Kelsey: What if . . . what if he wants to get back together, or worse, what if he doesn’t?
Lottie: If there are two things I know for certain in my life, it’s that Huxley Cane was meant to be the man of my life . . . and JP Cane is meant to be yours. He loves you, desperately. Take the leap, the leap you’ve always wanted to take. You’ve told me over and over again that love is a roller coaster. You’re on the roller coaster, so enjoy it.
Kelsey: I think I might be ready, but I’m scared.
Lottie: Good, if you weren’t then I’d be concerned. You know, there’s something I never told you, something I feel like you should know. That night, when the boys were covering up that email, it wasn’t the way JP was portrayed in the article that made him put up the money to extract the article, it was what they said about you.
Kelsey: What did they say about me?
Lottie: Huxley told me the article not only painted JP in a horrible light with the borderline harassment email, but they said you were using JP to get ahead with your company. Huxley said JP lost it, and he said JP did everything in his power to make sure your company wasn’t dragged through the mud because he understands how hard you worked to get to where you are.
Kelsey: He did that?
Lottie: Yes, and one of the main reasons he was so off that night was because he was frantic about what was going to happen. He thought he was going to lose you. He loves you, sis. Don’t let one bad moment eclipse the magic you two share. Okay? Go to dinner. Let yourself love. I promise you won’t regret it.
I stand at his front door, nervously waiting for him to open it. I wasn’t sure what to wear to dinner tonight. I considered a dress but felt that was too formal. Then a pantsuit, and knew that was way too . . . business-y, so I settled on a black pair of leather leggings and a simple off-the-shoulder red shirt and high heels. Simple, but I also have the confidence to walk through his door and not feel self-conscious.
After what feels like forever, the door opens and JP appears on the other side, wearing a pair of jeans, no socks, and a white T-shirt. His hair is wet and he looks like he’s fresh from the shower.
He scans me up and down, a hungry look in his eyes when they land on my face again. “Miss Gardner,” he says, a slight crack in his voice. “Glad you could make it.”
Nervously smiling, I say, “I had to move some things around. Glad I could make it work.”
He steps aside, and I walk into his entryway, immediately feeling as though I’m returning home. I’ve had so many beautiful memories within these dark walls. He shuts the door and gestures toward his backyard. The sliding glass doors are parted and the yard is lit up in shades of purple. I feel my breath catch as I approach, the entire scene familiar, as if it was plucked straight from a movie.
“Mr. Cane,” I say as I cross over into the backyard, taking it all in. The pool lights are a shade of lavender, the lights overhead are a mellow shade of gold, and the lights along the base of the palm trees are a darker purple. On the table is a pitcher of what looks to be lemonade and two glasses, which makes me smile. Next to it is . . . oh God, I’d know that cake anywhere. Honey cake. “This, uh, this doesn’t feel very business-y to me.”
He comes up to me, pressing his hand to my lower back, and he leans in and whispers, “Good.”
Then he takes my hand, leads me over to my chair, and sits me down. He takes a seat across from me. He sets his phone between us, and then reaches for a file folder next to the cake and slides it in front of him.
“I appreciate you rearranging your schedule and coming tonight. What I need to go over with you is highly classified, so I’d appreciate your discretion.”
Beyond confused, I nod, even though I have no idea what he has planned. “Of course.”
He flips open the file folder and says, “I’m going to hand you a script, and I’m going to need you to read it word for word while I record.”
What on earth is he doing?
“Um . . . okay.”
He motions to the lemonade. “Do you need a drink to clear your throat first?”
“No, I’m good.”
He takes a paper out of the folder and says, “Okay, it’s important that you don’t read ahead. Can you handle that?”
“I can.”
“Good. Let me get us set up here.” He unlocks his phone, goes to the recording app, and then hits the record button before handing me a piece of paper.
My eyes fall to the first sentence and I quickly look back up at him. This consuming, fantasy-filled feeling flips my heart in circles.