Page 22 of Broken Vows

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.

11 Lexie

I smooth my hands down my emerald shirt, the one Justin said made the green in my eyes pop, and debate about opening one more button. I add an extra spritz of perfume, fan my chest, and smack my lips together to smooth the gloss.

Today, it all begins. Retribution is no longer a question of if, but when. Talking with Annabelle a few weeks ago, then seeing Theo at the hotel on Tuesday with an unfamiliar woman, crystallized everything. Theo clearly cannot keep his dick in his pants. Maybe this isn’t my brightest or most ethical plan, but I’m desperate to show Annabelle who he really is. If he crosses a line with me, then at least I’ll have something concrete—something undeniable—to put in front of her.

The plan is simple: earn Theo’s trust, lower his guard, and expose the man he truly is. Once I have proof, I’ll tell Annabelle everything—who he was at the university, who he is now, what he’s capable of. I’ll destroy him the way he destroyed me. By the time I reach the subway station, I’m so giddy I damn near click my booted heels.

On the subway, I open my calendar and double-check today’s schedule that I’ve reviewed no less than ten times already. Three venue visitations. Two hours apart. Six hours with Annabelle and Theo.

I’ve got this. I tug my scarf a little snugger and brave the winter air as I make my way to the hotel. When I turn the corner, the nerves hit.

Theo is leaning against the building, casually scrolling through his phone, looking like a model from a New York street fashion site. Sharp dark denim. Black shirt. An open peacoat that looks effortless instead of calculated.

He’s infuriatingly good looking.

But what unsettles me isn’t how he looks—it’s that he’s waiting for me alone.

When he looks up and catches sight of me, his eyes do that thing—the subtle, nearly undetectable, head-to-toe graze. My body notices, and it heats. Just because I haven’t had a proper fuck since my last boyfriend does not mean that my physiological system has the right to Judas me. I need to stay sharp, and I’m screwed if this happens to me within the first ten seconds of seeing him.

Theo waves. “Hey.”

I smile brightly. So brightly, in fact, that my skin stretches and my cheeks warm, because everything starts now. “So sorry. Have you been waiting long?” I say, loosening my scarf. “Apparently, I need to up my ‘ten minute early arrival’ time to fifteen, huh?”

His grin really is quite lovely if you can overlook the ugly personality. White, straight teeth, full, lush lips, dimples that pop underneath that groomed scruff. “I’ve only been here a few minutes,” he says as he shoves his phone into his pocket. “Did you take the train?”

No asshole, I have a driver like you. “Yep,” I say. “Where’s Annabelle?”

“She’s inside. She hates the cold. I kind of love it.” He holds the door open to the hotel, and I duck inside, ignoring his heavenly scent as I pass. “Do you live far away from here?”

“About a thirty-minute train ride. Not too bad,” I say, searching through the travelers scattered across the lobby until I find Annabelle sitting in a corner chair, scrolling through her phone. When she peeks up at me, her eyes brighten, and she waves at me before indicating she’ll be back in a couple of minutes. “What about you and Annabelle?”

“She lives in the Upper West Side, and I have a place in Tribeca.”