Page 34 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
It’s a name I haven’t seen in years, but one I remember instantly: Gina Miller.
My pulse skips, a chill threading down my spine as the name sears into my thoughts like an old scar I’d forgotten was still tender. Gina isn’t just a name from the past, she’s a shadow of Jack’s. Once his lover. Nothing lasting. Just a shadow from a different time. The kind of woman who doesn’t reach out without purpose.
We were never close. Barely more than acquaintances. I only met her once at a fundraiser. She wore a red dress and a colder smile. I remember thinking: she didn’t like being forgotten, and never was.
The text is short:Coffee? Thought we could catch up.
I stare at it for a long moment, unease rippling through me. Why now?
I tap on her name, half expecting more context. Nothing. Just a professional headshot, a LinkedIn title that readsStrategic Consultant. No company listed.
I sit back in my chair, heart beating faster now. The past isn’t just resurfacing. It’s circling. I glance out the window, towardthe city skyline that feels suddenly more distant than usual. What does Gina want? I read the message again. Then a third time. There’s no warmth in it. No emoji. No false pretense of friendliness. Just the kind of polite invitation that feels like a trap disguised as civility.
I text back one word:When?
The response comes in under a minute:Today. 4:30. Lafayette Grounds.A neutral spot. Public. Conveniently vague.
I tell myself I’m only going to find out what she wants. That I’m not rattled. But by the time I arrive, I’ve changed my outfit twice, my stomach’s in knots, and I haven’t touched the salad I ordered at lunch.
***
Lafayette Grounds is one of those hip cafés with reclaimed wood counters and baristas who look like they moonlight as DJs. I step in early and choose a seat by the window, back straight, hands folded, trying not to rehearse a confrontation I didn’t agree to.
When she walks in, Gina hasn’t changed. Still modelesque in that effortless, calculated way, waist-length waves, high-necked blouse tucked into tailored slacks, sunglasses pushed to the top of her head like a crown. She spots me immediately, glides over, and sits down without asking.
“Still drink espresso?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I reply, not bothering to answer the question. My hand clenches lightly around the handle of my cup.
A flicker of a smile curves her mouth, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Always so polite.”
There’s a silence. Heavy. Intentional. I shift slightly in my seat, crossing my legs, trying to hold onto some version of poise.
Then she leans in slightly. “I’m not here to make trouble, Ivy.”
“Good,” I say, leveling my gaze. “Because you already are.”
Her smile fades just a breath. “Fair. But if I didn’t reach out, someone else would’ve.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She lifts her coffee, takes a slow sip, then sets it down with deliberate grace. “Jack’s not who you think. You deserve to know that before it all breaks.”
The blood rushes in my ears. My voice is low. “You’re here because of Derek.”
Gina tilts her head, as if impressed. “No wonder he fell for you.”
“I’m not interested in games, Gina.”
“I’m not playing,” she says. “I’m warning you.”
She pulls out a sleek manila envelope from her oversized bag and slides it across the table.
“I’m not the only ghost in his past,” she says softly. “But I might be the only one willing to tell the truth.”
I don’t reach for it. Not yet. My fingers twitch slightly. I glance down, then back at her, holding her gaze. Still steady.
“Why now?”
