“I love her.”
He grunts, clasping me on the shoulder. “I know, man. I know.”
I inhale, closing my eyes so I won’t cry. It’s bad enough he sees me with my heart shredded to pieces. But as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I can’t spend the rest of my days hiding out in my condo. It doesn’t change the truth. Life is passing me by. Hell, she’s moved on with hers. My throat clenches. A single tear drops and my heart splits open all over again.
“Ah, fuck. Don’t cry. Aubrey’s not here, and I’m not any good at that stuff.”
I laugh, and though it still hurts, it’s nice to find something funny. “Where is she? She never misses one of your reveals.”
“She, uh, isn’t feeling so great. We thought it better she rest at home with CJ rather than stop for puke breaks.”
“She’s got the stomach flu?” My brows rise. “You left her home with Chance Junior?”
“Not the flu.” A smile works his way onto his lips. “Aubrey’s pregnant. Another little Bateman to take over the world.”
“What?” For a split second I wish it were me getting to share such news. I swallow back the tinge of resentment that threatens to sour this joyful moment. The smile on my lips is a foreign feeling, but it’s a step in the right direction. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, mate. We’re thrilled.” He shoves to his feet and moves the chair back to the table. “Now, go shower. Times a ticking, and I can smell you from here.”
“Fine. I’m going.” The blanket drops from my waist as I stand, and I adjust my boxer briefs so Chance doesn’t get a peep show as I walk toward the hall.
“And shave that small animal off your face,” he calls after me. “You’re starting to resemble a goat!”
I cringe a little at the imagery. Turning in the doorway, I narrow him with a glare. “That hurts.”
He nods, his lips pressed in a firm line. “The truth does that.”
50
Rachel
“I’m so glad you invited me.” Cora bounces in her seat as she plows over a bump in the road intended to deter drivers from speeding. From the ten minutes I’ve spent in her Hummer, two things are clear. She doesn’t adhere to road signs or speed limits, and I might never see Jude again because there’s a very real chance she’ll kill us all. “This is so much fun.”
“Honey, that’s a red light,” De’Shaun says from the front passenger seat.
“Short cut.” Cora smiles, cranking the music and the steering wheel simultaneously.
I grip the handle above my seat in the back, and hold on for life as Cora takes another turn. Jesus. Who gave this woman a license? Or sold her a military grade vehicle?
“Nervous?” De’Shaun turns in his seat to meet my gaze.
“Totally.” This time as my stomach dips and dives, though it has nothing to do with Cora’s driving. I suck in a breath and shake off the nerves. It felt like a good idea when we came up with it this morning, but now—now, I can’t stop picturing all the ways it could go wrong. “You’re sure he’ll be here. And we can get in?”
“No one turns Cora Bentley away from a publicity event.” Cora winks at me through the rear mirror. I wish she’d keep her focus on the road. “Ever.”
De’Shaun swears under his breath. “Do you always refer to yourself in third person?”
She rolls her eyes at De’Shaun, but laughs. I appreciate how easygoing she is and, despite her poor driving, her social connections.
“You sure this will work?” My knee bounces as I press my toe to the floorboard of the car. There’s a good chance he won’t want to see me. Or hear what I have to say. If he’s angry, I’ll understand. I can work with angry. I ignored his calls and texts, then blocked him for good measure. But if he won’t even give me a chance? I think about the “Ask Ida” letter. God, I hate knowing how much I hurt him. I wish I knew when he sent that. Was it weeks ago? “What if he’s already moved on?”
“Stop,” De’Shaun says, his tone serious. “No negative thoughts. Our plan is brilliant, and you are going to get your man.”
“But what if I don’t?” I bite my bottom lip, my stomach twists, and my leg bounces faster. Maybe Cora’s horrible driving is partially responsible for my sudden spike in nerves. If this goes badly, there’ll be public humiliation—which I can handle—but spending the night alone in an empty hotel suite that cost a week’s worth of my salary might push me over the edge.
Cora swings the Hummer into the hotel drive, hopping the curb to find a parking spot. “You’re going to get your man.” She turns in her seat once the shifter is in park, and levels me with a stare. “But if not, we’ll get drunk on tequila, eat Doritos, and watch ‘80s movies.”
“Doritos? Really?” De’Shaun sticks out his tongue, then holds out his hand. “Phone?”
I place it in his hand, everything loaded into my social media channels and waiting for the push of a few buttons.
“Cora, honey. The rest is in your hands.” De’Shaun hands her the note I wrote earlier, the one that asks Jude to come upstairs. “Don’t forget to add the key.”
“You ready, Rae?” she asks.
Fuck. Here goes nothing.
51
Jude
The hotel opening is perfect. There’s champagne and shrimp. B-list celebrities, investors, and all the usual suspects. I mingle. I smile. I fake being okay, when deep down my mind is far away—stuck in the past. A reality in which I leave with the woman I love. I get the girl. This isn’t Hollywood, and I don’t get the happy ending.
“You brought my artist.” Darlene Sheehan, the owner of the hotel says, stopping by
