If I Say No, page 1
IF I SAY NO
Love & Alternatives Book 2
Copyright 2021 Neha Yazmin
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Contents
Dedication
Previously
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Part Two
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Part Three
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Epilogue
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the readers that asked for it. You know who you are: You’re the ones that wrote a review for If I Say Yes and wanted the sequel. You’re the ones that emailed me, commented on my blog, or sent me DMs on Facebook and Instagram, telling me you had to know how this Duology ended. If I Say No would only have existed in my head if it wasn’t for your messages. I wrote this book for you; it’s not mine, it’s yours. Thank you! xXx
Previously,
in the Love & Alternatives Duology...
“You’ve chosen the girl over your best friend,” Imran says.
“I’ve done no such thing!” I snap.
“Fine,” he snaps back. “Do it now.”
“Do what?”
“Choose,” he replies.
“Choose what?”
“Choose who you give up.”
“Imran…”
“If you let go of Shell and she and I get married… I swear to you that I will never bring this up again. I’ll forget I know anything and devote my life to making Shell happy.
“Everything will be as though the two of you never… got close. With regards you and me… our friendship will remain just as strong........
“If you decide to give up our friendship”—and I have to give Imran credit for looking sick at the thought of our friendship ending—“then you turn your back on me and my family. For good. You’ll be dead to us.”
We both swallow painfully at that.
“So, what’s it going to be, Seb? Me or Shell? Who do you choose to give up?”
“Do you really think I’m going to marry Imran after everything… we’ve done?” Shell questions without expecting a response. “Did you think that all along?”
I sigh. “Come on, Shell. Would you really pick me over Imran, burns and all?”
She gasps, her eyes widen. Then, they fall to her feet. “I wasn’t even thinking about… the burns,” she murmurs. “I don’t know if I’d have noticed them if I saw…”
“You think you’re incapable of loving someone, Seb, but I think you’re incapable of being loved. You’re incapable of letting someone love you and be good to you. So, I won’t be wasting my feelings on you, Sebastian Lowe........
“You have a lot of issues to work through. And I’d wait for you, help you even, but you don’t care enough about me to let me.”
“I’m sorry, Seb, but I can’t marry Imran.” She turns on the spot and over her shoulder, just before she walks out of my flat, she adds, “I can’t marry him, not when I’m falling in love with his best friend.”
Automatically, my right hand reaches for her, as though to stop her from leaving. My lips part in anticipation of the words that will call her back to me. I have to stop her—she just said she’s falling in love with me…
But when I recall her exact words, I find myself mute and frozen to the spot.
I’m falling in love with his best friend.
Best friend.
Imran.
My front door slams shut behind her. I jump at the sound. At the finality of it. She’s gone. The woman I love, the woman that’s falling in love with me, burns and all, is gone.
I sent her away because I chose to save my friendship with Imran instead of exploring what Shell and I have started to feel for one another. I hoped that she’d marry Imran to hurt me back for this cruel rejection.
But that’s not what’s happened. In hopes of delivering her to Imran, I’ve lost her forever.
And Imran’s lost her, too.
Love & Alternatives Duology Book 2
IF
I
SAY
NO
NEHA YAZMIN
Prologue
Dreams vs. Reality
Dreams: Seb
In my dreams, I throw open the door. I run out of my flat, hoping to catch her by the lift around the corner. But she’s not there. Sighing, I turn around. Wait. My eyes caught something to my left, through the doors to the building’s stairwell.
Shell...
The grimy glass panels of the doors make her look like a ghost, a mirage. But there she is, sitting on the top step, head in her hands. Crying. Shaking. The grime on the glass isn’t what’s making her look like she’s fading around the edges, it’s the fact that she’s breaking down.
Because it’s a dream, I’m standing behind her in a heartbeat, my hand on her shoulder. She looks up, all teary-eyed and shuddering breaths.
“I love you, Shell,” I tell her. “I love you, too.”
She smiles through her tears, understanding on her face. She’d hoped that I only brushed her off because of Imran. Sacrificed my love for my best friend. Shell makes to stand up but I’m already on my knees, pulling her to me. We hold each other. Tight.
In my dreams, I never let her go.
Dreams: Shell
You know those dreams where you’re running late for something—school, work, a party—and you keep getting delayed? One thing after another continually gets in your way? Before you know it, the dream’s over but you never made it to your destination.
I don’t have those types of dreams anymore.
Mostly, I dream about knocking on Seb’s door and waiting for him to answer. He never lets me in. Even when the flat catches fire and burns to a crisp, Seb doesn’t open the door.
He ends up in hospital, horrible burns on his body, skin grotesquely scarred. But I’m never allowed to see him.
Heartbroken, I cry. Not only because he’s shut me out, but because of what his scars have done to him, to his self-esteem. He thinks he’s ugly, un-loveable.
He couldn’t be further from the truth.
Reality: Seb
Hate me, please. I urge you to throw things at me, to call me horrible names,
She was—is—falling in love with me. The woman I love, loves me back. She told me so and walked out of my reach. And I let her. I let her think she means nothing to me. Didn’t mean enough. I’m a prat.
Fact is: I’d already chosen to give her up, no matter what she felt about me. She was lost to me even before her heart became mine. She was Imran’s—he saw her first—and so, she was never mine to give up, to lose.
Still, it hurt like hell. My pathetic life and luck drove me mad with rage, and I all but ransacked my flat, shouting and screaming the words “You idiot” the whole time. “You bloody loser!”
See, I wasn’t lying earlier; I did throw things at me and call me names. I didn’t have a puppet, or any pins, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I have enough people sticking knives, not needles, knives in Seb-shaped dolls to curse me to Hades. If I’m not already in his clutches, that is.
Reality: Shell
I’m not a cryer. It’s not who I am. But I nearly broke down the moment I walked out of Sebastian Lowe’s building after telling him I was falling in love with him.
A part of me was expecting him to stop me before I exited his apartment block. Not to tell me that he felt the same way I did, but to... let me down gently, I suppose.
All of me had hoped that he’d come running after me, tell me he loved me, that everything he said in his flat was a joke, and could we start the date over. After all, he was supposed to cook for me.
I didn’t think about what I had to do when I got home.
Most of my family were downstairs when I let myself in. As I crept upstairs, no one, not even Shayla, batted an eyelid at my lateness. Trust. That’s what it was. My parents, my siblings, trusted me, and so, they never asked me where I went or who I was with. It never stopped me from telling them what I was up to, though—bar the meetings with Seb; I’ll never tell anyone about those—and they had complete faith in me to not let them down.
To not break the rules.
Well, I thought as I changed out of my work clothes, I’ve broken more rules in the short weeks I’ve known Sebastian Lowe than I have my entire life. And I’m going to break a whole lot more.
Part One
What Is Love?
Shell
Romantic love makes me think of Romeo & Juliet. If I starred in my own love story, I’d be the Juliet that Romeo never loved. Some love story, huh?
Charlotte
Whoever said love is blind, was lying through their teeth. Whoever said love is blind, hadn’t met me.
Seb
Ever done anything so bad that the only way to make up for it is to do something just as horrible, albeit drastically different? Yes? Join the club.
Off topic, I know, but there you go.
Chapter 1
Charlotte
The moment he enters the shop, I can tell he’s not a customer. He’s wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. Do people still use those things? Isn’t everything on some cloud somewhere? iCloud, Cloud Drive, MyCloud, Rain Cloud, CloudyCloud...?
He sees me behind the cash register and holds my gaze as he walks over, a determined expression on his handsome face. Ah, he’s after directions. New in town, he’s stepped into this quiet little cake shop, assuming I have plenty of time to draw him a map of where he is and how to find his destination.
You’d be surprised how many people still ask passersby and shopkeepers for directions, even with digital maps on their phones. Sometimes, it’s a case of especially with digital maps on their phones. The navigation apps can get you lost as many times as they get you from Point A to B.
“Hi,” I say with a smile. Customer or not, it’s good to show manners.
“Charlotte Davis?” he asks, jutting out a hand to shake mine. “Hi.”
I crinkle my brows as I ask, “Yes. Can I help you?” I look him up and down, wondering what on Earth he wants. I hope he didn’t think I was checking him out...
He pushes his hand closer to me, waiting for me to shake it. “I’m Sebastian Lowe of Lowe Capital UK, an alternative investments firm specialising in private equity.”
I knew he’d be a business person! That dark grey suit is very snappy and his brown briefcase looks expensive.
“And,” he adds with emphasis, “I’d like to invest in your company.”
Chapter 2
Seb
For some, the smell of a bakery is their favourite smell of all. Not much can beat the homely aroma of bread baking in the oven. Charlotte’s Cakes doesn’t smell like that. When I saw nothing but cake in the window display, I thought the bread would be in the glass cabinet indoors. But no; there are no loaves or baguettes to be seen.
Instead, this spacious, bubble-gum pink shop boasts the sweet scent of icing sugar, creamy butter, and mouthwatering vanilla. So much vanilla.
If the smell of bread makes you think of home, of having a family, and growing old with your soul mate, then Charlotte Davis’s cake shop reminds you of a more care-free time. Summer holidays spent crunching boiled sweets and wolfing down Mr. Kipling’s exceedingly good cakes. Sucking on ice pops to dye your tongue green, red, or blue. Licking soft-scoop ice cream seconds after the ice cream van driver has swirled it onto your wafer cone.
Charlotte herself reminds me of a child. All redheads with pale skin and freckles on the tops of their cheeks remind me of children—sorry, I mean that in the nicest possible way—especially if they’re on the shorter side, like Charlotte is. She’s the kind of girl that looks younger than her age, a teenager on the verge of adulthood. Her round brown eyes and cute voice add to the effect. The soft edges to her words—the slightest of lisps?—amplify that effect.
Actually, she’s not much younger than my 25 years. And like me, she needs her big break. Well, I got mine when the EHAN Foundation NYC decided to commit to my fund. I want to give Charlotte hers.
Chapter 3
Charlotte
I still haven’t shaken his hand. I was about to but I froze when he said he wants to invest in my company and my mouth popped open instead. “Company?”
“Your business,” he clarifies with a nod.
“Business?” Not sure why I’m speaking in one word sentences... like a complete moron!
“Your shop,” he says, looking around the room. His light blue eyes return to meet mine, a patient smile on his lips.
Oh, the shop! I never think of it as my company or business. It’s always been the shop.
“You’re the sole owner, I believe?” He raises an eyebrow, though there’s no question in his eyes.
“Yes.” I gulp and I feel a twinge in my chest.
“And the premises—it’s freehold, isn’t it?”
I nod, still thinking of the term sole owner. Less than a year ago, there was a different sole owner...
“Excellent,” he approves. “Congratulations, Charlotte. You now have me as an investor! I’ll take a very active role in expanding your business and helping it reach new customers and markets. So, are you going to shake on it? My arm’s beginning to hurt.” He gives me a playful wink.
My arms don’t move. He drops his hand, grinning.
After my brain finally processes what he’s saying, I tell him, “Please don’t waste any more of your time, Mr. Lowe—if that’s your real name—you won’t fool me. Whichever one of my friends put you up to this, obviously wanted to prank you as much as me—”
“I assure you, Charlotte,” he says, holding up his hands, “I genuinely want to invest in your shop for a small equity stake. I have the paperwork right here.”
He lifts the suitcase and taps it with his other hand.
“You can run it by your solicitor—run it by several, and they’ll tell you it’s all legit. I swear,” he stresses in a grave voice, as though he only says “I swear” when it’s the honest truth.
Dammit, he’s serious. Mum opened Charlotte’s Cakes when I was a kid. But it was more than just a business to her, more than a livelihood. It was her dream. And my home. I spent more time in here than I did in my bedroom.
“Who are you?” I find myself asking, folding my arms across my chest. He begins to repeat his introduction from earlier but I cut him off with, “Who are you to me? Why do you want to help me? Or did you win the lottery and pick a random business to plough your winnings into? To pay it forward?”
