Page 148 of Relationship Goals
The driver shakes his head, and though I can’t hear him, I’m pretty sure he’s sighing.
“Okay, let me start getting shit together. Do you need a ride from the airport?” Michelle asks.
I do not deserve her. But I’m gonna try to.
“Believe it or not, Richard Grace has a town car on standby for me.”
“Perfect. Meet me at the club office this evening, say, around six p.m.?”
“Got it.” It baffles me how organized Michelle must be if she’sready to do this at a moment’s notice. “You’re a little scary sometimes,” I tell her.
“Good. That’s what I like to hear.”
“See you soon,” I tell her, and we hang up.
Not a half second later, a meeting request pops up on my phone, and I swallow hard when I see the owners’ names on it, too.
The plan is in motion.
If it goes well, it might be enough to show him I’m sorry.
If it doesn’t go well, then the whole world will know Luke and I are over for good, but at least I will have closure—and so will everyone else who was invested in our relationship.
And the owners of the LA Aces will get what’s coming to them, too.
Maybe I can fix this thing with Luke. Sure, we weren’t together for very long…but when we were, it was good. I like Luke.
I care about Luke. Even when I was furious with him, I cared.
Things with Luke were better than they had ever been with anyone I’d dated before.
If I’m being honest with myself, I think I was falling in love with him.
I’m going to, at the very least, try to repair the damage we both did.
I owe it to both of us to try.
Chapter Forty-three
Abigail
I’ve thrown oneof my mom’s permanently borrowed cashmere sweaters over my stupid ratty Ninja Turtles T-shirt and done the best I can to slap some makeup on my face and braid my hair into submission.
I look a mess, but honestly, I think I like that even better than how hard I tried to be polished and professional and not me the last time I saw these assholes.
Michelle meets me in the parking lot, and she emanates confidence.
“Holy shit,” I say, dragging my gaze over her. “You look like you’re ready to go to war.”
“Because I am,” she says, and flips her glossy hair over one shoulder.
I pluck at the hem of my T-shirt, then tuck it inside the hem of my jeans.
“You look like you’re ready to raise hell,” she says with a quirk of her lips.
My chin raises at that. “Because I am,” I tell her. “And then I’m going to take you to dinner, and you’re going to give me all the dirty details on the IFF and exactly how it went down. If you want, I mean,” I tack on.
“You’re on,” she says, her eyes glimmering with humor. “But first, let’s show these assholes they fucked with the wrong people.”
