Page 23 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
“Your sister?”
Then it hit me.
Beckett A.
Not asshole, as it turns out.
But Atteridge.
Beckett fucking Atteridge.
I feared I’d turn black and white like a fifties sitcom if any more color drained from my face.
“Victoria is your sister?” I squeaked, unable to manage anything else utterly intelligible.
My thoughts tangled in an incoherent mess. Of all the cruel jokes played by the universe, this took the cake.
He nodded, then cocked his head to the side. “Why are you here? And why did you introduce yourself as Hailey?”
Shit.
The door beyond the sitting area opened. Its gargantuan height reminded me of the door before a boss fight in a video game. I’d never been any good at games.
A woman in a pencil skirt and a billowy, sophisticated blouse held open the door. Her brown curls spilled out of a clip. Same color and texture as Beck’s. And then there was the sharp jaw and eyebrows. She was Beck’s sister, alright. Victoria Atteridge.
“Hailey?” she asked.
I tried my best to smile. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet.
“Come on in.” Then she looked at Beck. “I promise, you’re next. This is the last one.”
I looked back at Beck, who stared like he was seeing me for the first time. He was seconds away from sounding the alarm. And why wouldn’t he? His personal pain in the ass stood in his sister’s office, claiming to be someone else. He could out me. He should out me. Ruin all my plans with one sentence: She’s not who she says she is.
He held all the power.
Victoria looked between Beck and me, sensing the tension.
“Do you two . . .” Victoria started, “. . . know each other?”
“Please be cool about this,” I whispered.
A moment passed, and I could see the questions on his brow, the conflict nearly molten in his irises. Those eyes didn’t leave me as he answered his sister. “We’re . . . old friends,” he finally said. He looked at me like he could read my thoughts if he tried hard enough. “We were just catching up.”
“It was nice to see you again,” I said to Beck, my voice sounding like a robot because I apparently had no chill.
Victoria turned as someone in her office asked her a question. I took the halt in conversation to try and move past Beck and the incredibly awkward situation I’d placed myself in, but before I could get by, Beck’s hand wrapped around my elbow.
“Tomorrow, at work,” he said with calm authority, “you’re explaining everything, Hailey.”
He let go, and I walked toward Victoria’s office on legs that suddenly felt like they belonged to a newborn giraffe.
The meeting with Victoria came upon me like a Texas thunderstorm. Gusts between Victoria and her wedding planner, Amanda, flew by me with such speed and force that I barely had time to respond. They batted back and forth about the timeline and the checklist. All of which were still on schedule, Amanda had said, beaming at me.
Then came the remaining items on the checklist, lighting up the sky with possibilities, only to be followed by the booming doubt in my head, telling me I wouldn’t be able to deliver.
God, Hailey acted like she’d sealed and finished this project by completing the invites, which I’m sure was no easy feat. But she forgot to mention the work for the actual big day: a five-foot mirror for the seating arrangement, place cards, and a collection of signage.
Needless to say, Hailey had left out some items on the to-do list for Victoria’s wedding. I’d been blindsided, but then I bristled at myself. This was so typical of Hailey. She’d always been the kind of child to ask Mom to buy the supplies for the project due the following day, and she’d still ace the damn thing. How could I be mad at Hailey for using the process that always worked for her?
