Snapshot (Lessons in Love Book 2)

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 my knees 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 big because 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.”

Laughing, she breaks the ice. “Honestly, me, too. I hate these things. I like the writing aspect, but the interviews always make me uncomfortable. Everyone is so stiff and disingenuous. Do you even know what this interview is for?”

“Not a clue,” I admit. “Denny—or, I guess Mrs. Lockleer as you know her—was supposed to meet me beforehand so I’d be better prepared for you.”

Kat sucks in her lips. There’s a loud smack as she releases them. “Clearly a miscommunication because when she purchased the feature, she said you’d requested it.”

“I didn’t request this interview.”

“Ah. Must be PR scheming on your behalf,” Kat says with a crooked smile. “Okay, let’s approach this differently. Do you know much about Peak Publications?”

I shake my head. “I’m not really a magazine girl.” The last time I read a magazine, CosmoGirl and Myspace were still relevant.

“Right, well, print media has dwindled. We own several digital publications.” She lists off several websites that I’m not familiar with. But when she mentions BuzzLit my ears perk up.

“BuzzLit, as in the celebrity gossip feed?”

Her smile is clipped. “More or less. But that’s not where we’ll be featuring this interview. Our business publication, Elite, wants to feature a woman CEO as an inspirational story. That’s what this interview is for.”

I nod. “Okay, sure. That I can do. Although, I’m pretty new to the job so I’m not sure how much insight I can give you.”

She leans forward and turns off the recorder. “Listen, Ms. Mitchell⁠—”

“Lennox,” I correct.

“Okay, Lennox. I have a boilerplate interview with all the perfect answers I can use. It’ll say how humbled and thrilled you are to assume the role of CEO at Hessler Group and how you have all sorts of plans for growth and innovation, of course, lined with philanthropic motivation. Yada, yada.” She smiles. “Don’t stress about the interview. I’ll make sure you come off looking fantastic. You’ll get to sign off on the article prior to publishing. Most of the CEOs I interview don’t even show up to these things. Their PR teams email me their responses and then they show up for about five minutes to the photo shoot. You’ve already been far more generous with your time than I expected.”

“Okay, that sounds great, actually.” I don’t think I have a PR team, but I have Dex. Whatever she writes, I’ll run it by him.

“Relieved?” she asks.

“Incredibly. I just moved across the country yesterday. My head is still spinning.”

“Where were you prior?”

“Vegas. That’s where I met Dex.”

She lifts her thick, red eyebrows so high it looks like they might fly right off her head. “Now, that’s an interesting story…consider me intrigued.”

I laugh. “It’s nothing like that. Dex was living in Vegas for the past three years. That’s where we met.”

“Ah, I love this. You’re giving Pretty Woman vibes, especially with your purple hair. How’d you guys meet?” she asks, rubbing her hands together. She kicks off her shoes and tucks her feet underneath her thighs, sitting comfortably like a child would.

I squint one eye. “I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just insinuate I’m a prostitute, but for the record, Dex was my scuba diving instructor. I actually didn’t have the money to learn to dive and so he gave me lessons for free.”

Clasping her hand over her mouth, Kat gasps into her palm. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean Pretty Woman in that way. I just meant Dex Hessler has been on Forbes most eligible heirs for almost a decade. I’m glad to see he ended up with someone with a little…pizazz. You seem far more interesting than the Stepford Wives robot drone we all assumed he’d marry. You know the type—slim, perfectly curled hair, delivers exactly two and a half children, maybe gardens a bit.”

I smile, growing a little more comfortable at her feisty nonchalance. “Gardening isn’t my strength.”

“So, friend to friend, what’s the secret? How do I land a billionaire because early retirement is calling my name.”

I laugh. “My relationship with Dex wasn’t strategic. We knew each other for years. I didn’t even know who he really was. I only found out last week about his wealth.”

“What? How did you not know who Dex Hessler is? He’s literally royalty in Miami.”

“He doesn’t act like it. He was pretty lowkey in Las Vegas. All I knew is he was so passionate about diving and teaching. He makes me laugh. I’m never not smiling around him. It’s why I fell for him.”

“Not to mention, he’s pretty fucking hot.”

I smirk. “Also, that.”

“Is he packing?” she asks, snorting in laughter at her own question. “Please tell me he has a tiny penis because he can’t be that hot, rich, and have a giant shlong. God isn’t that generous.”

“Just between friends, right?”

She laughs. “Obviously, the word ‘shlong’ has no place on a business editorial.”

“Yeah, his dick is magical.”

We both break out in laughter. Actually, I’m glad Denny isn’t here. She has a way of railroading conversations. Kat’s easy to talk to, and I can tell she’s even less interested in this business interview than I am.

“Are you into breakfast tacos?” Kat asks.

“Only on days that end in ‘y,’” I reply with a big smile.

“I know a place that serves the best chorizo tacos and spiked horchata. Want to ditch this stuffy office and grab a bite? My treat?”

Right on cue, my stomach rumbles. “Yeah, that sounds great. Do you want me to call my driver to take us? He’s on standby.” My jaw drops. “Wow, that sounded pretentious.”

Kat lets out a deep belly laugh. “Sure did.”

I hang my head. “Okay, honestly? I’m very new to being rich. So far, I’m not loving it. It’s a lot of coordination to do just regular stuff. Last week I had a beat-up piece of shit Honda. This week, I have a driver and an SUV with blackout, bulletproof windows. I already miss normalcy.”

Kat smiles. “Lucky for you, I’m parked right out front, and while I drive a Ford, not a Honda, it is most definitely a piece of shit. You should feel right at home.”

I laugh. “Great. Thank you.”

She pats her thighs before she stands. “All right, let’s go.”

I return her smile, feeling relieved. And here I thought it was going to be difficult to make friends in Miami.