Chapter 102: Doppelgänger Games
Basil's POV
You know what's worse than having your good friend ignore you while he designs a goddamn ring? Having to listen to Oliver Devon bitch about British businessmen for thirty minutes straight. As if I—an actual Brit—wouldn't take offense.
"These London reps are absolute pains in the ass," Oliver grumbled, tossing a stack of papers onto Gabriel's desk with all the drama of a bad soap opera. He shot me a sideways glance. "No offense, Basil."
I leaned against the bookshelf in Gabriel's office, arms crossed. "Oh, none taken. Please, keep insulting my countrymen while I'm standing right here like a bloody lemon."
Gabriel didn't even look up from the ring design he'd been obsessing over all afternoon. His pencil moved with surgical precision over the sketch paper, totally zoned out on Oliver's tantrum.
"Now you know what it's like when Gabriel's not around," I said to Oliver with a smirk. "I'm the one who has to deal with those 'pains in the ass' all by myself."
"Basil," Gabriel's voice cut through the air like a shard of ice, "shut up or get out."
I wisely zipped it. When Gabriel used that tone, he meant business—no room for my usual cheek.
Oliver wasn't done venting. "I'm busting my hump on Ashford Capital's London projects, and you're sitting here doodling jewelry? Seriously?"
I raised an eyebrow, dying to hear Gabriel's comeback. That ring was obviously for Luna—I'd recognize that laser-focused intensity anywhere. The man was plotting something epic.
Before Gabriel could fire back, Oliver dropped a casual bombshell: "By the way, I saw Luna on my way here."
Gabriel's head snapped up so fast I thought he'd give himself whiplash. "You saw Luna? Where?"
Oliver shrugged, clueless about the grenade he'd just lobbed. "Just passing by in a car headed the opposite way. Black Bentley. Caught a glimpse of her in the backseat."
Gabriel immediately shoved his design aside, grabbing his phone and dialing. After a beat, he frowned. "No answer." He tried again—same result—then turned to Oliver. "Gimme your phone."
Oliver handed it over without a fight, watching as Gabriel punched in Luna's number from memory. Still nothing. Gabriel's jaw clenched—that subtle tick I'd learned meant he was legit worried.
"Did you catch the license plate?" Gabriel asked, tossing the phone back.
"Nah, it was too quick."
Gabriel hit the button on his desk intercom. "Tyler, track down if a black Bentley dropped off Luna anywhere in the city in the last hour. Make it priority one."
While we waited, Gabriel paced like a caged lion. Oliver shot me a "what the hell?" look, but I just shrugged.
Less than five minutes later, Tyler's voice crackled through: "Sir, a black Bentley from the Ashford London fleet dropped off a woman matching Miss Gray's description at your hotel. Room 2806."
Oliver smirked. "Well, mystery solved. Your girl's waiting for you at the hotel."
Gabriel didn't buy it. "Something's off. Luna would've called first."
"Maybe she wanted to surprise you," I suggested, but Gabriel shook his head.
"Tyler, I need confirmation. Security footage, whatever you've got."
Oliver rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Gabriel, what's there to investigate? The woman's waiting for you at your hotel. Most guys would be sprinting over there with a grin."
"Most guys aren't me," Gabriel shot back, his tone frosty. "And most women aren't Luna. This could be a setup." He barked into the intercom: "Keep digging. I want rock-solid proof before I move."
Luna's a rare beauty, I thought. And in this world, coincidences are about as common as honest politicians.
While Gabriel rattled off more orders, I made a quick call. Straightening my tie, I cleared my throat. "I just remembered I need to grab those, uh, documents from my office."
Gabriel barely waved me off, too distracted.
Twenty minutes later, I was outside room 2806, fixing my tie one last time. If Luna Gray was really waiting inside, I wanted to look sharp—maybe even charm her a bit before the boss showed up.
I knocked firmly. After a pause, the door swung open... and whoa, not what I was expecting.
The woman standing there had Luna's general vibe—dark hair, similar height and build—but up close? It was like comparing a gourmet steak to a fast-food burger. I discreetly pulled out my phone and glanced at the photo of Luna I had saved (don't judge—research purposes). Everything was kinda similar, yet everything was totally off.
"Hello," she said, "Is Mr. Ashford coming soon?"
I kept my poker face. "He's... delayed. Mind if I ask who's expecting him?"
She flashed a coy smile that looked rehearsed in a mirror. "I think he knows who's waiting." She leaned against the doorframe in what was probably meant to be a sexy pose, but it came off more like a bad rom-com audition—all awkward angles and zero spark.
Right, time to bail. I turned to leave—when she suddenly grabbed the hem of my jacket like a desperate toddler clutching a toy. "Hey! When's Mr. Ashford getting here?"
I stifled a laugh, prying her fingers off my suit. "He's on his way," I lied smoothly, my curiosity overriding the urge to bolt. Who was this wannabe, and what was her angle?
The room behind her was your standard luxury setup, but a weird, cloyingly sweet scent hung in the air—like cheap perfume mixed with ulterior motives.
"Call him for me?" she pressed, batting her lashes in a way that was more comical than alluring.
"Fine," I said, stepping aside and dialing Gabriel. "Hey, it's Basil. When are you getting here?"
Gabriel's reply was clipped: "On the road now."
She handed me a key card with a wink. "Give this to Mr. Ashford when he arrives," she purred, her accent wobbling again. "Tell him I'll be waiting... in bed."