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“Greenwich Housekeeping Services is our newest approved vendor for The Strata. They are subsidiaries of the existing Greenwich Housekeeping LLC we currently use and have great relationships with. That’s the official front, anyway.”

I explain Elias’s plan, without mentioning the man, of course, and watch Trey’s eyes widen, the gears obviously shifting into place.

“That might work. It’s brilliant. Remind me not to piss you off,” he murmurs. “So, I take it you want me to ‘share’ this info with Dayton? I don’t know the guy though.”

“I thought about it. This weekend, there’s a reopening of Trésor at The Orchid.”

“The strip club?” His eyes light up and I roll my eyes.

Until Nova, I never understood this base desire of men being ruled by their dicks, but from what I know, I’m an odd duck.

“The exotic dance club. It’s classy. Anyway, Lana has extended invitations to a few folks, so I’ll have her send one to him. There’s no way he’ll miss it. He’s a social climber.” I stand and head toward the door. “And didn’t you say you always wanted to visit The Orchid? Well, here’s your chance.”

Chapter 50

“LexV8962…exclamation mark,” I mutterunder my breath as I type my hundredth guess into my laptop. I have a few minutes to spare before Ethan comes by to pick me up for the Trésor reopening at The Orchid.

Access denied.

“Dammit. Question mark?” I try again.

Access denied.

“What the hell, Lexy? What’s the damn password?” I grumble as I stare at the flash drive USB pen that tumbled out of the box of things from my old room when I had the picnic at Ravenswood.

Something about this drive bothers me, but I can’t pinpoint the reason. It’s a gut feeling—maybe the answers I’ve been looking for are locked away in there. I wonder if the USB drive holds the memories of Ethan and me—the memories of us I’m desperately searching for.

I sigh and pull out the notebook I brought to Ravenswood that day.

The one where Ethan wrote that beautiful poem when I asked him about the assignment.

The poem has to be about me, right?Lavender is my scent.

My heart would flutter every time I reread his poignant words. But then, a weight would settle on top of it.

Guilt? Grief? I don’t know. Maybe a combination of everything.

Ethan would smirk when I asked him, but the amusement didn’t show up in his expressive eyes.

While we’ve only gotten together recently and I’m still learning—or re-learning—the quirks and personality of the quiet Anderson, I know it pains him I’ve forgotten our past. It guts him he can’t tell me anything.

And it hurts me to see him sad.

The spot above my rib cage aches again.

I wish I could remember—I wish I could understand the depth of his feelings for me. There have to be beautiful memories stashed away, moments that are irreplaceable. It isn’t fair—for me, our love story is just beginning, but for him, I have a feeling it’s already ingrained in his soul.

It’s okay. We can always make new memories.

But it’s imbalanced. How he feels for me versus what I feel for him. Sure, I love him, but how could my feelings ever match his? He’s spent nearly a decade loving me, holding onto memories I don’t have. How do I catch up to that?

It’s not right.

It’s devastating.

Maybe someday I’ll be worthy of his devotion.

Exhaling, I stare at the error message on the screen. I fight the urge to tug at my hair because I don’t want to ruin my perfectly curled waves before Ethan sees me tonight.