Chapter 8 Lexie #2
“Justin?” Theo has not earned the right to know who may or may not be my friend. Why does he care? Is this the part he warned me about, keeping me close because he doesn’t trust me? I let a long moment pass before I respond.
“We’re all really close here at Shades of White,” I say, repeating the words printed somewhere on our website.
His silence turns lethal, filling the space between us, and I can feel his frustration building.
A vein stands down his neck—thick, flushed—as if he’s drawing everything in the room toward him, including me.
The reaction it provokes is embarrassingly potent.
At this rate, I’ll be reciting the whole damn ‘About Us’ page.
“Sydney cultivates a sense of community and family among us planners so we can provide the best service.”
For the quickest of seconds, a whisper I nearly miss, Theo’s heated gaze drops to my mouth and then my tits, then sweeps back to my eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I hate that this look—a brief, scorched flash that might even be subconscious—tightens something low and traitorous inside me.
I hate that it still elicits the same response as when I was younger—a rush of intoxicating dark energy, a heat-laced fear combined with a craving so urgent that it’d wake me up in the middle of the night, forcing me to rub myself to relieve the pressure.
As much as my whole being hates him, as much as I want to bring him to his knees, my body betrays me. But only for a second.
“Your boss said you’d answer all my questions, anytime.” His gaze deepens, sharpens, threatens.
I do not like fucking threats.
“Perhaps I should let her know that I’m not receiving prompt responses.”
Oh, this is too good. He’s salty about his emails being ignored, and I love it.
“Go ahead,” I say. Even though I’m skating on extremely thin ice, the thrill of not backing down sends a sharp rush through me.
“If you want to run to my boss and tell her I won’t give you insights into who I spend my free time with, be my guest.” I straighten my spine and meet his gaze.
“Somehow, though, you don’t strike me as that kind of man.
But I’ve been known to misjudge people before.
” Like you, when I held that stupid crush.
“So, tell me, Theo. Are you the type to let other people do your dirty work, or can you handle a little challenge all on your own?”
The faintest look of amusement appears on his face. He swipes his tongue across his lower lip, leaving a soft glisten of moisture behind that I hate myself for following. “You certainly are feisty, aren’t you?”
“You have no fucking idea.” He hasn’t even begun to see feisty. I hold his gaze a few more moments, making sure that he knows he didn’t win this round, and instead I’m offering up information of my own free will. “But yes, to answer your question, Justin and I are friends.”
I don’t know what has taken over me. Sure, I’ve grown a backbone over the years, but it’s like a steel rod has been implanted into my spine. In Boston, no one protected me. This man destroyed me, and I couldn’t do anything to stop him. I’ll never let him do that again.
“My guess is that you’re used to the world revolving around you, getting what you want, when you want,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’ll plan your wedding, and I’ll be phenomenal at my job. Other than that, I don’t owe you a fucking thing, including details about my private life.”
The faint grin is instantly replaced by his jaw muscle flexing. He inches closer.
This time, I don’t step back.
“Nothing takes priority over our wedding. Not your friends, not a fucking boyfriend, not other clients, nothing.” Oh, why are those words a thin whip licking at my skin? Sharp, biting at the flesh, but oh so yummy. He’s off-guard. He’s upset. He’s rattled.
And it’s glorious.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said to your friend.
Don’t think I can’t read you like a fucking manual,” he seethes.
“I know women like you. The innocent smiles, the sweet eyes, switching to an angelic voice when it suits you. You think you’re smooth, calculating even, but you’re not. I see everything.”
His voice is hard, lethal, and it should terrify me. It should make me want to run and hide and seek shelter in anything but his firm arms and dark scent. But it doesn’t. I’m drawn. In the most fucked-up way, I’m captivated by the rage.
But I also want to laugh. An uncontrollable smile lifts at the corner of my mouth because I’m getting to him. Two weeks in, and he’s already shaken.
“Tell me, Theo,” I say, arching a brow. I don’t break my gaze, I don’t back down, I don’t even flinch.
This time, I take one step towards him, and he freezes.
Then another step. And now I’m so close that my breasts brush up against his rock-hard torso, but I refuse to retreat.
My heart pounds as I lean forward. “Is this supposed to scare me?”
I want to eat the anger that flushes his face.
“You say you know women like me?” My voice is calm, steady, in control.
“But I know men like you. The type of men that carry a delusion that everyone should fear them. Your grandiose self-perception because of money and privilege and being coddled your entire life makes you think if you snap, people should bend a knee for you.” I pin him with an unbreaking, sharp gaze.
“You should know right now, I will never fucking bend for you.”
A darkness that I’ve never seen flashes on his face. He puts his mouth to my ear, his warm breath feathering across my skin. “Do not play with fire, little girl.”
The hot, raw words vibrate against my ear and my heartbeat thuds in the column of my throat. “Or what?”
His hands slide to my waist, and he tugs. Hard. “Bad, bad things will happen if you do.”
The fear is intoxicating. I caused this. I’m making Theo sweat. The man who ignored me for a year, can’t ignore me for two minutes now. I open my mouth to challenge, to push, to pour accelerant on that fire, but the creak of a door sounds, and Theo takes a wide step back.
“Well, hello you two.” Sydney’s voice cuts through the thick air. “I need to run an errand but wanted to check if you needed anything. Theo, is Lexie answering all your questions?”
In a snap, the red in his neck disappears. “She sure is,” he says in the chipper tone of someone discussing good weather, not someone who just experienced this wrenching charge. “She’s giving me all the information I need to know.”
God, he’s a lunatic.
Once she leaves, and he turns towards the bathroom, I race back to the conference room, desperate for some distance between Theo and me. After I slide into the chair in front of Annabelle, I glance at the invitation binder resting between her hands. “Did you find something you like?”
“So many and none at all,” she says with a short chuckle, though the faint hint of defeat in her tone doesn’t go unnoticed. “Honestly, we should just let Theo pick.”
“We meet a lot of women who wouldn’t dare let their partner plan the wedding.
You definitely have a lot of trust in him, huh?
” I keep my voice bright, trying to lighten the mood but also using this chance to get to know them better as a couple.
What is it about Theo that has Annabelle under his spell, blinding her to the fact that he’s the devil in disguise?
Her gaze flickers to the floor, the corner of her lip drops, her throat rolls with a pebble swallow. And there it is.
At the university, I planned on getting a psychology degree. I loved the study of human interactions and micro-expressions. And had I not done a few of those intro courses, I wonder if I would’ve noticed these subtle fluctuations.
But I do, absolutely, notice a chink in her otherwise perfect armor. A crack in the facade she’s so carefully maintaining, revealing just a glimpse of something deeper—something she’s trying desperately to keep hidden.
“Of course I do,” she says, softly, twisting her engagement ring. “He’s going to be my husband after all.”
This should be the happiest time for a bride—dreaming up all the exciting plans for marrying the love of their life. So why do the words coming out of Annabelle’s mouth sound dull and lifeless?