Chapter Ten
ODESSA
Hot coffee comforts me from the inside out. My feet ache. I walked eight blocks in pointy kitten heels to get this coffee. Of course I passed several other coffee shops on my way here, but for a moment, I’d forgotten where I was going so I kept trudging along aimlessly.
I’m not looking forward to four days by Beckham’s side, but the change of scenery will be nice. I hear Salt Lake City has mountain views. And Dane seems nice at least.
I stop at a nearby bench plastered with the likeness of some arrestingly attractive Realtor named Xavier Fox who claims to “sell New York.” His eyes remind me of Jeremiah’s. Bright blue framed with dark lashes. I’ve always had a soft spot for guys who naturally appear to be wearing eyeliner.
Another sip of coffee warms me from the inside. I tug the linen scarf from around my neck. The forecast was way off today. My skin breathes. I don’t want to go back. Today is the perfect day to pal around the city like a wandering tourist.
My phone dings from my jacket pocket, so I pull it out. A message from my best friend, Carly, flashes across the screen. She playfully berates me for being M.I.A. the last couple weeks. I owe her a call plus dinner and drinks. But it’s hard to be around her. She’s the one who set me up with Jeremiah. I can’t hang out with her and not be reminded of our history together. She was best friends with him long before I came into the picture.
Still is.
I’ll respond later. For now I want to soak in the refreshing spring air and be alone with my thoughts for a few more minutes.
A blonde in a plum jacket with a matching beret walks past, her eyes locked on me. Her face registers as familiar, and it hits me when I see the tiny quake in her fingertips as she shoves a leather-gloved hand into her front pocket.
It’s the girl who brought Beckham lunch last week.
“Hi.” I rise, intending to head back to the office. Now’s as good a time as any to head back. I give her a polite wave, only she takes it as an invitation, stopping and smiling like she’s bumping into an old friend.
“Oh, hi.” She adjusts her hat, swooping her long bangs across her forehead. Her nails are baby pink, almost color-matched to her baby soft voice, but the intense focus in her stare unsettles me.
“I never did catch your name.” If she dodges my question this time, I’ll know for sure something’s up.
“Annelise,” she breathes, her lips pulling wide at the corners.
“I’m…” I pause, debating if I should introduce myself as Sam or not. I’m Odessa in Beckham’s world, and this woman is clearly from Beckham’s world. No sense in making anything more confusing than it needs to be. “Odessa.”
“Yes. You are.”
I pretend not to notice as she casually sizes me up from head to toe.
“Is Beckham your boyfriend?” I cut to the chase. I hope she says no, if only for her sake since he blatantly denied the fact that he had a girlfriend.
She hesitates before saying, “It’s complicated.”
“I could definitely see that.”
“Beckham is…well, you know how he is.”
I nod, but not too vigorously. I don’t want her knowing exactly how well I know him.
“I’m doing some PR consulting for his company. I don’t really know him that well, but let’s just say I’ve noticed he’s a man living by his own rules.”
Her bottom lip trembles, her eyes glossing.
“Are you okay?” I reach for her arm, running my hand along her beautiful plum jacket. A glistening platinum and diamond brooch in the shape of a lotus flower anchors her lapel.
She smiles through tears, blinking them away and wiping the ones that slide down her cheeks with a gloved finger.
“Is this about Beckham?” I ask.
“Isn’t everything about Beckham?” She pulls in a long breath, her shoulders rising and sinking. And then she laughs. “I’m sorry. This is so not like me.”
The sidewalk fills with men in suits and silver-haired ladies walking teacup Yorkies. They’re all going about their days and here poor Annelise is falling apart at the seams in front of a woman she’s only met once.
She needs a friend.
“Do you want to sit down?” I motion to the bench behind me. Annelise pauses, but I take her by the elbow and pull her to the seat anyway. It’s an empty park bench on a busy Manhattan street. We have to grab it while we still can.
I pull a tiny pack of tissues out of my bag and hand one off.
“Thank you.” She dabs the corners of her wide-set eyes. She’s beautiful, even when she cries. Even with all her insecurities. My heart aches for her.
“He’s not worth the tears.” I rub her back. “You love him, don’t you?”