Her gloved hand splays across her heart. She doesn’t speak. She can’t.
“There are millions of men in this city, and he’s your run-of-the-mill, rich asshole looking for his next lay.” I shrug. “He’s not the settling kind, Annelise. He’s not the kind you’re supposed to fall in love with.”
“You slept with him.” Her eyes close gently.
I don’t know if she’s asking or making a statement, and I don’t know if now’s the best time to come forward with that information. Besides, it’s not policy for me to run around sharing details about my sex life with virtual strangers.
“It’s okay.” The defeat in her voice is palpable. “I want to know. I won’t be upset with you.”
A response fails to find my lips, sentences mentally stringing together in nonsensical patterns.
“I work with him, Annelise.”
“You did.” She opens her mascara-stained eyes and stares at the pavement ahead, her tone flatter than her expression. “If you didn’t, you’d have said no. It’s okay. I get it. He has a way with women. He’s convincing.”
I wouldn’t quite label my experience with him like that, but…
“He’s a charmer,” she continues. “Makes you feel like you’re the only one. And you believe him too. And the second the newness wears off and things get real, he’s gone. Just like that. Everyone deserves a chance, don’t you think? A chance to make things work? A chance to try harder?”
“I think he just likes casual sex.” I cannot believe I’m defending Beckham King. “Sometimes women go around putting labels and expectations on people and in places they don’t belong.”
“It was different for us.” She sniffles, dabbing her eyes once more. “We were in love once.”
I can’t imagine Beckham keeping anyone around long enough to fall in love but stranger things have happened.
“Maybe the two of you should sit down and have a talk? Get some closure? Find some common ground?”
She shakes her head. I’m not sure what that means. If she felt comfortable enough to bring him lunch last week, I don’t see how a conversation would be off the table.
“How’d you meet him?” she asks. She might be all sweet and breathy on the outside, but I’d be foolish to think she isn’t still a woman on a mission.
I check the time on my phone.
“I really need to get back to the office. I’m expecting a phone call later this morning.”
Her delicate brows rise, her mouth dropping. She rises the second I do, following me with swift steps. Not only is she a woman on a mission, she’s desperate as hell not to let me walk away without giving her the answers she needs. If I didn’t know better, I might think she went seeking me out this morning.
Great. Now Beckham’s stalkers are becoming my problem too.
“Wait,” she calls after me.
I stop, only because it’s the right thing to do.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like this today.” Her pale cheeks redden, even against the cool breeze. “This is entirely out of character for me. I’m quite embarrassed.” Her hand covers the top of mine, her eyes silently pleading.
“I won’t say anything to him.”
“Thank you.” Her hand drags from mine, and the corner of her mouth lifts.
“No more crying over him, okay?” I inject a wink into my uplifted tone, opting to leave this exchange on a better note. “You deserve better than him. We all do.”
She doesn’t smile. Her lips tighten; a silent sign that she politely disagrees.
If she were a one-night stand who turned into a crazy stalker girl, I guess I could see why Beckham might be concerned with women Googling him and obsessing. On my walk back, I decide to keep my word to Annelise and not bring her up. Beckham would only use it to further prove his point anyway, and I don’t feel like discussing his past conquests.
God forbid he thinks I’m trying to get involved in his personal life. I can’t have him thinking we’re friends now.
***
I’m not sure how much sense it makes for the partial-owner of an alternative energy corporation to fly across the country on a private jet, but I don’t ask. I simply climb on board Wednesday morning and find a plush leather seat next to a freshly polished window and try to keep my opinions private.
Beckham arrives ten minutes after me, taking the seat directly across from me. Ten other empty seats and he choses that one. I pretend not to notice, grabbing my tablet from my bag and pulling up a gripping psychological thriller. The estimated time to read it matches the flight length.