14) Ian and Charlotte

Matthew's POV

"I think we need a dietician to replace her." - I get up from my chair with a serious expression, watching him smile under his mustache to make me understand that he does not believe in what I say, but instead of swearing at him and threatening him like I would do with anyone else,

I decide to leave him alone to think about his beloved.

"Asshole." - I just swear in a low voice, but instead of being offended, his smile widens,

as I walk around the desk to get away from this room more annoyed than was when I entered.

Ian and Charlotte.

I can't even imagine them together.

I don't know what he finds in her and I don't believe her words at all, because that woman doesn't have

nothing that the others do not have, indeed she's the one that lacks everything ... except courage.

I glance quickly at her office door, though I'm sure she's not working right now. She's probably eating junk food as usual,

or is chatting with the waiter in the main room, but I can't wait for nothing more than a

client complaining so I can fire her and prevent any relationship between her and Ian.

I can't risk my partner being influenced by that crazy girl.

"Matthew! I followed the fight last night. "

As if Ian weren't enough , another man stoned by Charlie blocks my entrance and

prevents me from exiting the gym to get to my machine, but instead of

answer him I just raise my chin in gratitude, even if his presence

does nothing but annoy me:

"Yo, you're great." - I hear Hardin add behind me as I overtake him to return

home as soon as possible, but once again I don't answer him to let him know how much

I despise the ass-lickers.

I'm learning to get used to this city, but not to its crowded streets at this hour.

I start the car distracted, ready to endure half an hour of traffic for less than two

kilometers of road.

I always refused to come and visit my dad in Seattle, even when he sent me several times the same message to give me his address.

I didn't want to know about him because I always saw him as the asshole that left behind

my mother, before knowing she had been the one to cheat on him with a stranger.

I started boxing to take out my anger towards him and every time I threw a

punch to my opponent I imagined having William in front of me.

I tighten my fingers around the steering wheel at the mere memory of my mother, who keeps calling me from England not knowing that I have decided to live in Seattle, but I am not going to introduce myself to the marriage of that pain in the ass thirty years older than her, especially after she hided the truth for years.

I feel the muscles in my arms suddenly contract as my vision drops for

the anger I've been holding back since the last time I saw my mother in her face.

I always thought her future husband was a friend of our family and I knew he was her lover only when that bastard said they were getting married.

I brake the car suddenly, causing a thud that attracts the attention of

most of the passersby, as I sigh heavily and get out of my Land R.

slowly, not ready to face my father at all.

It's hard for me to look him in the eye every time he speaks to me, but I'm not a man that forgives. I have never apologized to anyone because I am too proud to do it, but living with my father is more difficult than expected.

Calling him 'father' is already difficult for me, so much that I call him by his name, as if he was

the longtime friend I found after thirty years, but we are so different that

I could never consider him my friend..

It doesn't take long to understand that he became a womanizer when my mother left him, which is perhaps the only thing I appreciate about him.

For the rest, if he is so sociable that he does nothing but talk, I am a reserved and a few words type.

A punching bag to let off steam with and a pumped-up physique to attract women: the moral

of my life.

It doesn't take much to freak me out and I don't care the consequences of what

I do.

After all, it is enough to break the face of those who annoy me and respect those who respect me.

I wear sunglasses high on my head when I walk into my dad's apartment building,

trying to drive these thoughts out of my head, but as soon as I set foot in the hall

entrance, I raise an eyebrow when my eyes fall on the figure of Charlotte, all

dressed in black and standing, waiting in front of the elevator with a pissed expression on her face.

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