“I told you, Bren,” Libby hisses into the phone. "It's too hot for tea! I knew she wouldn’t want it.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Libby responds to whatever Bren said. “You’re going on speaker.”
My stomach churns, and I reach for the tea. “I’m going to need to sit for this,” I mutter into the cup as I take a sip and burn my entire mouth.
Cozying up into the corner of the couch, I pull a blanket over me despite my earlier comment on the heat. I need all the comfort I can get.
“Raven Matthews,” my voice cracks on her name, “is Lucas’ ex girlfriend.”
“What the fuck?” Libby spits each word out.
“What did she say?” Bren chimes in from the speaker phone. “I can't hear."
“Oh sorry,” Libby walks over to me, handing me the phone. “Raven Matthews is Lucas’ ex-girlfriend.” Libby speaks into the phone. “She’s a new girl we brought on to the team.” She hands me back the phone and whispers, “All yours now.”
“Wait?” Bren’s muffled voice comes from the speaker phone. ”But how is that even possible?”
My heart sinks in my stomach as if it’s made of pure lead. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Her last name isn’t Matthews though, it’s Harriet or Hettington, or something with an H,” Bren clarifies.
“Lucas asked me why his ex is now on the PR team”—tears sting my eyes—“It’s definitely her.”
“She must have changed it,” Bren mutters.
Taking a sip of my tea, I can’t help but wonder what would make a nineteen year old girl change her last name.
“Wait.” Libby’s jaw drops. “Was it Harrington?”
“Yes!” Bren shouts, her voice almost bubbly.
“Holy shit,” Libby whispers.
A crease forms between my brows as confusion sets in. How did Libby know her previous last name?
“I only met her once,” Bren rushes to fill the silence. “I should have helped with interviews. I would have recognized her.”
“Holy shit,” Libby squeals with excitement.
“What’s happening? Why is she excited?” Bren questions frantically. “Aren’t we upset?”
“Yes, we are upset,” Libby confirms, her eyes full of sympathy, “but do you know who her freaking mom is?”
“Clearly, I didn’t know who the hell she was,” I mutter, annoyance filling me.
“I would bet money that her mom is Holly Harrington.” Libby’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “It all makes sense now.”
“Don’t worry, Bren, " I speak directly into the phone. ”I’m just as confused as you are.”
“As in H. Harrington?” Bren slowly replies.
“Yes!” Libby shrieks with excitement. “As in H. Harrington, the fashion designer.”
The pieces of the puzzle click into place. Her experience in the fashion industry at such a young age. Her mention of family ties to the industry. Grabbing my phone from my hoodie pocket, I type in H. Harrington.
Holy shit is right.
There are millions of articles about the cutting edge designer. Over one million followers on social media. A brand website. Clicking on the image tab, I quickly see the resemblance.
