Page 86

Lennox
I’ve never seen such a bland room in my life. Dottie’s office looks like it was a blank coloring page, and the artist had exactly one crayon in their possession—taupe. A Martha Stewart-style pantsuit in beige would be the perfect camouflage in here. Throw one on and I could disappear leaning against the wall or lying down on the area rug. No wonder she loved red nail polish. It was the only pop of color she had in her office—which I’m guessing was more of a second home than a place of work.
The office still smells like her, though, the fancy French perfume that I love. I can sniff it out like a bloodhound. It makes me feel close to her. I very badly wish she was here. Although, if she was…I probably wouldn’t be. Yet, if I had to choose, I’d rather Dex have his grandma right now. Someone who could guide him and make him feel secure with all this change.
All he has is me.
And I most definitely don’t belong in this luxury CEO office in my bright blue sundress, hiding my chipped toenail polish inside ballet flats that are worn on the sole, with fake diamond studs in my ears. That’s it. Today, after work, Joe and I are going to find some upscale boutique or another and do some damage.I will demolish their section with the professional blouses and slacks. I don’t particularly care about my reputation. I just so badly don’t want to embarrass Dex.
I kick off my shoes and pace back and forth in front of the coffee table in the sitting area, loving the feel of the plush office rug against my feet. There’s a flattened path where I’m treading, but it’s not from my footsteps. This wear is from years of footsteps in the same pattern. Meaning…Dottie paced where I’m now pacing. I smile to myself.
“You’re looking down on me either extremely pleased or wildly horrified, aren’t you?” I ask out loud. “I hope that you’re happy Dex chose me. I promise you, Dottie, I’ll take good care of him. I love him.” I wave my hand around the office, gesturing to the luxury finishings. “Not for any of this, but I fell for him because…” Actually, I don’t know how to finish my sentence. I want to say it’s because Dex is kind and sweet to me. But so was Alan. No, with Dex, it just feels like fate. Like I had no say in the matter. We met, and then my entire romantic life became a game of resisting fate and then finally succumbing to it.
About two minutes into pacing, a small glint catches the corner of my eye. Something metal, reflecting off the sunlight pouring in from the large floor-to-ceiling windows. My curiosity pulls me to the large built-ins behind Dottie’s desk, the wood cabinetry matching the finish of her desk perfectly. Clearly a set. Everything is blended so carefully I almost miss the ivory-colored keepsake box tucked against the far edge of the middle shelf. The little silver clasp must be what caught my attention. I try to undo it, but it’s locked. I turn away, deciding it’s not my business, but then there’s a loud thud, and suddenly, there’s a pile of envelopes scattered around my feet.Oh, shit.
I must’ve pulled the box too close to the edge, tinkering with the clasp. It busted open when it fell, spilling what looks like at least a hundred letters. “Dammit,”I grumble, dropping to myknees to pick up the contents. I lift the box, set it upright, then begin to replace the letters, but when I come across a Polaroid mixed in with the letters, I gasp out loud, throwing my hand over my heart.
It's the very same Polaroid I gave Dottie three years ago. Except it’s not just half. It’s been taped together…the missing piece is a twenty-something-looking Jacob staring back at the camera, a big smile on his face.
That’s not the surprising part.I knew it.The look in her eye when I spoke about Jacob. I tried to tell Dex they were in love. I am not remotely shocked that it’s Dottie and Jacob in this picture together, clearly lovers in their special spot, legs dangling off a dock, a glimpse of a large, white gazebo on Jacob’s half. That all makes perfect sense.
What shocks me is that twenty-some-year-old Jacob looks unsettlingly identical to my husband?—
“Holy shit,” I murmur as the realization washes over me.“Holy actual shit.”
“Everything okay?” A woman’s voice from the door startles the life out of me. I quickly flip over the pictures, trying to hide my newfound secret as if this strange woman at the door has any clue what I just—might’ve—discovered.
The red-headed creeper woman darts across the office and drops to her knees, collecting the letters in small piles, completely disinterested in their contents. “I’m so sorry I startled you,” she says. “The door was cracked open and Mrs. Lockleer said you’d be expecting me.”
She must think she scared me and caused me to drop the box and make this mess. “No problem.” I scramble to collect more letters, but she’s faster. Already having done most of the work, she places the neat piles of envelopes back in the box. She proceeds to gently close the lid before setting it on the desk.
She holds out her hand and says, “I’m Katherine—or preferably Kat—Tearney, journalist for Peak Publications.”
As I shake her hand, I glance at the open door.Where the hell is Denny?“Lennox Mitchell. Nice to meet you.”
“Mitchell, not Hessler?” she asks as she cocks her head to the side.
“I just got married last week. It was sudden and I haven’t had time to start the name change process.”
She unsubtly glances at my stomach. “Yeah, I would’ve expected a huge reception for a Hessler wedding. Why the rush and secrecy?” she asks with a sly smile and a wink. There’s a glaring alarm going off in my head.Don’t say too much.
I look around the office. “There’ll be time to celebrate later. Our family is enduring a painful loss.”
Kat’s buggy green eyes relax as she nods. “Right, I’m so sorry for your loss. You and Dottie must’ve been very close if she chose you as her successor.” Kat scours my face. She must sense my apprehension because she adds, “I know it’s not public knowledge yet. Mrs. Lockleer gave me the cliff notes for interview context. Dottie wanted a woman CEO in charge of Hessler Group, so she chose Dex’s wife. I think that is a powerful statement for feminism.”
Presumptuous on Denny’s part. But still, that narrative sounds better than, “I literally have no clue why Dottie Hessler would risk her entire company in the hands of an amateur like me.”
“Would you like to sit down?” I gesture to the cream-colored sofa opposite of me as I plant myself in the single high-backed chair.
Kat takes a seat and pulls out a recorder, then places it on the table. She has no pen, no paper. She merely crosses her legs and smiles at me expectantly. Her shoes must be a half-size too bigbecause her heel keeps sliding out of her pointy stilettos every time she jiggles her foot.
“So, Ms. Mitchell—tell me about you. Where’d you get your education? What companies have you worked with before? What charities are you involved in? I tried to do some background research on LinkedIn, but I couldn’t find your profile.”
I wet my lips and gulp, buying time to calculate a dodgy response. “I um…I’m not big on LinkedIn. Most of my references are word of mouth.”Not technically a lie.
She studies me for a while as she squints one eye. “You’re uncomfortable,” she finally states.
“Very.”