Page 56 of The Vow Thief
Matt's POV
The mornings in Charleston were polite in a“please” and“thank you” sort of way. The city definitely had main character vibes. Like it let the sun rise slowly over the water, and the gulls argue outside your window
I woke before the alarm, the way I always did.
I still felt like I was just visiting, like I had to check out in a few days and go home.
The problem was, I didn’t know where home was anymore, even though I had been here a few months.
I missed my old life. I knew I was depressed. Just going through the motions. Sometimes I even missed Lily and her brand of insanity.
I had no idea what was going on in her world now or if she was out of jail and victimizing some other poor bastard.
I made the bed with military precision, the kind Sarah used to tease me for.“You’d think the sheets were on trial,” she used to say.
The apartment was silent except for the coffee maker kicking on. No laughter from the kids. No slammed doors. No reminders of who I used to be. The quiet was supposed to be healing. It just felt sterile.
It had been a year since one mistake turned into a story people still whispered about. I was seeing the kids a few times a month, but I rarely talked to Sarah. It hurt too much… still.
I checked my phone: three work emails, one from Holloway about a new pitch, and one from a client trying to push deadlines. I got ready with the same routine I used every single morning: turn on music, this morning it was Soundgarden, teeth, shower, clothes, cologne, and a to-go coffee in my large Holloway, Taylor and Associates cup. Then I left for the office in my brand new Volvo SC90.The Day I Tried to Livetransferring to my speakers.
I entered the building, an old warehouse in downtown Charleston that had been renovated and turned into swanky high-tech offices complete with glass walls, wood finishes, and steel beams.
I was early as usual.
Jim had been on edge lately. He was closing the Highland Park office, abruptly, and out of character for a man who usually kept a death grip on every region. He said it was“strategic realignment,” but I knew better. He’d lost a handful of major contracts over the last month, clients who had gone dark without warning. Now his focus on Charleston had turned razor sharp, almost desperate.
He wouldn’t talk about it, but I was his numbers guy and saw the devastation to his bottom line. Every time I brought it up, he brushed it off with a half-smile and a new deadline. But I could see the strain. It was leaking into everything, his temper, his calls, the way he snapped at his wife on speakerphone and then pretended it didn’t happen.
The email came in at 8:12 a.m., with a clean subject line.
From: J. Raines
Subject:Potential Client Inquiry – Strategic Image and Reputation Consulting
I skimmed it while finishing my first cup of coffee. New fund. Expanding in the Southeast. Looking for a retained partner to advise on reputation risk and donor communications. The tone was clipped, efficient, the way men with money write when they want you to hurry.
Jim leaned into my doorway.“You see the Raines note?”
“Reading it now, what do you think?”
“Take it.” He tapped the frame twice.“Reads like old New York money. If he wants the Southeast, he wants Charleston. If he wants Charleston, he wants us.”
I nodded.“Two this afternoon?”
“Good. I will head to the club at three if it’s boring.”
It rarely was these days. We had built enough of the Charleston portfolio to stop some of the bleeding. I sent a reply and asked the assistant to block the time.
At 1:58, my phone buzzed with a message from the front desk.“Jay Raines is here.”
Jim and I were standing when the door opened, but the man we expected never came.
A woman stepped in, composed and self-assured.
She extended her hand to me first.
“Julianne Raines,” she said.“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
