Page 14 of Giving Chase

"I know," she says gently. "But that's exactly why you need to do this. You need closure, Eliza. And who knows? Maybe this is your chance to finally get some answers."

"Or maybe it's a chance to reopen old wounds," I counter, pausing to look out the window at the twinkling Los Angelesskyline. "God, Michelle, you didn't see him at the end. The things he said, the way he looked at me... like I was the enemy."

"That was five years ago," Michelle reminds me. "People change. You've changed. Hell, you're about to induct Incendiary Ink into the freaking Hall of Fame. If that's not a full-circle moment, I don't know what is."

She's right, of course. But that doesn't make this any easier.

"What if..." I start, then stop, the words sticking in my throat as if I’m afraid to put them out into the universe again.

"What if what?" Michelle prompts.

"What if I still have feelings for him?" The admission hangs in the air, heavy with implications.

There's a pause on the other end of the line. Then, "Oh, honey. I think we both know you never stopped having feelings for him. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

I look at myself in the mirror again, really look. Beyond the designer dress and the carefully applied makeup, I see the woman who fell in love with a young rocker against her better judgment. The woman who helped build Incendiary Ink into a global phenomenon, only to watch it all crumble. The woman who's spent five years trying to forget the one man she can't seem to let go of.

"I don't know," I admit. "But I guess I have to go to this dinner to find out."

"That's my girl," Michelle says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "Now, go knock him dead. And Eliza?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember – you're Eliza fucking Kerr. You've got this."

I hang up, feeling slightly more centered. Michelle's right. I am Eliza fucking Kerr. I've faced down record execs, diva artists, and cutthroat competitors. I can handle one dinner with Chase Avery. Maybe if I keep repeating that mantra in my head, I’ll eventually believe it.

Maybe.

But as I grab my Hermès clutch and head for the door, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers a warning:This isn't just any dinner. This is Chase. And when it comes to him, all bets are off.

"I'm heading out," I call to Justin. "Don't wait up."

"Good luck, Mom," he calls back. "Remember, family emergency is just a text away."

I smile, grateful for my son's support. Then, taking a deep breath, I step out into the warm Los Angeles night.

Here goes nothing.

February 14, 2005

The last thing I expect to see when I walk into my hotel room is a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a bouquet of red roses on the bed. For a moment, my heart leaps – then reality crashes back in. This isn't for me. It can't be.

I grab my phone, firing off a quick text to Chase.

ME: Wrong room?

His reply comes almost instantly.

CHASE: Nope. Happy Valentine's Day, Eliza.

I stare at the message, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest. Anger. Confusion. And something dangerously close to hope. Before I can stop myself, I'm dialing his number.

"Hey," Chase's voice is warm, a little uncertain. "Did you get the-"

"What the hell are you doing?" I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intend.

There's a pause. "I... I thought it would be nice. To do something for Valentine's Day."

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