“Thanks for being here.” The compliment comes out of my mouth almost instinctively, but it also comes from the bottom of my heart. And while I’m not the best at opening up, I hope he knows that, despite our differences, his friendship means a lot to me.
Matt leans forward, and a bit unexpectedly, strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers. Heat surges through me from his gentle touch, and I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to make out of it. With a contemplative look on his face, he says, “You mean a lot to me, you know that, right?” It feels like he has just read my mind. My lips part at his question, but I can’t bring myself to answer it, so instead, I just nod. He then leans in and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, which makes me smile at how innocent the gesture is. It’s as chaste as a brother giving a kiss to his sister. As I come to think of it, maybe that’s how he finally sees me: like a sister, which would be great, given the fact he used to have a crush on me.
All of a sudden, though, I hear a female voice behind me saying my name. “Um, Petra is it?” I turn to look at her and find the librarian, holding a white paper in her hands. “There’s someone waiting for you outside, and he asked me to give you this.” She hands me the note, and as I open it, my jaw drops in utter shock as I see who wrote it.
I know you are getting married to my ex.
There are a few things you should know about him.
If you fancy to talk, Paul will take you to my office.
All the best,
The Witch
My heart skips a beat at her message. Oh my gosh! Amanda! I can’t believe she is here in New York. It was obvious that her mom, Mona, would tell her the news. I feel tempted to disregard the letter and throw it away, but I can’t help wondering how she found me and what could she possibly want to talk about. Is she gonna tell me more about Alex’s past? Does she know something I don’t? Well, she was with him for ten years, it’s obvious she knows more about him than me. If that’s the case, then I have to accept the invitation.
“I’m sorry, Matt. Um, I’ve got to go.” I stand up, grab my books, and shove them hurriedly inside my backpack, my anxiety already consuming me.
“Is everything alright?” he asks, looking at my sudden switch of mood.
“Yes, um, I have to meet with someone.” I shoulder my backpack and lean down to press my lips to his cheek. “Thanks for everything. See you later.”
As I leave the library, I find a man dressed like a private chauffeur standing against the wall and waiting for someone. Yet I’m not sure if it’s who I need to be meeting.
“Ms. Van Gatt?” he asks as I’m about to pass by him.
I stop upon hearing my name and walk back to him. “Yes?”
“I’m Paul, Ms. Parker’s private chauffeur. May I take you to her office?” the driver asks.
“And where is her office?”
“It’s in Madison Square, about a ten-minute ride,” he explains.
“How did you find me?” I ask, keeping my expression and tone just as serious.
“It’s part of my job to know.” He pauses, gauging for my reaction, before politely smiling at me. “Shall we?” It’s pretty obvious he isn’t gonna tell me the truth. There aren’t a thousand ways for him to know I was at the library, though—either he followed me or he asked Zach.
“Alright.” We walk across the campus and head to his car, my heart thundering inside my chest while I try my best to conceal my growing nervousness. All I hope for is that he doesn’t kidnap me or something. I mean, Amanda clearly said she wanted to talk to me. Yet, I share my live location with Matt just in case. “I’m going to Madison Square to meet someone. I'll text you back once I’m done.”
A few seconds later, his reply pops up: Alright, be careful. X.
After twenty minutes, Paul stops at the curb and opens the door for me. He then escorts me inside the building and into the elevator that will take us to Amanda’s floor. As we step off the elevator, my eyes reach an open floor filled with cubicle offices, mostly empty since it’s Saturday, and a reception right in front of us with the words “Parker & Co., PR Agency,” glued on the wall. Wow. I had no idea Amanda had her own agency and worked as a PR agent. The chauffeur informs the receptionist about me, and she picks the desk phone up, most likely to let Amanda know I’m here.
Then she leaves her desk and gestures for me to follow her. I take a deep breath, trying to tame my nerves before doing so. Crossing the open floor, I can feel my heart hammering against my chest in apprehension for the upcoming face-to-face. My fingers have begun to mimic the pulse of my heart in their shaking, but I try to contain myself before facing Amanda. The receptionist stops right in front of a closed door and knocks a few times before we hear an approval from the other side. As she cracks the door open and invites me in, I swallow the lump in my throat and glance over at the woman who’s wearing a big, bright smile, her perfect white teeth on full display, standing behind her clean-lined glass desk.
“Petra Van Gatt,” Amanda greets as I walk into her ultra-modern office. The sound of the door shutting behind me keeps me just as tense, and before I can even say her name in return, she adds, “Well, look at you, what a grown up you are now.” I sense some sort of sarcasm, especially as she checks me out from top to bottom, making me feel quite self-conscious of our contrasting appearances—Amanda has got her makeup and wavy black hair on point, sports a Gucci white suit, and looks like a supermodel turned executive, while I’m here with a messy bun, a pair of old jeans, a comfy white sweater, and a backpack hanging on the shoulder. There is a smirk playing on her lips, and I’m pretty sure it’s due to my style. “Interesting look,” she comments, her eyes traveling all the way down to my feet. “I remember how Alex used to hate women wearing jeans and All Stars.” I can see her posture straightening more as her confidence grows.
Really? I can’t hide the astonishment on my face at her revelation. After all, Alex never made any remarks about my outfits. “Well, I guess that belongs to the past…” Just like you. But I refrain from saying the last part. “Why did you invite me here?”
“Please have a seat,” she says instead of giving me a straight answer. I pull back one of the chairs in front of her desk, while she goes to her bar tray resting on one of her lateral file cabinet against the wall. And as I look at her, I notice that just above her head, there’s a framed diploma from Columbia University. “Do you want something to drink? I’ve got water, Macallan, gin…”
Even though I feel like drinking some water, I don’t think it’s appropriate to accept anything coming from her. She is not here to be kind or nice, no. My instinct tells me she’s got something in mind that I should be very careful of. “No, thank you,” I answer politely.
Amanda pours some Macallan in a glass before sitting on the chair beside mine. I wonder if she truly enjoys the whiskey or if she does so because it reminds her of him. Some silence ensues as she crosses one leg over the other, observing me attentively. “That’s a beautiful ring.” My attention instantly goes to my finger, and a small smile emerges at the sight of it. But I remind myself I’m not talking to a friend but to Amanda—his ex, the woman I called a witch when I was seven, and above all, the woman who wanted to get married to him.