Chapter 10 Lexie
“This mission is impossible,” I say to Sydney as a taxi drives us through Manhattan on a Tuesday afternoon.
It’s been ten days since Theo and Annabelle showed up at our office unannounced, five days since Sydney and I scoped every available event center we could snag an appointment to, two days since I’ve gotten more than five hours of sleep, and one day since I doubled my efforts in finding out more about Theo’s life since university.
So far, my internet search is yielding minimal results.
Scholastic accomplishments and published articles in medical journals is all I can find.
Both him and Annabelle’s social media is non-existent.
But there’s something out there that I can use to show Annabelle who Theo really is.
Seven years ago, I couldn’t prove what he did.
Now, I’ll go down in flames before I let him get away again.
Sydney drops her cell phone into her purse and looks out the window. “What’s impossible? Making our way through rush hour traffic or the severe lack of available wedding venues?”
Ugh. It’s bad enough that we only have an unreasonable six months to plan a wedding, but under no circumstances can I let Sydney find out I’m digging into Theo’s past and trying to save Annabelle from a lifetime of married misery.
Part of me wonders if it’d just be easier to find nothing, let the wedding happen, and take the promotion and raise I’ve worked so hard for.
That thought tempts me for about three seconds before anger reappears when one of Theo’s pretentious emails lands in my inbox or I remember the power plays he’s pulled.
Tonight, I’m going to review our cancellation policy. Maybe there’s wiggle room to both save Annabelle and keep my promotion.
“Do not lose hope, Lexie. We’ve pulled some major tricks out of our hat before.” Sydney gives me a comforting squeeze on the arm. “Do I need to remind you of the Hendersons’ wedding?”
I chuckle. “No, no you don’t.” That one might go down in history as the most soap-operatic wedding of all time.
The best man in love with the bride. The grandpas getting in a very slow, very drawn-out pushing match, the intoxicated groom’s mother trying to kiss the priest. Looking back, it’d make for a great rom-com.
Although at the time, it felt anything but.
And, as always, Sydney was there, coaching, guiding, and keeping me from spiraling.
When we step into the hotel in the financial district, I breathe a small sigh of relief. The lobby is decent enough, the traffic like any other hotel you’d expect. It doesn’t scream Barlowe, but Annabelle herself doesn’t even scream Barlowe.
“Would you grab us a few lattes, and I’ll check in with the manager?” Sydney says.
“Double caramel, pecan oat milk, or drip with two pumps vanilla?”
She gives me the cocked brow and curved lip look I crave. “How in the world do you know my top three orders?”
This is where I excel. I listen, I read, I study people.
We don’t often go for coffee, but we’ve gone enough times over the years that I remember patterns.
That’s why I know in the deepest part of my gut that something is not right with Theo and Annabelle—the pattern is off.
“I used to be a barista. Drink orders are tattooed into my brain.” This is not a lie, however.
I still have nightmares about screwing up a skinny vanilla latte order.
“You’re too smart for your own good,” Sydney says, and I have the distinct feeling that if she were twenty years older, she’d pinch my cheeks. “Just grab me the one with the least amount of caffeine. I need to try and sleep tonight.”
“Got it.” I follow the scented trail of roasted coffee beans down the large lobby, past the small gift shop, and to the corner of the space. In line, I snap pictures of the reception area, the commons, the business center, and the small restaurant to the left.
After I put in our coffee orders, I move to the pick-up line, continuing to scan the space, when the elevator doors across the lobby open. What in the… My breath hitches. Inside, Theo’s arms are linked with a beautiful, legs-as-tall-as-the-sky, twenty-something-year-old, brunette.
Outside of the elevator, they stop and face each other, whispering. Her hand never leaves his. His gaze doesn’t break with hers. Maybe it’s a colleague, or a relative. But I’ve never touched a colleague or relative as long, or as intimately, as they are.
I take out my phone, scroll in and record the way her hand grasps his forearm, how she peeks behind him like she’s worried about getting caught, the way he pulls her into his fierce, hard chest.
Whatever conversation they’re having is intense.
She’s upset and keeps tugging at his hands, intertwining them with hers.
She places her hands on his chest and stares up at him.
God, what I’d give to hear what they’re saying.
Whatever it is, a slow smile appears on her beautiful face.
He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, then kisses her forehead.
That motherfucker. I knew it. I absolutely knew that he’s a player.
The woman cups his face and lifts to her toes like she’s going to kiss him, but he takes a step back and glances across the lobby.
Of course he does. He’s getting married.
I’m surprised they’re doing as much PDA as they are.
I dash behind the wall so he can’t see me and exhale.
A moment later, they saunter away, chatting as they move through the doors, walk outside, and disappear behind the building. I start to follow, but the barista calls my name and my focus snaps to Sydney waving from outside the manager’s office.
As I weave through the travelers, the sweet taste of vindication swirls through me. Theo is the man who could have anyone. Back then. Now. Forever. And he ended up with the golden girl, Annabelle, a beautiful, smart, kind billionaire. And still, she’s not enough.
All these years I’ve hoped for retribution. But now, this nearly decade-long passive desire to see Theo crumble has changed. I need to protect Annabelle from making a life-altering mistake. And if this means I also get my long-awaited revenge, great.
Everything starts now.