Strong For Too Long Trilogy ✔️

20. Race You Round

CHAPTER 20: Race You Round

"George Colgate, it's an honour to meet you. My name is Enid Grayson, please, just call me Grayson." Grayson says to George Colgate, the main manager at the stadium where down below was a large enough track to make New York look like a damn petting zoo. I step toward the glass in my black heels, staring out below at the increasingly busy crowd taking their seats or preferring to stand next to the legal fighting rings. I look at each car, focusing on every engineer working down below and catching sight of Harrison blending in with the crowd.

"Grayson, pleasure is all mine. Who's this fine young lady?" George Colgate was a British entrepreneur, through and through. Standing tall at six foot three, fitted into a tight business suit, he stood when Grayson had sat down with a scotch on the rocks in his hand. I look to George, his pale green eyes look over my attire as he steps around the couch, gesturing to Reynolds, Branson, Tobias and Aaron.

Not a single one of them move.

George scrutinises Aaron once he does a double-take, "Are these bastards secret service or something?" He asks, voice changing from lustful to confused. Grayson gestures to the seat in front of him.

"This is a private meeting. Get your girls out." Grayson says, stoically.

One girl attempts to move her hand towards Aaron, I grab her manicured fingers and bend them back, "You obviously don't have eyes, sweetheart." I say, lowly. She cries out at the hold I have on her wrist, I shove her back into George, who picks her back up on her heels, gesturing out as he looks at my wrist. Branson holds a smirk on the other side of Reynolds.

A breath flutters against the shell of my ear, fingers glide around my hips as he flushes his entire body against my back. I fold my arms the moment Grayson looks away and George stares incredulously at me, "I'll be damned. Aaron Westlake, CEO of The Phoenix Movement with a candidate? You know they're wired to screw the rest of us over, brother." He says to Aaron.

"Her name is Olive Crane." Aaron deep voice resonates above me.

George sharply inhales, "That's impossible. Did you clone her?" He says, holding the urge to scoff while his eyes stare at me warily. His assumption that I was a clone sounded unfathomable and yet he did appear to be quite sure of such a possibility.

"Sit down, Mr Colgate." Aaron says, lowly as he presses a kiss to my cheek. Warm and soft as always. I I lean on the sill of the window while each of them take their slow seats. I knew Aaron was watching me, I confirmed it when I turned on my side to look at them. Aaron drops his eyes to the seat next to him, looking back up at me.

I turn back to the window with a stone-cold expression as I eye the crowd, "Olive Crane died three years ago in a club, shot in the shoulder before the lot of you cremated her. Whatever the fuck you people do with machinery nowadays, I think you're crazy for cloning her. I knew that kid when she was a babe, she drove everyone mad. Everyone!" He says aloud.

I narrow my eyes, "And somehow, I do not remember that part at all. Tell me, Colgate, what gave you the right to spend my shares here, without even my so-called brother's permission?" I ask him, roughly.

He stills where he sits, "You're not the real, Olive. The real one would've remembered me." He says to me.

I lean my elbows on the railing, facing him as I shrug, "I don't remember anyone. What makes you so damn special?" I ask him.

He gestures for me, "Let me see your shoulder." He says.

I blink at him, "Celeste said there was a scar."

He stands upright, "Celeste-where in God's green earth has she been, damnit?" He snaps at me, stepping forward.

Aaron stands, "Sit down. Take another step closer and I'll rip your bloody head off. I've read your file and I know you've read mine, you tried paying an idiot at the agency to get my files. I've spent three years without her, you touch one fucking strand of hair on her head, I'll make you choke on your own jewels. Sit your bloody arse down, now." Aaron spits at him, stepping around the couch and in front of me.