Snapshot (Lessons in Love Book 2)

Lennox sways her hips to the loud country music as she makes her way over to where I’m sitting at the bar. She even goes as far as shaking her head side to side so her long, purple hair fans out and drapes over her bare shoulders.

Fuck, it’s too sexy.

Stop walking towards me like that. It makes me want to do something about it.

“Hey,” she shouts over the music, still rolling her shoulders to the beat. “Can I convince you to come dance with us?”

“Not a chance,” I say definitively.

“Do you suck at it? I can teach you.”

I nod over her shoulder. “Like you did your new biker buddies?” Only Lennox could get a gang of late-aged, tattooed bikers doing the electric slide and drinking razzle dazzle cocktails. It’s her superpower. She can make friends with anybody, anywhere. Her spirit is contagious.

She looks to the opposite side of the bar, where the bar-goers pushed tables and chairs to the side to arrange a makeshift dance floor. “I’m proud, actually. Only five minutes of instruction and they look pretty good out there, right?”

No. You look good out there. “If you say so.”

She pushes against my shoulder with two fingers. “Come on. Scared?”

“I can dance. I’m choosing not to.”

She reaches over me and grabs my drink. After taking a hefty swig of my bourbon, she cringes. “Bleh, I didn’t know they had lighter fluid on the menu.” But she takes another small sip before handing my glass back as the song’s chorus starts to kick up. “All right, you’ll find me on the dance floor if you need me.”

“Hey,” I say, stopping her.

“What’s up?” She catches my gaze, her big brown eyes a little hazy from the booze. Her cheeks still flushed from all the dancing.

“Are you feeling better?”

Her big eyes light up. “You know what? I really am. I think this was exactly what I needed.” She looks around at the grimy bar with the run-down tables that look like they could spontaneously fall apart and the scuffed-up, chipped wooden floors. Then, her eyes snap back to mine. “By the way, why are we here? I thought you hated dive bars.”

“I do. But you love them.” I tell her how I feel about her the only way I can. I get as close to the line as possible without crossing it.

She smiles, but it disappears quickly. “I’m going to miss the shit out of you, Dex Hessler.”

Before I can say anything else, her long hair is swishing behind her as she slides right into place with the line dance.

“Another?” A voice behind me startles me. A bartender with a short blond ponytail and a small lip ring taps the glass top counter, and I swivel around in my stool to face her.

“No, thank you. I have to drive when she’s done dancing.”

The bartender lets out a low whistle as she looks over my shoulder. “You might be here a while. She looks like she has stamina.”

I laugh as I shake the ice cubes in my almost-empty glass. “That she does.”

“How about a Coke with a lime?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“How long have you guys been together?” The bartender grabs a glass from under the bar and stuffs it to the brim with ice before filling it with the soda gun.

“She’s just a friend,” I automatically reply. After three years of my odd friendship with Lennox, I’m used to this question. I shut it down every time.

She scoffs. “Yeah. Okay.”

“What?” I ask, acting like I don’t know where her skepticism stems from.

“Oh, nothing. I also stare at my friends longingly from the bar when we go out.” She smirks as she places the soda in front of me. “Want a straw?”

I roll my eyes. “No, thanks.”

“So, what’s the problem? Is she with someone?”

I widen my eyes at the nosy bartender. “Do you have other customers? Don’t let me keep you.”

She cackles. “Come on. Humor me. It’s a slow night. I’m bored and curious.”

Grumbling, I fold my hands together and rest my chin on my knuckles. “We’re from two very different worlds. I might’ve given her the wrong impression about what I really am.”

“Who,” the bartender corrects, then shrugs sheepishly. “You meant ‘who’ you really are. Sorry, I have a reputation as the grammar police.”

I give her a curt nod. “Who, then.”

Except, I actually did mean “What.” Mass wealth has made me feel more like a thing than a person. I don’t think anybody from home sees Dex Hessler as a person, just an embodiment. I wonder if Grandma felt the same. She married into the name. She could’ve sold the company and walked away when she lost Grandpa. But I know she felt the same burden. The same painful obligation. I learned from her example: how to sacrifice your life to fulfill a legacy that’s bigger than you are. How to accept that your life is just a tiny piece of a bigger puzzle.

Hesslers breed CEOs who graduate in the top ten percent of their class from Harvard Business School. Hesslers do not breed anxiety-ridden, scuba-diving nomads who have panic attacks behind closed doors.

My own personal form of rebellion is ensuring the Hessler line ends with me. There’ll be no one left to play Atlas and carry the goddamn world on their shoulders.

“So, how exactly did you mislead her?” the bartender asks. But before I can respond, my phone buzzes in rapid succession from my pocket. When I check the notifications, it’s Denny.

Normally a text message from Denny wouldn’t make me so jumpy, but there’s the pressing matter at hand of finding me a wife.

“Excuse me. It’s work,” I say before swiveling around in my seat and diving into the messages.

Denny

Here’s a picture of Allie. Very pretty girl.

The next message is a picture of a blonde. It’s a professional headshot. It looks like the photo she probably uses for LinkedIn. Her full name is Allie Conner. She’s 34, so only four years older than me. She graduated from Harvard Law, so we have Harvard in common. No kids. Comes from a good family. Denny has apparently already run her through the details of the will. She’s already agreed to hand the company back to me after the one-year holding period.

I’ve said no to all the other women Denny has sifted through. At least eight now. All the other girls she suggested were text messages but when Denny found Allie, she was so excited, she called, urging me to commit right then and there. I was relieved when Lennox interrupted. I rushed Denny off the phone, saying a friend had an emergency. I didn’t realize it was somewhat true.

Denny

So, what do you think now that you’ve seen her picture? We’ll need an iron-clad prenup, but I think we should move forward. Can I confirm?

She won’t wait forever. And she’s really not asking for a lot of compensation.

Me

How much?

Denny

128 million. And whatever property she purchases while she’s your wife.

I scowl at my phone.

Me

That’s not a lot to you? Then what in the world do you consider “a lot of compensation?”

Denny

It’s a big favor, Dex. There has to be a big incentive. I need your decision. Fast. The lawyers will have a mountain of paperwork to prepare.

Me

You’re not asking me to pick a place for lunch. You’re asking me to pick a wife. I need a moment to think.

Even if it’s just a year, it’s still a marriage. That’s a long time for a miserable marriage if we don’t get along. Especially during a very difficult first year of transition. Grandma ran Hessler Group like a well-oiled machine because she had been doing it for decades. Even while Grandpa was still CEO. He was either frowning or drunk, so Grandma filled in all the gaps.

Fulfilling the responsibility was no easy feat. Grandma prepared me best she could, but I still have some things to learn. And my future wife is in for the surprise of her life.

Still, I can’t help but think…

Should it really be this fucking complicated? Should I have to bribe my wife with 128 million dollars to tolerate me for a year? I’ve only ever known advantageous women. The kind who smiles like a Disney villain when they know they’ve got me by the balls. Just be a good person, and I’ll be one right back. It’s not that hard.

I grumble out loud, my agitation drowned by the loud music. After turning back around, I set my phone face down on the bar. It goads me—flip me over…just one text. I could get this over with. It’s inevitable and I’m sure Allie’s fine. But…

What’s stopping me?

“Need something?” the bartender asks, suddenly reappearing as if I summoned her.

Fuck it. “Changed my mind. May I have a double? I’ll grab a ride home.”

“Sure.” She grabs the bottle of bourbon already on the counter from my drink before. “Problem with work?” she asks as she pours my drink.

“In a way,” I mumble. “Is she still dancing?” I point my thumb over my shoulder.

The bartender looks over me to the dance floor. “Dancing her heart out.”

“Good, then I’m fine. My bullshit doesn’t matter tonight. I came out to cheer Lennox up. She’s just gone through hell—got fired, went through a breakup, lost her apartment. She has no job, no money, nowhere to live. She really needs someone to cut her a break right now⁠—”

My heart jolts so hard that, at first, I’m worried I’m on the brink of a panic attack. But my breath is steady. My head is clear. In fact, I’m thinking more clearly than I have been in a while.

I realize it’s simply that my heart has made a decision before my head has gotten a chance to catch up.

The obvious answer to everyone’s problems is clear as day.

I pull my black card out of my wallet and toss it on the counter. Rotating my pointer finger, I gesture around the bar. “Pay everyone in this bar’s tab. On me. And give yourself a one hundred percent tip. If anyone asks, don’t tell them who it was.”

“Wow, thank you. That’s generous, but”—she nods towards the bikers, still line dancing with Lennox—“do you want to see the bill first? You realize those guys have been here drinking since three, right?”

“Pretty sure I can handle it,” I say before I throw back the bourbon in two gulps. The first one burns. The second goes down smooth, coating my throat like honey. I point to my card. “I’ll be back for that.”

“Where are you going?”

I slide out of my bar stool, eyes locked on Lennox. “To close a deal.”