Everything

one

Surprise! I'm back...despite the end of Everything, I did tell you I had a few tricks left up my sleeve! And they come in the form of Spencer's point of view. One of my favourite aspects of writing this novel was exploring Spencer's brain and his take on the unfolding story. So, in a special treat, here is a key moment in Everything - the first chapter - from the view of your favourite journalist.

thank you for sticking around! I hope you enjoy this one!

- B. 'xo

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I gripped the steering wheel tighter, as I hit my head against it.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

What the f*ck was I doing?

I was sat in my car, 8.45 on a Friday night outside a restaurant in Manhattan, waiting.

I mean, bloody hell, I was Spencer Haywood for Christ's sake. On Friday nights I was out, always out, painting the town the proverbial red. I'd block out my evenings for that very purpose - no work bullshit, no phoney business meetings, just me - the 27 year old kid with way more money than sense, and a voracious appetite for women...swimsuit models in particular.

Yeah. That was what, or rather who, I was meant to be doing now.

I'd intended to be in Miami this weekend. Miami Beach. My city of sin. It was a last-minute trip, but one I couldn't help but take when I found out about tonight.

Which is why I was so damn frustrated.

He was taking her to Fiori's. I mean, Fiori's of all places? The place was notorious for lavish proposals, romantic music, silver service and incredibly expensive champagne.

That fucking prick was going to propose to my girl tonight, and she was going to say yes. My fate sealed in three fucking letters just like that.

God, how could I have been so stupid? When she gushed yesterday about Holloway taking her to Fiori's, when Alicia squealed about it definitely being a proposal, I'd sat there in brooding silence, trying to keep my temper under control. Hell, I'd called my pilot a mere half an hour later to tell him I needed to be in Miami for that night. Out of sight, out of mind.

So why the hell was I still here? The truth was simple enough. I was a glutton for punishment. I wanted to see Adriana, I wanted to be near Adriana, I wanted to see Adriana smile.

I'd been holed up in the apartment tonight, my trip to Miami cancelled with one five second phone call, and I'd turned to whisky. Scottish whisky. A bottle my father had purchased on a business trip last year - the good stuff, something to numb my senses and forget about the night that was undoubtedly going to unfold. He'd propose, she'd say yes, and I'd never get to tell her how I feel. It was my own stupid fault.

I'd poured myself a glass of red wine for good measure, but hadn't managed to do anything but half-heartedly sip from that all evening.

But then my phone buzzed. And her name appeared. She wanted me to pick her up, she wasn't okay, and questions whizzed through my head immediately.

Had he proposed tonight? Where was that boyfriend of hers? How was I in any kind of state to get behind the wheel of a car? Why had she text me?

None of it, though, really mattered. Adriana needed me, and when she needed me, I'd always be there - it was a foregone conclusion.

I tossed coffee down my throat and did a few quick press ups, both in the hopes of sobering up, threw on my leather jacket, and hopped in the car. I was at Fiori's just over five minutes later.