Page 93 of Negotiating Tactics

Beau, to his credit, shook me off. “She’s my best friend,” he said, like that was the end of the story.

It wasn’t, but I would cut him some slack. Besides, I needed to face up to the shit I was trying to hide from.

“I fucked things up with Alex. And we’re done,” I said.

My voice betrayed no emotion, but Beau didn’t buy it.

“So, are you going to get her back?” he asked.

“You’ve met Alex. Does she seem like the type to change her mind?” I asked.

Beau smiled, then finished the last of his beer.

“No, she does not, but you don’t either,” he said.

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning fight for her. Do whatever it takes.” He shrugged and then passed the bottle from one hand to the other.

He’d said the statement simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And he was right.

My heart had been in the right place, but I’d fucked up when I went behind her back. There was no getting around that.

But I could fix that, and I knew exactly where to start.

I looked at Beau and smiled. My first smile in days. “I hate to cut this touching conversation short, but I need to make a phone call.”

He stood, grinning as he slapped me on the shoulder.

“Good luck.”

Twenty-Four

Alex

“What in the name of our heavenly father is that godawful smell?” I said as Birdie walked into the dining room.

It had been a few weeks since I’d confronted Noah, and I was doing my best to pretend I was A-OK.

Birdie wasn’t buying it, but she hadn’t moved in for the inevitable interrogation, though I knew it was coming.

She deposited two open containers on the table and looked at me quizzically.

“It’s kung pao shrimp. You know, your favorite dish?” she said, looking at me through wide eyes.

I started to speak but then cut off, my mouth thick with saliva as I fought back the urge to vomit. I raised a hand, shook my finger, and then rushed to the bathroom.

I would hate to ruin Birdie’s amazing wallpaper, so I focused on hitting the toilet as I emptied the contents of my stomach.

I rested there for a moment, letting my heart slow, and then washed out my mouth and wiped my face with the monogramed towels, the W stitched in the thick cotton instantly turning my thoughts to Noah, though that wasn’t a hard feat.

Trying to stave off that train of thought, I chuckled at my surroundings, still not quite used to this level of casual opulence.

When I returned to the dining room, Birdie, saint that she was, had removed the shrimp. Good thing, too, because the very thought of it had me close to running back to the bathroom.

“Should I order something else?” she asked, looking at me through suspicious eyes.

---