Thirty-One
Annalise
After much discussion with my sisters and Mona, I decided the best course of action was to tell Venus the truth also. It was a huge risk of course, and I had no idea how she would react.
She could be fine with it, maybe think it was no big deal, or she could go ballistic, fire me from her project, and perhaps even sue me.
Fuck. This was a massive mistake.
But it was too late. In a moment of bravery—or insanity— I'd reached out to her people and set up a time. There was no going back now.
Something I deeply regretted when my phone rang Monday afternoon. Venus was currently in London so it'd be around nine her time.
At first, we chatted about mundane things like where she was staying, The Savoy, and where she'd eaten recently. She then filled me in briefly about her new film, all the while my adrenaline rising with each passing second, wondering how I could get out of this.
Maybe I'd just say something about the book, make up an urgent issue that I needed to discuss with her.
"So what's up?" she asked. "It seems like you have something on your mind."
"I, uh, yeah. I do."
"Well, spit it out, girl. I can already tell it's worrying you. Best to just get these things out of the way as quickly as possible."
Shit. Venus La Fleur was the last thing my old persona was clinging to, and I didn't know if that was a good thing or bad thing if I lost that. Which I most definitely would. Obviously she would be pissed and want nothing to do with me ever again.
"Yes?" she prompted again.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry to waste your time like this. But yes, I am nervous. Ridiculously nervous."
"About what? Pretending to be Cordelia even though you're really Annalise Stratton?"
I gasped, shock flooding through my body. "What? You know?" Veronica must have told her. That was the only possible way she could know the truth.
"Of course I know. I know who you both are. I don't trust anyone anymore, so I do an FBI-level background check on anyone I get involved with."
Still stunned, all I could manage to say was an oh so eloquent, "Oh."
"People have been underestimating me my entire life. And I've turned that into my superpower. They think because I look like this I don't have any brains. But I knew Max's mustache was fake from day one, so I looked into him, and then you, which I would have done anyway. I just did it a little faster than usual."
The only thing I could think of to say was, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I deceived you like that, along with everyone else."
"Oh, that's sweet of you. But I'm not mad. I get it. I totally understand."
"You do?"
"Yes, I do. What'd you think? I'd fire you or something?" she asked, laughing.
"Um, yeah. That's what happened at work."
Now, she was the one who gasped. "They fired you for real?"
"They did. On Friday."
"If you even say Max was the one to fire you..."
"Actually, he was."
I wasn't ready for her reaction, but she laughed loudly—so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear.
"Oh, sweetie," she said breathlessly. "That's so harsh it's hilarious. And what nerve considering he was doing the same damn thing."
"Right? Although he is kind of the CEO, so..."
"CEO. C. E. Shmo. Whatever. They're not the boss of you and me."
Her words made me smile, a rusty one as if I'd forgotten how. "No, they're certainly not. Not anymore."
"But..." She paused, drawing out whatever she had on her mind.
"Yes?"
"But I saw you two dance at the gala, and I know for a fact that man has it bad for you."
"Oh, um, well, we had a very brief thing..."
"Of course you did. The chemistry between you two is obvious to anyone who bothers to look. So not anymore I take it? Since he fired your ass?"
"No. Definitely not anymore."
"But did he say why? Or was he just a total asshole about it?"
I took a few minutes to tell her the details, explaining how he did it "for my own good" supposedly, not able to hide the sarcastic venom from my voice.
"So he thinks you should start your own publishing company?" she asked once I was done explaining everything.
"Yes."
"And is that something you want?"
"Yes, definitely," I admitted. "Someday."
"Someday? Why not now?"
"Well..." My voice trailed off because I didn't really have a great answer to that particular question. "Um..."
Venus laughed again. "I can see I stumped you. Well, look, I'm obviously committed to working with you and publishing this book through Insight Ink. However..."
I held my breath in anticipation of what she might say.
"However," she repeated, " when you start your own business, I will fully support you in that. Maybe with my next book. Maybe with my husband's memoir sometime or my close friends. Or I'll just give you a shoutout on my social media. I don't know what yet. But I think you should absolutely go for it. Just do it."
Who knew Venus La Fleur could be so sweet? "That is so kind of you. Thank you so much."
"Of course." I heard some voices in the background and sensed Venus was distracted. "Okay. I've got to get going. But we'll talk soon. All right?"
"Sounds good. And thanks again for your understanding. I can't even tell you how much I appreciate it."
After we said our goodbyes, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. It'd been a small miracle that Venus had been so accepting of this absurd situation I'd caused. So I'd been fired, and that truly sucked, but I could still complete this mission and then move forward. And at least I had enough money to support myself, unlike a lot of people when they lost their job.
The buzz of my phone interrupted my thoughts, and I quickly answered when I saw it was the doorman. "Miss Annalise, there's a flower delivery for you here. Should I send it up?"
Flowers? From who? "Sure. Thank you."
I paced as I waited, wondering if Max had sent them, the only possible person. Or maybe one of my sisters. But that would be odd since there was no special occasion to celebrate. It'd have to be one of those just because moments, which was rare.
Minutes later, a porter knocked softly, and I opened the door to find a stunning arrangement of white lilies and peonies. I thanked and tipped him, then carefully took the vase, inhaling the blooms' delicate fragrance as I set it on my kitchen island, backlit by the summer sun streaming through the windows.
Rifling through the greenery, I found a small card to accompany the sinking feeling in my gut. With trembling fingers, I tore it open and read the note.
"Day one of my hopeful redemption arc. Since you're not answering phone calls or texts, I've resorted to flower bribery. Peonies because they're your favorite, and lilies that symbolize rebirth. And maybe second chances?"
Was he joking? He thought he could send me a nice bouquet of flowers and I'd forgive him just like that?
I was tempted to grab a hammer and smash the vase to pieces as well as the flowers. But they were really pretty, and it seemed like a waste to do something like that.
So instead, I ripped the card up into little pieces, then placed the remains inside an envelope. I'd arrange for a courier to deliver my "response" to him tomorrow at his office. And that would hopefully be the end of it.
How had he known that peonies were my favorite? I'd never told him that.
The man was a good detective. I'd give him that.
I spent the rest of the day working on the Venus project and making up a plan and timeline to hand off my other jobs. I hated this. It was a terrible feeling like I was abandoning authors mid-stream and not following through on my commitments, but there was nothing I could do about it.
By the following week, I'd successfully shifted everything and everyone except Venus over to others, and I'd also taken the step of announcing my real self to my former co-workers, wanting to just completely come clean. If Veronica and Max didn't like that I'd told people, well, that was their problem.
I was done with all things Cordelia, and most certainly done with anything to do with Dee .
The flowers kept coming, though, filling my entire living space. It was too much. And every note, I did the same thing, cut it up and sent it back to him. But did that stop him? No. Stubborn asshole.
If he was still sending them this week, I'd have to find a way to donate them to a hospital because I couldn't take this any longer.
The flowers I couldn't have cared less about, but the notes... even though I'd destroyed them all, the words lived on in my head.
Sweet words like"I'm not stopping until I see your gorgeous smile again," or funny things like "If I could go back in time, I'd fire myself instead. But since I can't, here's yet another please-forgive-my-stupid-ass bouquet."
And with each message from him, I felt my resolve chip away just a little before I could build it back up again into a fortified wall.
But on Monday, he switched from flowers to something else entirely, something that shocked me as well as threatened my carefully built defenses. That afternoon, the doorman called up, and I expected the usual floral arrangement, fully ready to pass it on to a worthy cause.
But there were no flowers, just an elegant envelope with my name scrawled on the outside in a confident script. My curiosity piqued, despite myself, I opened it quickly and read the handwritten note.
Since I know you're not a fan of alliteration, I'm moving on to another literary device. Let's see if you can figure it out for week two of my apology tour.
A is for amazing, because every little thing you do amazes me.
Was he going to do the whole damn alphabet?
Placing his note to the side, I pulled out another note card from the envelope, this one professionally printed on rich and sturdy paper.
A donation has been made in your honor to Literacy for All, a nonprofit dedicated to advancing literacy for underserved communities. Thank you for helping us share the gift of reading .
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of my mouth before I forced my frown back into place, determined to tear up this note as well. I made a short rip then stopped.
This was actually incredibly thoughtful of him. And I'd never admit it to another soul but this one got me. Between the personal note and the donation, Max had shown how well he knew me.
Flowers would never win me over, even if he sent them for a solid year. But this kind of thing?
Fuck. This could spell trouble.