Page 81 of The Billionaire Love Match

TWENTY-FOUR

“Casey, how much moreof this are you going to sit through? When will this be enough penance? I feel sorry for the guy,” Amanda said.

They were sitting on the couch watching morning television and eating chocolate chip cookies for breakfast. Colt sat in the chair facing the two hosts, looking so handsome it hurt for Casey to look at him. But look at him was all she wanted to do. His hair looked a little longer, less styled. Still the perfect amount of stubble on his cheeks and jaw.

She groaned. “How often do you think he shaves to keep his face looking that perfect?”

“You’re like a lovesick puppy. Forgive him already. He’s been asking you on every TV show he can possibly go on. I think the only thing left is Jerry Springer.”

“Well, Jerry Springer is the way to my heart, so let me know when he’s on there. Heck, I’ll go too and we’ll have a nice little reunion there, broken up by bodyguards and someone’s maybe baby daddy.”

On the screen, the female host clutched her chest. “So, Colt—what do you want Casey to know if she’s watching this?”

Colt looked at the camera and it zoomed in on his eyes. They looked brown from this angle, underneath all the lights. “Casey, I’m so sorry. I should never have let things go this far or let my mother manipulate things. I was a coward and a jerk. I want nothing more than to be with you. I love you and I’m so sorry. I hope that you can forgive me.”

“Awwwww,” the studio audience all said.

“They hold up signs to make them do that,” Casey said. “Just one of the things I learned in my brief career on reality TV.”

“They don’t need to in this case,” Amanda said. “He really is aww-worthy. What’s he saying?” Amanda pointed to the screen. Colt was tapping out a rhythm on his leg.

I-L-O-V-E Y-O-U C-A-S-E-Y

I-M S-O S-O-R-R-Y

“Just that he’s sorry,” she said quietly.

“Tell me again why you haven’t gone running back to him? You’re not sure that he loves you after declaring it on every television show possible? You’re still mad even though he’s apologized fifty times publicly and admitted to being a jerk and a coward?”

Casey sighed. “I don’t know,” she said.

“You love him.”

“Yes.”

“You asked him to make it right, but didn’t tell him what that meant.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what that means, right?”

“I’ll know when I see it,” Casey said. “I mean, sure, I feel like I’ve forgiven him. At least some. I honestly don’t know. But I just feel like as much as I want to be with him, I just can’t. Yet.”

“Yet or ever?”

“Yet. I think.”

“If you wait too long, he might get tired of trying. I don’t know how much more he could grovel. When he runs out of TV shows or people interested in your little love drama, what then?”

Casey’s phone rang, saving her from saying “I don’t know” again. She truly didn’t know and wished that she did. If she could pinpoint what she wanted from Colt or what would take away the hurt and anguish and the ache in her heart, she would...what? Would she call Colt and tell him what she wanted him to do? This whole thing seemed impossible. And stupid.

It was her literary agent, the one who’d worn her down a few days after the show ended. She’d gotten calls from all kinds of companies and people. The company who made the shapewear she had on that first night when she fainted had wanted her to do a series of commercials for them—hard pass. She had offers to be on all kinds of shows and work with brands or businesses. The only yes she gave was to a literary agent who wanted her story.

“I don’t think I can write that,” she had said. “It’s too personal.”

Elizabeth had just laughed, but not in a mean way. “Casey, everyone already knows everything. Well, they think they do. This is simply your chance to explain. To give your side. And to make a pile of money. But it has to be fast.”

Casey took two days to think about it, then said yes and had written the entire story out in just over a week. She’d never finished anything that fast. But when you don’t want to leave your apartment because of cameramen standing outside your building and you don’t care what you look or smell like, you can write pretty fast.

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