment with today to confirm we were still meeting. Grace and I were looking into adding a men's collection to Luxe Vogue, it would help boost sales for us. So I had asked my assistant to look up suppliers for men's clothing. She gave me a list of ten suppliers, their info and history in business.

I narrowed the list to three and proceeded to text the three. Of all three, this particular supplier was the one that was very professional and he showed vast and deep background knowledge in the men's clothing industry. His name is Bran. He has been in the industry for years and was good at what he does. He was open-minded and ready to collaborate. He was the perfect candidate to work with.

I stood up to go brush and get ready for the day. When I got back he had replied. And he also sent the address I requested for.

I frowned at the address he sent. It was a cafe but I had never heard of it.

Ihailed a cab and gave him the address. I could see that the man wanted to say something when he saw the address but for some reason he kept it to himself. Shrugging, I got in the cab.

The closer we got to the location, the more barren the areas looked.

The

ver stopped in front of an old building that was the cafe.

"We're here," the driver cleared his throat, his fingers impatiently tapping on the steering wheel.

I got down from the cab and paid him his f'e. I looked at the Cafe, it looked abandoned. The pole holding the signboard up was crooked, bent downward and the signboard itself was swinging in the air.

Why would anyone choose to meet up in a location like this? I turned to ask the driver if he had ever been here before but he had already driven off.

I stood there, in the middle of nowhere and dialed Mr Bran's line. "I'm at the cafe," I can't find you anywhere here.

"I'm in the cafe," his nice voice sounded through the speaker. "Just come right in."

I took a deep breath and walked to the cafe. The door creaked noisily as I pushed it open and mote filled

the air.

I waved my hand in front of me to clear them away. I scanned the area. The place was empty and there was no receptionist or any one taking orders. The chairs and tables were surprisingly clean for such an deserted place. I had been expecting the interior to be filled with dust and cobwebs.

Then in my peripheral vision I caught a movement.

"Over here," I heard him before I turned.

My smile faltered as they fell on the man. If that was Mr Bran then he was far from the image I had conjured up in my head. I had been expecting say a fat bald man with a bulging stomach whose eyes would tell of his passion for his business. But there, in the cafe seat, sat a fit man that looked like he'd be in his forties. His hair slipped back and he had a hard look on his face. One of his bulging muscled arms was raised in the air, waving at me while the other rested on the table beside two cups of coffee.