Page 17 of One Midnight Kiss

7

FOX

Isprawled out on the couch, the leather cool against my bare feet. The bottle of my favorite IPA was blessedly cold in my hand. It was bitter, sharp, and exactly what I needed tonight. The brewery was just a block down the street. I’d been living off their latest batches like a lifeline lately. Not my typical Saturday night, but then again, I wasn’t feeling like myself.

Normally, I would be at the bar, scoping out the scene, maybe chatting up a woman who caught my eye. Going to the bar was a lot like going shopping. Everyone there was looking for something to take home with them. Not something—someone. The bars I went to were meat markets.

The scent of cheap perfume or too much cologne. Loud music and young men and women dressed in their sexiest attire. It was a fast game, a one-night stand, a quickie for the ego.

But tonight, I didn’t feel like playing that game. I didn’t want to go out. Didn’t even want to see anyone. I didn’t do serious relationships. I enjoyed the ladies. I was a single, straight, thirty-three-year-old man who liked having fun. I liked sex. Duh. But tonight, the thought of the usual chase felt exhausting.

It was the stress of the product launch getting to me. Christa’s push to work with the new marketing firm was weighing me down. But it wasn’t the firm. It was her.

Natalia Dawkins.

I swigged the beer, then put the bottle down a little harder than necessary. I wasn’t going to do this. I told myself a dozen times not to dig into my marketing lady, but hell, here I was, pulling my laptop out. I opened it, fingers hesitating over the keys.

“What the hell is your deal?” I muttered.

I typed her name into the search bar, ignoring my good sense.

The first few results were exactly what I expected. Links to her firm, articles she’d been mentioned in—standard corporate fluff. I clicked on the profile from her company’s website, leaning back as I read through it. She went to Yale for undergrad. Impressive, but I already knew that. She had a master’s in marketing from Washington State, though. That made me pause.

“Why the downgrade?” I mused out loud. It didn’t make sense. A Yale graduate would usually go Ivy League for their master’s too, wouldn’t they? Maybe she couldn’t handle the pressure.

I read through her profile. It was all very clinical, almost cold. A Wikipedia page was warmer. It listed her credentials and work experience, but there wasn’t a word about her hobbies, her interests, or her personal life. She was all business, just like she’d been in that meeting, leaning in with those sharp eyes, trying to size me up. It had annoyed the hell out of me, which was odd. Usually, I enjoyed a challenge.

I was a techie, which meant I could be a professional stalker if I wanted to. It wasn’t hard to get information on anyone. People didn’t realize how much of their lives were exposed on the internet. I opened a new tab and typed in her name again. This time, I scrolled past the professional pages.

That was when I found it. A small, old link buried in the search results. The heading read “Wedding Announcement: Natalia Dawkins and Andrew Lennox.”

My breath caught, the cursor hovering over the link. Did I look? I didn’t actually want to be a stalker. But it was on the internet, so it wasn’t like it wasn’t public knowledge. Especially if the announcement was in the paper, which was where the link connected to.

I clicked and the page loaded slowly, filling me with agitation. I reached for my beer and took another drink. Then there it was—a photo of Natalia, her arm looped through some preppy-looking dude’s arm. The kind of guy I’d bet money on being a finance douchebag. The backdrop looked like the Hamptons, the ocean stretching out behind them, serene and picturesque.

Natalia was smiling. Not the smirk I’d seen during our meeting, but a full, radiant smile. She looked happy. Genuinely happy. It threw me off. This wasn’t the same woman who stared me down like she wanted to rip my head off and hang it on her office wall.

“What happened to you?” I whispered, more to myself than to the photo.

I couldn’t resist now. I had to know more. I typed in his name next. “Andrew Lennox.”

The search results flooded in, confirming what I had suspected. Lennox was a finance bro, alright—managing partner at some hedge fund, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I had seen his type a hundred times before. They were a dime a dozen. I was a little surprised that was Natalia’s type. I didn’t know why, but I kind of assumed she would be attracted to someone not quite so douchey. I would say I could picture her with some roughneck biker, but she wasn’t quite that bold.

Then again, the uptight ones were always the feisty ones in the sack. She was a boss bitch by day, but I bet she was a kitten in the bedroom. She would be the type that liked to be dominated.

I shook the thoughts from my head. That was the last thing I needed to be thinking about. I focused my attention on my search results. I didn’t give a shit about Andrew’s accolades. I disliked him on principle. I didn’t like his look, and I felt a twinge of jealousy knowing he had been married to Natalia.

I scrolled down, not seeing anything interesting until I spotted something that had me sitting up a little straighter. It was a second wedding announcement, two years ago, with a different bride’s name. “Andrew Lennox marries Abigail Courtwright in lavish wedding at the Plaza Hotel.”

I read it again, slowly this time. New Year’s Eve. A year ago.

The same night I’d been at that party in Paris.

I clenched my jaw, staring at the screen. The twist in my chest was unexpected. I didn’t like it. It was like a knot I couldn’t untangle. So, Natalia was divorced. And not just divorced—she’d been left for someone else, if the timeline was anything to go by.

I felt a flicker of something that might have been sympathy, but I shoved it down. Why should I care? Natalia was a pain in my ass. I shouldn’t feel anything except annoyance. But I did. And that was a problem.

I clicked back to the wedding photo of her and Lennox. That smile of hers. I’d seen it before. I was sure of it. But when?