Chapter 35
“Dammit-to-fucking-hell!”
My foot heavy on the pedal, the city skyline fades into a blur of headlights, brake lights, and endless asphalt. But I can still see her—Lexie. No, Alexandra. It was like watching a bad movie with a fucked up ending no one saw coming.
She was almost unrecognizable, except for those eyes. She wore no glasses, a suit that probably cost more than I make in a month, and her voice. It was cool and calculated, showing no nerves or anxiety, no squeezing her stress ball. She was totally in command.
Her father taught her well.
Jesus. I can’t get over it. Not just the shock of who she really was, but how perfectly she wore the mask of Lexie Monroe.
Was it all an angle? Did her father send her to work me for that development deal?
Was the whole finding-my-independence-and-confidence story some carefully crafted narrative?
Because the woman I saw today in the boardroom wasn’t lacking either, that’s for damn sure.
What a joke I must seem to her. I can hear her voice. I’ve never been turned on before. You’re the first man who’s made me feel like I’m blooming. It was all bullshit. She was just stroking my ego, making me believe we had something real.
Hollywood definitely missed a star in her.
Even an hour later, as I exit the freeway onto Route 14 toward Bayside, the storm inside me hasn’t calmed.
If anything, the anger had time to fester and reach a boiling point.
The way she looked at me outside that glass and chrome highrise, heartbroken and sorry.
As if I would believe that when everything else had been a lie.
The Jeep rattles over a divot in the road, jolting me out of my head for long enough to shift my focus. Fine. I was stupid then, but I’m wiser now. Lexie, Alexandra, whatever her name is—she’s dead to me. All that matters is Sophia.
I know what it’s like to go up against Townsen.
I tried before—when Mom passed, and I had to raise Sophia while I was still in high school.
I needed to keep the house and had no real means of income.
I sent letters, called the offices, and even hired a lawyer with Val’s help.
Townsen’s response was a cold fuck you. I didn’t have the resources to fight back then, and by the time I was making better money, I didn’t want to put Sophia through that uphill battle or risk her education fund.
But I’m not backing down this time, just as I hadn’t when Townsen tried to build here. I rallied this town to put up the fight of our lives.
I know Sophia’s scared—afraid of what reporting it will do to her future in that industry. She’s afraid of taking on someone with money, clout, and a whole organization behind him. A man that can bury the truth or spin it, with her leading his damn PR team.
I take a breath and get my head into a better place before I call Eva to check on Soph.
“How’s she doing?” I ask.
“She came out of her room and ate some soup. It’s going to take time, mi hijo. Don’t expect her just to bounce back.”
“I don’t. I just—” I pause, swallowing hard. “I just want to do whatever I can to make it better.”
“Then make this about Sophia, not your need to be her protector.”
The words hit home. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. You warned me. Dice did too.” A Black man attacking a rich, white dude. Who you think’s coming out on top of that? Not your Black ass.
It could have gone down just like that if she hadn’t stepped in between us. If she hadn’t called off security. “I shouldn’t have gone. I saw him, and it accomplished nothing.” Well, not nothing, but fuck that.
Eva exhales slowly. “At least you’re safe and not sitting in jail.”
“Not for a lack of trying,” I mutter.
“When will you be home?”
“Soon. Just stopping off at the café first. Do you mind staying a bit longer?”
“Of course not.”
“Thanks, Eva,” I say, grateful for her.
It’s after the lunch rush when I pull into the café parking lot.
I send Dice a quick update, leaving out any mention of her.
Inside, the familiar scent of espresso feels almost mocking.
I wave at a few regulars, forcing a smile.
Jamar and Lydia—a high school student who works summers—are behind the counter tidying up.
“You’re back,” Jamar calls, saluting with a grin.
“Yeah. Not staying long. Thanks for holding down the fort. Everything okay?”
“Smooth sailing.”
“Appreciate you pitching in today, Lydia.”
“No problem, C. It’s always fun to be back.”
My gaze shifts over to Lot, perched on a stool at the far end of the counter with her usual extra dirty chai and a brown sugar cinnamon biscotti. “What’s up, bossman? You aw’right?”
“Fine,” I lie, my tone flat even to my ears. “Got some work to do. Let’s catch up next time.”
She quirks her eyebrows and slides off the stool. Her olive cargos with silver chains draped across the pockets create a look that’s all Lot and New York City. She crosses to me, wearing a top that reads: If You Can Read This, Back The Fuck Up.
Another time, I would’ve commented, now I just need to be alone.
“You never could lie worth shit,” she says.
“Not in the mood, Lot.” I head toward my office, but she follows, pushy as ever.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to wrestle it out of you?”
“Nothing to tell.” I shrug out of my coat, sink into my chair, and power up my computer.
“You can’t come dragging in here looking like you been put through the spin cycle and expect me to buy that shit. Spill it, C. I’ll give you a woman’s perspective.”
“I don’t need perspective,” I say, pulling up the order sheet. “Situation’s black-and-white.”
“Ha!” She shoots a “gotcha” smile. “So there is a situation. Something happened between you and your , Lexie?”
“Her name’s not Lexie,” I snap, too fast to stop myself.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I exhale sharply, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “Her name is Alexandra. Alexandra Townsen. As in Townsen Industries.”
Lot’s eyes widen with a pop, and for once, she’s momentarily speechless. “As in the company your dad—”
“Yeah,” I cut in, my jaw clenched.
“Day-um.” She hitches a hip on the corner of the desk, her chains landing with a soft clink against the wood as she studies me. “That’s some next-level drama.”
I nod, and before I know it, the whole story pours out—the note she left me, what happened to Sophia, the boardroom disaster, and all the lies in between. When I finish, Lot shakes her head in disbelief.
“I’m shook, C. That shit is heavy. But first—how’s Soph?”
“Badly shaken.” My voice grows rough, emotion creeping beneath the rage. “But it could have been worse.”
Her tone softens with compassion, losing its usual glib edge. “Don’t even go there. She’s strong. She’ll get through this.”
“I know. It’s just hard seeing her like that.” I trail off, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Lexie—Alexandra—she wants to talk to Sophia. She said she won’t let the company cover it up, but how the hell can I believe a word she says?”
Lot tilts her head, considering. “I don’t blame you for being pissed, but let me ask you this: You spent every day with her for over a month. You really think it was all fake?”
“That’s exactly what it was.”
“I don’t know her, but I saw the way she looked at you. If that was an act, she’s got some Regina King-level talent ’cause I bought it.”
“So did I.”
“Then maybe it was real.”
“Lot,” I warn.
“No, hold up, C. I’m not saying what she did was right.
Lying about who she is? Yeah, that’s messed up.
No argument there. But if she really didn’t know about your dad working for Townsen until a couple of days ago, then the only thing she lied about was her name—not her feelings.
You said she came here to get away from her life in Chicago, right?
Maybe that included leaving her name behind too. ”
“I doubt it,” I mutter, unwilling to budge.
“Think about the note, C. She said she had to deal with something and hoped you’d still love her after she told you the truth. That doesn’t sound like someone playing games. That sounds like somebody terrified the truth could wreck everything and was trying to figure out how to fix it.”
The memory of her note gives me pause. I had trusted in her words. I had loved her enough to wait for her to come back. I couldn’t imagine anything she told me could change the way I feel. But that was before.
“You’re giving her way too much credit.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “Just saying, what if there’s something you’re missing? What if she’s sincere? Don’t you owe it to yourself to at least hear her out?”
I shake my head, all the conflicting emotions weighing me down. “I can’t trust her. Or myself around her.”
“I get that.” Lot nods. “Just think about it.”
“Are you thinking about talking to Dice?” I toss back.
“Pfft.”
“You can dish out advice but can’t take it.”
“My advice is good. Yours sucks.” She shoots me a cheeky smirk. “Talk to Lexie.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Satisfied, she rounds the desk and catches me off guard with a hug—an awkward, quick pat on the back. Lot doesn’t do hugs. Leaping into my arms at the market is more her style. The softer stuff isn’t, which makes me appreciate it even more.
“Thanks, Lot.”
She flashes me a peace sign and struts out, her chains jingling.
Alone, I breathe out a long sigh and stare blankly at the screen for a while. Then, I grab my coat and head home. The paperwork can wait.
Later that evening, I make stove-top popcorn like I used to when Soph was a kid—tossing it with butter and just enough salt.
I managed to coax her out of her room with the promise of watching the Beyoncé Renaissance tour documentary.
Rather than singing every lyric she knows by heart, she’s quietly curled up in the corner of the couch in her thick, white robe, so puffy I jokingly call her Marshmallow Girl.
Tonight, though, she seems to be wearing it more like a shield.
I’ve made a point to hug her often, reminding her she’s safe and loved. I don’t want her to be afraid because of Marshall. He doesn’t get to take that from her.
I place the bowl of popcorn between us and sit back. She picks at it, a few kernels at a time, instead of grabbing handfuls and spilling them everywhere like she usually does. It’s like living with a phantom version of my sister.
Trying to engage her, I pretend to be more interested in Beyoncé’s choreography than I am. “She’s killing it with those dance moves.”
Sophia nods. “Yeah, she’s the best.”
“People don’t realize the energy it takes to sing and dance like that. Beyoncé’s stamina is unreal. I’d be passed out after the first song.”
She smiles for a split second. “You’d be passed out after the intro.”
I chuckle, grateful for even the smallest crack in her shell. “Rude, but fair.”
The doorbell rings, cutting through the moment.
“Who’s that?” Sophia frowns.
“Don’t know.” But my chest tightens as I rise to answer it.
When I open the door, I’m not surprised, not really. Lexie-slash-Alexandra stands there beneath the porch light, shoulders hunched against the cold. Her glasses are back, her hair falling in waves. She looks more like the woman I thought I knew.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, keeping my voice low and firm.
Her eyes flicker with nerves, but she doesn’t back down. “I came to see Sophia.”
“I told you that wasn’t happening.”
She squares her shoulders, her resolve hardening. “Sophia’s a grown woman. She can decide for herself if she wants to see me.”
I plant my hand on the doorframe. “I haven’t told her who you are or about you working with Marshall.”
“I’m not working with Marshall. And I suspect you didn’t tell her about seeing me because then you’d have to admit that you went there to what? Beat him up? Did you think that would help?”
Her censorious tone, when she’s the one in the wrong, sets me on edge.
“If you think I’m going to let you pump her for information and turn this against her—”
“I’m not here to do that. I’m not my father, Chaz.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Hurt flashes across her face, reddening her cheeks, but I can’t allow that to matter. Protecting my sister comes first. “Sophia doesn’t need any of this right now.”
She visibly gathers herself, hands going into her coat pocket—the motion I recognize as squeezing her stress ball. “I’m not here to argue with you,” she says evenly. “You can choose not to speak with me, not to give me a chance to explain, but Sophia deserves the choice.”
Before I can fire back, Sophia’s voice breaks through the tension.
“Lexie?” I turn to see her standing in the hallway, her eyes brighter than they’ve been since this nightmare started. “I thought I heard your voice.” And then she’s rushing to the door, brushing past me to pull Lexie inside, wrapping her in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Lexie murmurs.
The dam bursts. Sophia starts speaking so fast that I can barely keep up. “I wanted to call you, but I felt so stupid. You warned me about everything, and I didn’t listen.”
“This isn’t your fault, Sophia.” Lexie soothes. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I thought he liked my ideas.” She starts crying. “I thought he really wanted to talk about a job.”
“Of course you did.” She rubs Sophia’s back. “You had no way of knowing what he really intended. He’s the only one at fault, okay, not you?”
Sniffling, Sophia nods in response.
I stand there, just staring as Lexie gets out of her coat and boots and follows Sophia into the living room. She settles into my spot with the popcorn I made, and Sophia curls up beside her. I force my gaze away.
While they watch Beyoncé, I go to the kitchen and mix the ingredients for hot chocolate in a pan. Not because I’m being a good host but because I need to do something while I figure out how the hell to feel about her being here.