Page 15 of Broken Vows

I grin at the “sexy man” comment. A few months ago, I joined Justin and his beautiful-as-him husband, Dylan, for drinks. A guy with sandy blonde hair, trimmed beard, and sharp suit slid in next to us, shook our hands like we were constituents during his mayoral run and made me laugh. He had a great ass, found out later that night a nice dick, and we seemed to click.

Sort of.

I usually rely on fourth-of-July-level sparks, but this was more of a backyard-barbeque-sparkler type of spark. But my gut hasn’t always batted a hundred with men. By the end of the month, I pulled my classic line of being too busy at work for a relationship and stopped returning calls.

Something needs to break my funk, but, tonight, I need more than a double dirty martini with Justin. “Raincheck. I need some serious solo time tonight.”

“If you change your mind, just shoot me a text.”

I nod and pull up my spreadsheet checklist—the wedding planner’s bible. A client once mentioned that being a wedding planner sounded like so much fun. That all day you get to sample cake, look at beautiful venues, and help pick out flowers. I almost laughed. Sure, these existed, but really, it’s a highly skilled project manager, business negotiator, relationship builder, therapist role. And one with a whisper network as tight as the mafia. You piss off one person in this industry and you have no idea how quickly doors will slam in your face.

But normally, yes, I do like my job. Is this where I wanted to be? Absolutely not. Am I still grateful that I landed here? Definitely.

I scan the emails that came in overnight. All typical items that I’d cover as an assistant: vendor invoices, a salon booking confirmation for one of Sydney’s bridal parties, a pitch from a new bakery. But now I have budget reports, forwarded design proposals, questions about city liquor permits if we have an off-site venue—and my blood pressure starts rising. This opportunity is everything I’ve wanted. But Jesus Christ, it’s a lot.

I don’t even register these, however, because I’m too distracted by the one tucked a few rows below from Theo. Sent almost forty-eight hours ago.

For some jobs, two days is not a big deal. But unless I’m at a wedding, or with a client, I pride myself on responding to all client emails within an hour. I want them to feel like they’re my top priority.

And the rush filling me from not responding to Theo builds in delicious layers. Each hour I don’t respond and make him wait, each hour I picture him pacing and wondering if I’ve forgotten about him, feeds me. I know I should respond. Instead, I email the bakery and confirm we’ll be happy to accept a sample and quick meet-and-greet.

As if I’ve conjured the devil himself, my cell rings with Theo’s name on the screen. I toy with the idea of denying the call, but then remember I need this job and in doing so, I must be professional. I swipe to answer, but the line disconnects.

I go back to answering emails and setting up the expense spreadsheet, checking my phone every few seconds to see if Theo has called me back. My laptop pings fifteen minutes later—a message from Megan, the receptionist, asking me to come to the lobby.

As I stand, my eyes snag on my phone. I hesitate, then swipe it off my desk and bring it with me. Why did I let my emotions get the better of me? Something seriously might have happened. I unlock my phone and start drafting a message to Theo, then lose patience and call him instead—only to hear a faint ringtone in the distance. Weird. When I round the corner, my whole body freezes, my fingers tightening around the phone at my ear. I should know by now there are no such things as coincidences. Not when it comes to Theodore Astor. Because he’s standing right in front of me, phone in hand, with Annabelle by his side.

What are they doing here? Please, please don’t tell me I forgot an appointment. That would just be my luck—trying to prove I deserve a promotion and miss a meeting with the highest-budget client our firm has ever had. Or worse, they’re here because I failed Client Etiquette 101 when they needed me.

“Hi there,” I smile, probably way too brightly, as I mentally scan my calendar and pray I don’t break out in a cold sweat.

“Hey, Lexie!” Annabelle says, as she dangles a designer bag in her hands. “Hope it’s okay to just drop by like this without an appointment.” Oh, thank holy Christ. “Theo said his phone was acting up and couldn’t get through to you, and since we were shopping in the area, we could just stop by.”

He did, huh? A hint of a smirk tugging at his lips beneath his groomed scruff indicates something else.

I want to dig my heels in his foot with enough force to break a bone. He has not earned the right to stand here totally impassive. And God, I hate that he looks good. Today, jeans and a casual dark long sleeve that’s obviously cut to accentuate those rippling biceps. He’s gorgeous in anything and he knows it. I hate that he knows it.

I don’t trust him. He’s clearly orchestrated this. Probably to throw me off my game. And it’s working. Though Theo’s easy smile masks something darker—he’s wearing the same look as last time they were here: no recognition of me, no acknowledgement of the damage he left behind, no memory of cornering me in that conference room. He smiles like I’m a stranger.

By the time I’m done with him, he’ll never forget me again.

“Yes of course,” I say, matching his casual smile, hiding the knots in my stomach. He wants to knock me off alignment, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “I was just composing an email to the two of you, so this is perfect. Why don’t we head back to the conference room. Please follow me.”

Without waiting for a response, I turn and exhale my constricted breath.

I lead them past my desk where I grab my laptop and then head down the hall. We pass Sydney’s open office door, and before we reach the conference room, her signature Chanel N°5 fills the air before I actually see her. She silently appears, snapped into existence by the hint of a Barlowe in her presence.

“Annabelle and Theo, so nice to see you,” she says, stepping in front of me, which is just fine as I need to catch my breath. “I’m surprised Lexie didn’t tell me you had an appointment, otherwise I would’ve greeted you in the lobby.”

“We didn’t have an appointment,” Annabelle says. “We just decided to drop by.”

I don’t like the look Theo gives me. I can’t quite read it. Smug maybe? There’s a flicker of intent behind it, like a predator deciding whether to pounce or retreat. “And I’m so glad you did,” I say. Puke. “You are always welcome here.”

The corner of Theo’s lips lift and I brace myself. “I’m happy to hear that,” he says. “I find that when someone is hard to reach by phone or email, it’s more effective to speak face to face.”

Shit. Hives are for sure going to break out over my body. My impulsiveness is going to be the death of me. The very last thing I need is for my boss to think I’m incompetent.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Sydney adds, giving me a discreet death stare before pasting on a warm smile for them.