Page 88 of Broken Vows

I shut the door and lower myself into the chair. “Is everything okay?” I ask, when clearly everything is not okay.

Sydney takes a sip of water and fans her face. “Yes. Um, how are you? You looked upset earlier.”

It strikes me that even in her misery, she’s still looking out for me. I push my own concerns aside; right now, this is about Sydney. “What’s going on?”

Her mouth parts like she wants to say something, but then closes it. I’ve never seen her break like this.

“Sydney, please. Tell me what’s going on.” I place my hand on her desk. “You’ve been there for me all these years. Let me be here for you now.”

A long moment passes as she studies my face, warring with her own indecision. Finally, she takes a deep breath. “If I tell you, it doesn’t leave this room. Understood?” I nod. “I just got off the phone with the company’s investors. Even though I saw it coming, it still hit me hard.” Her voice shakes as she speaks. “I have to lay off five staff members.”

What!? “Five?” My mind swirls like I was just spit out from a tornado and landed on my ass. We only have ten employees. What the hell could’ve happened that would constitute laying off fifty percent of our staff?

Panic sets in.

Am I one of them? I can’t leave. This is my home, for better or worse. I’m endlessly grateful to Sydney for taking a chance on a young girl recently kicked out of college and I don’t know if any other company would’ve done the same. The wedding industry is cutthroat and unforgiving, built on reputation and prestige. Black spots fill my vision, and I blink through the murky, thin air.

“As of now, you are safe,” she says and I let out the biggest breath of my life. “But I need to look at which team members I can bear to see let go.” Her lips tremble. “I don’t tell you all often enough, but this here is my family. You all mean the world to me.”

My heart swells and I want to hug her. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No… not right now. You have to keep this confidential while I figure out the next steps.” She props her elbows on the table and rests her head in her hands. When she pulls back, she gives me a soft smile. “Actually, there is something you can do.”

I straighten my back. “Anything.”

“Make this Barlowe/Astor wedding the most spectacular event of the season. Do whatever you need to make them happy. We need our names in every paper, gossip site, we need every guest to know who we are.” Heat fills my face. I choke down the nauseating burn of acid in my throat. “God forbid, if this wedding doesn’t go through, our company will close its doors for good.”

The shock of what Sydney told me an hour ago still hasn’t worn off. I’ve called Theo twice, sent a text, had no reply, and my anxiety is through the roof. Having to work in the office for the rest of the day has been torture. I can’t stop myself from peering around at my co-workers wondering who’ll be cut. The twin receptionists, Amanda and Megan? Seeing their smiling faces greeting me every morning is something I’ve taken for granted. Someone else? It feels like I’m watching the living dead, people moving through their day without any idea of what’s coming.

God, please let it not be Justin.

Right now, the wedding that I’m so desperate to have canceled—which is somehow still going ahead—carries the very real possibility of shutting down my workplace and leaving me without a job. It’s not just my life on the line, but everyone else’s in this company. What sort of fuckery-laced hand did the universe deal me? And what kind of selfish, vile person am I that I still want the wedding called off?

But, since Theo and Annabelle are still officially engaged to be married in two weeks, between the three of us, it hopefully buys us enough time to come up with a solution. If only I could just talk to Theo.

I grab my purse and phone and head for the door, fixated on tracking him down and forcing this conversation. He’s had enough time to reunite with Annabelle and talk it out with her. Now I need answers.

Less than an hour later, I’m in the elevator heading up to his apartment. It’s only four p.m. and I know he won’t be home for a few hours, but I’ll sit and wait all goddamn day if that’s what it takes to make him talk to me.

When I let myself into his condo, I’m prepared to meet a silent, open room, instead—“Theo?” It takes a moment for me to confirm my eyes aren’t deceiving me. A pale, unshaved, messy-haired Theo, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants, staring out his floor-to-ceiling window with dark purple halos under his eyes. Is he sick? Has he been ill these last ten days and that’s why he’s disappeared?

He makes no movement. He doesn’t even look surprised that I’m here. He looks defeated.

My heart sinks to my stomach.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, but it’s not accusatory. The voice is resigned, almost timid, pushed through a throaty, exhausted voice.

I want to scream at him for blocking me out and that I deserve so much more than this. I want to ask him if I did something wrong, tell him how shitty my day has been and Sydney’s news, how scared I am of everything crumbling around me. But instead, I slip off my purse, set it on the counter, and take a few, hesitant steps. “What’s wrong?”

He sinks into a lounge chair, pushes his elbows into his knees, and presses his thumbs into his forehead. When he glances up at me with regret-filled, red-brimmed eyes, I already know what he’s going to say. My body weighs a million pounds. The air in the room is so heavy it turns into a noose. I drag myself to sit across from him, each step feeling like I’m a prisoner taking my last walk before the darkness closes in.

“I’m so sorry,” he says as he keeps staring at his hands.

Three words that carry so much weight. He doesn’t need to elaborate. I know what he’s trying to tell me. “Please don’t say this.” My voice cracks. “I don’t want to hear this. I can’t fucking hear this.”

He barely catches my gaze and says, “We tried everything.”

No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening. His voice sounds as drained as his face looks, and my world shatters along with my heart. It’s done? We’re over, just like that? “There’s nothing else you can do?” I ask, too softly.