Chapter 15 Lexie #2
A muscle in his jaw flexes, his fingers still gripping the tray holding the bill. “No. I don’t.”
My lips curve into a slow, wicked smile. “Afraid of being in my debt, Theo? What do you think I’d do with that kind of power?”
His eyes darken. “I could think of worse things.”
“Fair enough,” I say, my voice lowering to a near whisper.
“Because you should be.” I say this almost to myself, but by the way he stills, I know he caught it.
We stay locked in a silent battle of wills.
He wants to feel like he won? Sure, I’ll let him.
But it’s all part of the game. The more he lets his guard down, the more I can uncover his secrets.
With deliberate slowness, I release my hold and sit back, my smile never wavering.
“Fine,” I say, my tone dripping with mock sweetness. “I’ll let you pay. Consider me… indebted to you.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something dark and unreadable flickers in his eyes.
“Careful, Lexie,” he says in a soft warning. “Debts have a way of coming due.”
I stand, grab my bag, and sling it over my shoulder. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” I quirk up a brow in a silent challenge. “Thanks for lunch.”
Without another word, I pivot and bolt away, leaving him at the table, the bill in his hand and a storm brewing in his eyes. God, it feels good. Too good. For years this man held the power. Back in school. With my future. My career. These little wins would make my nineteen-year-old-self proud.
A small, satisfied grin grows as I exit the restaurant and reach outside. Finally, I have the last word. We still have more venues to visit, but I’ve decided, right now, that I’ll go on my own to pre-vet.
I barely reach the end of the block to grab a cab when a firm hand grips my arm. I spin and look into Theo’s rage-filled eyes.
“We’re not finished,” he snaps, his cheeks red, his gaze cutting into me. “No one walks away from me. No one. Do you hear me?”
Oh God, he’s pissed and I fucking eat it up. And he still has no idea what’s in store. “We’re done for the day. I think it’s best that I visit the rest of the venues myself and send you my thoughts.”
“We are finished when I decide we are. The sooner you accept that I’m the one in control, the easier this will be for you,” he says, still gripping my arm with enough force to display his dominance, without doing any damage.
I hate the way his touch lights me up. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not nearly as smart as you think. ”
At his words, a searing pain shoots through my chest. Just like back then, he didn’t think I was smart enough, or capable enough, or worthy enough. Nothing has changed. I rip my arm away from his grip.
“Do you even remember me?” I ask, my voice sharp.
He cocks his head. “What?”
A gut-wrenching few seconds pass and heat fills my cheeks. I hate that instead of rage fueling me, my old fear of being insignificant takes hold. “Do you remember me?”
His eyes narrow as his breath fogs. “What are you talking about?”
Stay strong. “You really don’t remember me?”
Faint lines crease the corners of his eyes as he squints, like he’s racking his brain.
But other than that, his face shows absolutely zero recognition.
He crosses his arms and his face softens.
“Were you a patient of mine?” he asks at last. “I treat a lot of people. If someone isn’t a regular patient, it’s not always easy to place them. ”
A patient? My belly sinks. “No.” I swallow the stickiness from my throat and shove my hands into my pocket before they do something reckless like slap him. For better or worse, he singlehandedly altered the course of my life and, clearly, I barely register in his. “We, went to the same university.”
“You went to St. Benedicts?” he says, still squinting, still studying, still not fucking remembering. “Were you… wait… were we in the same med school?”
The contents of the Cesar salad roll in my stomach and I absolutely regret ordering extra anchovies.
I want to grab him by the collar and scream that he ruined my life.
“No, I was in a different program,” I say, losing the battle to keep my strength.
“And… I, um, worked for your father.” And spent a year dreaming of the things your fingers could do to me.
“Back then, my name was Gemma. I go by my middle name now.”
If he has a question about the name change, he doesn’t ask—which, for anyone else, would be the obvious thing to do. But Theo’s never been straightforward. He’s calculating, brilliant, and sadistic. If he’s not asking, it’s for a reason.
Every detail of the moment my university career imploded is burned into my brain.
I’d been called into the Dean’s office, where Dr. Astor and a few faculty members sat with stern expressions making my twenty-year-old legs tremble.
They told me to sit and lamented about my egregious abuse of the trust the Dean had given me.
But it was Dr. Astor’s look that crushed me the most. After two semesters as his student aide—his prized student aide, as he’d often said—the spark in his eyes dimmed, replaced by disappointment.
Even today, I can still remember the panic seeping in when they showed me evidence that I’d somehow stolen the final exam for my course—my university badge was used to log into the Dean’s computer, my exam was pre-populated with the correct answers, and my silver heart keychain with my name inscribed (which I’d lost a few weeks before) was sitting on the Dean’s desk.
I pleaded. I cried. My voice shook as I insisted it wasn’t me. I pushed through my fear, facing people who were so much more powerful, better, than me. I knew they saw my working-class neighborhood in the way I carried myself, my second-hand clothes, and the donated backpack slung over the chair.
I couldn’t change any of it. But I had to try.
That day, I swallowed my anxiety and said I had a plan to clear my name.
The log-in timestamp on the Dean’s computer matched almost exactly with when I’d run into Theo on campus, outside of the Behavioral Science building.
I could never forget that moment—after nearly a year of fantasizing all the wicked things he might do to me, and only a week after I’d canceled seeing him to attend the event with Dr. Astor, I finally worked up the nerve to ask him out instead…
only to be swiftly and brutally rejected.
To clear my name, I had to reopen that wound and do the one thing I’d sworn I never would for Theodore Astor: beg. I asked him to verify my alibi with the university board.
He’d looked at me with unfeeling eyes and said he had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.
Heat flooded my cheeks. “But… we talked… in the courtyard. I, um, asked you out.”
And then he laughed. I’ll never forget it—sharp, demeaning. The kind of laugh a star graduate student, cushioned by wealth, pedigree, and privilege, gives an undergrad scholarship girl like me. I wanted to disappear.
I’d spent my entire life playing by the rules, and they were tearing my future away for something I didn’t do. Tears streamed down my face as I told him they were going to expel me. He’d shrugged—like I was nothing more than an inconvenience.
But when he turned to walk away, I saw his mouth turning into a smug, private smile.
And I understood. He remembered our interaction that day. More than that—he’d done it. I didn’t know how or why, but I knew with absolute certainty that he’d played a part in framing me.
Theo clears his throat, snapping me back to present day.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you,” he says, dropping his crossed arms and sounding only marginally softer than he did a moment ago.
“It’s a small world that you worked for my father.
Though my father’s probably had a hundred interns and aides over the years; it’s hard to keep track. ”
I flash back to my Psych 101 and 201 courses that I loved so much, hours spent studying the physical tells of lying: fidgeting, averted eyes, delayed responses. Theo shows none of it. Just a faint, almost apologetic look.
Maybe he’s ruined other lives over the years and I’m just another notch on the destruction belt. Maybe he’s done worse.
Seven years later, the memory still burns and he doesn’t remember a thing.
I’m going to be sick.
“I guess you made more of an impression on me than I ever did on you,” I say with a self-deflecting grin. “Honestly, it was so long ago it doesn’t even matter.”
His tense shoulders drop, and his face relaxes.
“I’m sorry.” He reaches out, resting a large, warm hand on my shoulder, his bourbon-brown eyes earnest for once.
“Med school is like fraternity Rush Week—except it lasts for years. I’m pretty sure by the time I graduated, I barely knew my own name. It’s nothing personal.”
When he pulls his hand away, the heat of his touch lingers, and it makes me rage. Fine. So, he doesn’t remember me. I’ll swallow the sharp stab to my ego and let his lack of recognition go.
But I promise you, after all of this is done, there’s no fucking way he’ll ever forget me again.