Chapter 8 Lexie
As I approach the conference room, I catch Annabelle leaning in to whisper something to Theo as they wait for me.
He laughs in response and she practically glows at his reaction.
There’s evidently an ease between them—the kind of comfort that comes from years of knowing someone—but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing.
I work with couples every day, and my instincts are rarely wrong.
Perhaps it’s because he’s a psychopath and she has yet to uncover this fact.
“So,” I say, heading in and taking the seat across from them, “what brings you into the office today?”
Annabelle glances at Theo first before answering. “We’ve been thinking more about what you advised—especially the headcount. If our parents had their way, it would be half the city by now. They’ve been planning for this since we were in high school.”
High school? Why wait fifteen or so years to get engaged? I hate that my curiosity piques. “Oh, so you’re childhood sweethearts?”
“More or less,” Theo says, reaching for a water bottle in the middle of the table.
“Let’s just say it’s been a… bumpy ride,” Annabelle mutters with a wink.
“Anna!” Theo says, shaking his head as if thoroughly amused—though I don’t believe it for a second. “We swore we were going to keep that between us.”
How does he do this? How does he pretend that he’s this kind, normal, functioning member of society, and how does she not see behind the bullshit veil?
“Oops, sorry. But we’re together now, and that’s all that matters.” She throws her arms around his neck and gives him a loud kiss on his cheek. When she pulls back, she looks at me. “What about you, Lexie? Are you married?”
I blush. “Oh. Um, nope.”
“A special someone, perhaps?” she asks. Clients rarely ask personal questions and it catches me off guard.
With the exception of Justin, I usually keep my professional and personal life separate.
Still, Annabelle waits expectantly. When I glance at Theo, he’s so still he looks like he’s not breathing.
Interesting. Is he curious, too? “No special someone.”
“Those days as a single woman were so much fun,” she says, then adds quickly, “No offense, Theo. But there’s nothing like that first spark—when you meet someone and everything feels exciting and tingly. But I do not miss the whole getting-to-know-you phase.” She makes a face. “It’s just… gah.”
“I think ‘gah’ is the perfect way to describe it.” Throughout the exchange, Theo remains eerily quiet. I don’t want to engage with him any more than necessary, but his silence puts me on edge.
“Okay, let’s be honest. If you were getting married, you’d do a destination wedding, wouldn’t you?” Annabelle says. “All these people staring at us all day… it’s pretty nerve-wracking.”
I smile at her exaggerated, gritted expression.
At her sincerity, I decide to offer her a truthful reply.
“Some people love that,” I say. “Others find the whole idea terrifying.” I pause.
“If I was planning my wedding, I’d keep it small.
Intimate. I’ve always imagined somewhere like Lake Welch.
My parents took me there all the time when I was a kid—I used to think it was named after us.
” I chuckle and explain my last name is Welch.
“It’s my favorite place on earth. My safe place.
When I get married, I picture just me, my fiancé and the lake as our witness. ”
My insides turn warm remembering how my dad would hold my hand in one palm and a plastic bucket in the other as we hunted the beach for perfect skipping rocks. When we were there, the world quieted. Even as I grew older, the lake was my sanctuary. The one place where I could fully breathe.
I hate that I just inadvertently gave Theo some personal insights, but his face is stone-cold, totally unreadable.
I clear my throat. “But this is about your day, not mine. Since you’re here, why don’t we look at a few invitation samples.
” I scoot back from the table to grab a binder off the bookshelf and feel the heat of eyes on me.
Today I wore my fitted khaki pencil skirt that Justin once told me that, even as a gay man, he couldn’t help but appreciate the way it hugged my ass.
The eyes boring into my backside probably don’t belong to Annabelle. I ignore the tiny flutters making their way through me and instead accept that I now have more evidence that Theo’s disgusting.
When I return to the table, Annabelle slides over to the left and pats the seat in between her and Theo. “Here you go,” she says. “That way we can all look together.”
Jesus Christ. Every second I’m with her, she dispels all my preconceived notions of a billionaire.
I’d assumed she’d be like the Devil Wears Prada Miranda Priestly character walking around with a faux American-British accent, dripping with high-end jewelry, luxurious cashmere, and sharp tailored suits.
But not Annabelle. Besides her Hermès bag and massive diamond ring, I’d have no idea she came from money.
Which begs me, once again, to wonder how the hell she wound up with someone like Theo.
As I flip through the invitation binder, Theo moves close enough that I’m hyperaware of him at my shoulder.
It feels like a jolt—every nerve lighting up at once.
I don’t like being so close that I can see the tight ridges in his forearms flex under the dark tattoos when he turns the page.
It’s distracting, and I cannot be distracted.
“This is pretty.” Annabelle rubs her hands over a gold-embossed invitation.
Theo leans in and my breath stops. “But would your mother approve of our invitation for our wedding.”
“Ugh, you’re right,” Annabelle sighs in defeat and Theo returns to flipping the pages.
The air feels charged, like the first frost of the season, carrying a bite.
The longer we sit, the more convinced I am that Annabelle doesn’t want to be here.
She’s looking at the pages but not really seeing.
She’s not a giddy bride, and this goes beyond being easy going.
Does he make all the decisions? I bet he does.
I bet he’s the type of man that doesn’t let her see her friends, that chooses her outfits, that checks her texts and controls all the finances.
As we continue looking through the options, I feel a knee pressing mine. His knee. It’s nothing more than a graze and maybe he notices, maybe he doesn’t, but my traitorous thigh hums with electricity.
I move my leg away.
“What do you think?” I ask Annabelle. “Anything jumping out at you?”
The engagement ring flashes under the ceiling lights. “Honestly, I don’t know.” She dips her head at me. “Between us two, though, Theo’s way pickier than me, so we should probably just let him choose.”
“You do know that I’m literally sitting right here and can hear everything you say, right?” A glint of light flashes in his stormy eyes, reminding me a little bit of his dad.
I still keep up to date on Dr. George Astor, the mentor I so heavily admired.
He’s currently on a book tour which will probably win all the same awards as his first nine books.
And I can’t help but think that should be me.
Right now, I should be several years into my practice, established enough to turn down clientele, and finishing up drafting my first book.
I wasn’t meant to do this—explaining the difference between tri-fold or gatefold invitations, discussing minimalist versus traditional design, giving the pros and cons of metallic foil stamping and wax seals.
No. I should be making triple what I do now, supporting my mom so she can retire, and have letters behind my name.
Theo has letters behind his name. Of course he does. People like him are handed everything, and yet they still take, take, take. The only thing that releases the twist in my belly of how our paths turned out is thinking of how hard, and how quickly, I’ll take him down.
“Why don’t you two keep looking, and I’ll grab another book from my desk,” I say, needing air that isn’t saturated with his aura.
“Actually, Lexie, would you mind showing me the restroom?” Theo asks, rising.
Dammit. It’s as if he has this sixth sense of my need to escape him. It would appear rude if I refuse… “Of course.”
I head for the door, but he reaches it first and pulls it open. Whatever. The chivalrous gesture isn’t for me—it’s for Annabelle. I know exactly what kind of man he is.
Down the hall, he silently follows. Maybe I’m reading into it, but it feels a step too close, too comfortable, too familiar.
The moment I turn the corner, Justin rounds the same corner and gives me his cheesy double thumb guns salute while clicking his tongue.
“What’s up, Buttercup?” his face drops when Theo comes into view.
“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize you were with a client. ”
“All good, just showing Theo here to the restroom before I grab a few more things.”
“I can take you,” Justin offers.
“It’s fine. Lexie was already leading the way,” Theo’s sharp tone sounds behind me.
Justin and I share a quick, knowing glance—high-profile client, deep pockets, must tolerate all his eccentric whims. We keep our mouths shut. Justin continues down the hall, pausing only to give my shoulder an apologetic squeeze, and I continue counting the seconds until Theo leaves.
I usher Theo past our lobby to the shared, public bathroom on the building floor. The halls are quiet, the dentist and CPA office on our floor closed. When we reach the bathroom, Theo doesn’t move. Instead, he crosses his arms and burns his gaze into mine. “He a friend of yours?”
The tone makes me wince.
When I remain silent—because fuck him, I don’t owe him anything—he glances behind his muscular shoulder at the empty hall and narrows his eyes. “I asked if he was a friend.”