Page 90 of Revenge Is a Dish Best Served… Wearing Heels?

His eyes widened, and a smirk formed on his annoying face.

Clearing my throat, I had to get control of this situation and my unexpected reaction. It was only because my mind had immediately gone to our previous conversation and what we had done together over the phone. Fuck.

"We talked five days ago, but I'm giving her a little space because fashion week is coming up."

"Right. You think she's a designer."

"I can pretty much guarantee it."

"Then why haven't you found her?"

To be honest, I'd been keeping notes for myself about any and every detail she let slip, but I also hadn't searched too hard because at the end of the day, I did want to respect her request for anonymity. That's why I'd actually listened to Ethan and hadn't put a private investigator on the project.

I shrugged. "I'm taking it slow. Don't want to scare her away. She's kind of skittish."

His smirk grew. "Sounds like you've finally met your match."

I smiled back, probably a goofy, love-sick grin, but I couldn't help it. "I guess so."

He slapped a hand on the door. "Whatever you do, don't let her get away."

"I'm trying my best, brother."

Taking his leave, I tried to get back to work—I really did—but it was useless. Heaving yet another sigh, I gave up, instead looking out my window, wondering where she might be at this very moment.

Was she at home, sewing like a fiend? Did she have some sort of office/studio at her place? Or did she go somewhere to work on her fashions?

God, there was still so much about her that I didn't know.

Pulling up my phone, I opened the note I had about her and reviewed the facts I'd gleaned over our conversations.

She had two parents that were still married, dad a lawyer. Two sisters. All of them living here in the city.

And the more recent addition I'd made about the bullying in high school. I had no idea really why I'd written that down. But it seemed pertinent to who she was, an extremely important part of her past that had led to her becoming the person she is today.

I thought about the things she said, how the bullying had been about her weight, and it killed me to think she'd gone through something like that. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and I hated to think she ever felt less than because she didn't fit society's narrow mold of what a woman should look like.

A terrible memory popped into my head just then. From a long time ago. A very similar situation where a gorgeous, sweet, and thoughtful girl had been bullied about her size.

That sick feeling in my gut spread with the awful recollection.

Astrid Stratton. I'd never forget her name. Never forget the look on her face as she'd stared at me, horror dawning as she spotted the sick posters spilling out of my locker.

Leaning forward, I rested my head in my hands, shame and remorse pumping through my body. I'd confessed to it, after all.

The blame was all on me.

I'd written a letter to her that summer, but I'd never heard back. Which was completely understandable.

Why the hell would she ever respond to my apology? She owed me nothing. Absolutely nothing. No forgiveness. Not an ounce of grace. Not even an acknowledgement of my letter.

Fuck, I wanted to hurl. The thought of that awful incident always made me physically ill whenever it came up in my mind. Which was quite often.

Not that it was even about me of course, but it was one of the worst things to happen in my life. One where I'd thought I was getting something I desperately needed, but instead, it'd been the complete opposite, the guilt consuming me, burning inside me to this day.

After hearing my mystery woman's story and how deeply it'd affected her, it hit me like a freight train that I needed to do more than just sweep the feelings and memories under the rug this time.

I had to act and do something. I just had to.