Chapter 15 Lexie
After the near accident, Theo and I keep a safe distance from each other as we wrap up the first venue visit much faster than anticipated. His touch lingers on my skin and I feel betrayed by own body—the effect of the man I loathe, the man about to be married, is infuriating.
“We have two hours before the next visit,” I say as we step outside. “We can meet back up, or go through more wedding items, or…”
“Or we could grab lunch because I’m starving.”
Lunch. Oof. I’m so not ready to engage in conversation with this man for the next hour. “Sure.”
“I know a great spot. You’ll love it,” he says like he knows me, but he doesn’t.
He knows nothing, remembers nothing about me.
But a guy like him probably assumes everything he likes, every woman will, too.
At least he’s predictable. What’s next, throwing his jacket over a puddle so I don’t get my shoes wet?
And yet, he shielded me with his body. So, who really is Theodore Astor?
His driver brings us to a nearby place. Outside the restaurant, Theo holds open the door.
It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes me a little weak in the knees.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a door held open for her.
But my last boyfriend used to slip through first, barely holding it so it didn’t slam my face.
I hate that it feels nice.
The atmosphere here is lovely. Beautiful cedar tables, large cushy leather seats, wine menus as thick as the bible. I don’t even know how we got a table at a place like this so quickly, but I know by now that what Theo wants, he gets.
After the hostess seats us, Theo shrugs out of his jacket.
Everything about him screams perfection.
Broad shoulders. Defined pecs. The way the fabric of his shirt pulls taut when he leans back in his chair.
He rolls up his sleeves, exposing dark tattoos and the subtle ridges and veins nestled below black forearm hair.
God, I hope he never finds out what those tattoos do to me.
The way his hands could work me, own me, wrap around my neck—
“Lexie?”
Shit.
“What did you say?”
If he caught me looking at him in the most unprofessional way, he doesn’t react. Shake it off. I’m just experiencing a bout of cognitive dissonance after cheating death earlier. I’ll be back to normal in no time.
“I asked if you’ve ever been here before,” he says as he flips open the menu.
“Oh, ah, nope. Excited to try it, though.” I scan the menu and exhale through the ridiculous prices while reminding myself that I’m out with a client, so I can expense the meal.
“Hey there, welcome,” the server says with a bright smile. “What can I get you two love birds?”
“Oh God no. We are not here, together, like… that,” I say, quickly. “This is a business lunch.”
“Oops.” The server grins and poises his pen. “Let me tell you about the lunch specials. Today we have buttered gnocchi…”
After we put in our order, I squeeze lemon into the ice water, and glance at Theo across the table. “Sounds like Annabelle arrived in Italy, safely, huh?”
“Yes, she did,” he says, his voice, his face, everything, neutral.
He should be panicking and distraught that his bride-to-be is across the world and not here to help plan their wedding.
But he’s not—and it’s unsettling. “She’s been contemplating going there for a few weeks.
I think it’ll be good for her, even though she’s a little worried not everything will get done on time. ”
The server places a breadbasket in the middle of the table. Theo hands me the basket before he reaches for a roll himself.
“I have no doubt we have things under control,” I say.
“Agreed,” he says as he cuts a slice of butter. “Looks like we’re going to be spending lots of time together, Lexie.”
The bread feels lumpy in my throat. I swallow. While I wanted Annabelle away from Theo, I didn’t necessarily relish the thought of spending more time with him. “Looks like it,” I say, avoiding his eyes.
We settle into an easy, much easier than anticipated, conversation about movies, the best pizza in the city, and me nudging him that if these venues today don’t work, we have to go to plan B: destination or one of the parents’ properties.
He glares when I mention the latter option.
The server breaks the moment to set down our plates. “There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you since the first time we met,” Theo says, and my heart races at the thought that he finally remembers me. This is it. The recognition, the confrontation, everything spilling into the open—
“Tell me, am I the best client you’ve worked with?”
I sputter. “Really? That’s your question?”
He nods, already cutting into his chicken. “See, I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t be letting the Astor name down.”
I hate that his arrogance makes me grin, and I tamper down the frustration that yet again I never mattered to him. “The jury’s still out,” I say, schooling my face into a mock-serious expression. “Though Annabelle did warn me I’d have my work cut out.”
“Oh, I bet she did. She looks all sweet and innocent, but you can’t trust anything she says.”
My phone vibrates in my purse, interrupting the moment.
Normally when I’m with a client, I’d silence it without a second thought.
But after my mom’s recent health relapse, I’m abnormally paranoid.
I sneak a glance at the screen, relief pouring over me when it’s only Justin. I hit decline. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re a popular woman. I can see why you’re hard to pin down,” Theo remarks. There’s a faint edge to his tone, as if he doesn’t like the fact I speak to other people. And there’s a small part of me that shouldn’t like this the way I do.
Before I can respond, my phone lights up on the table and I reach for it—catching Theo sneaking a glance.
I laugh softly at Justin’s message, another half-baked attempt to set me up with one of the vendors he’s working with on a wedding assignment. Justin is relentless in his search for a perfect mate for me.
“A new date, I presume?” This time Theo’s voice is unnervingly still, and a thin line of awareness prickles the back of my neck. With any other client I’d deflect the question. But Theo isn’t the type to let things go. He’d keep pushing until he got his answer.
An irrational urge sparks to test the intent behind his curiosity.
“Yes.” The lie slips out easily.
Though not a total lie, as maybe tonight I should reinstall the dating apps. I’ve got too much unchanneled sexual energy, and it needs somewhere to go before I do something stupid.
Theo pins me with a sharp gaze before he bites into the chicken and swallows. “I imagine sitting here, with me, on a Saturday, is killing your social life.”
“You’re a client. It’s my job to be here with you.”
He sets his fork at the edge of his plate and crosses his arms. “So, I’m just a job?”
What can I possibly say to that? I think if Theo weren’t a doctor, he’d make a good lawyer. How can I tell him that he was once my heartbreak? We have history together that he doesn’t even remember. Theo has never been just a job. “Aren’t I just an employee?”
“You are not just an employee.”
An unexpected warmth zips through me. “What would you call me then?”
Slowly, his lips tug into a smirk. “Complicated.”
The word flutters down like dirty snowflakes. Theo picks back up his fork and knife. When my phone rings with a vendor’s name on the screen, he stops mid-cut and holds my gaze. “Do you need to take the call?”
“Probably a good idea.” And I can use this excuse to escape whatever we’d just shared a few moments before.
How is it that I both know this man and don’t?
That seven years have passed since I last saw him, and our interactions back then were minimal at best, and yet I know him.
He wants to know that he’s my first choice, that I’ll sacrifice for him, that I want him.
And I refuse to let him live in this delusion.
Because no matter how surprisingly civil this day has been, I have not forgotten the woman from the hotel, or what happened in Boston.
I step away from the table, out of earshot, and confirm an appointment with a decorator for early Tuesday. I spend another minute speaking into a dead line, knowing, but really not caring, how fucking twisted it is that I’m fueled by this power trip.
I return to the table and slide my phone into my bag as I sit down. The air between us is different now—thicker, heavier. Theo’s posture is relaxed, almost too relaxed, but his eyes are anything but. They track my every move, sharp and unyielding, like a predator sizing up its prey.
“You get your date lined up for tonight?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, but there’s a bite beneath the surface.
I freeze at the tone before forcing a casual shrug. “Not sure that’s any of your business.”
His lips curve into a faint, humorless smile. “Must be nice to have so many… interested parties.”
This is not a compliment. My stomach tightens, but I refuse to let it show. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leans back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “Nothing. Just an observation.”
I want to claw his face. A silent standoff ignites as my chest burns and his eyes narrow. The waiter appears at our table, placing the bill between us like a grenade. Theo reaches for it without hesitation, but my hand shoots out, my fingers brushing his as I grab the other side.
“I’ve got it,” I say, firmly.
Theo’s grip doesn’t falter. “No, you don’t.”
My eyes snap to his, and his intense gaze sends a shiver down my spine. “I’m not letting you pay for me,” I say again, enunciating each word with a knife-sharp edge. I will never owe this man. Not even for a meal.
“And I’m not letting you pay for me,” he counters, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl.
We’re close now, leaning over the table, our faces inches apart, tension palpable. “Do you not like the idea of a woman paying for you?” I say, keeping my voice quiet, but no less cutting.