Page 128 of Fixing to Be Mine

Colt waits for me outside the door, and I take his hand into mine. The elevator ride is quiet, but not full of regret. It feels like coming up for air after being underwater too long. I lean into Colt’s side, and he wraps his arm around me.

“Love that wrath,” he says with a laugh.

Outside, the city hums like it always does, but I feel like I’m visiting, and I know where home is.

“You did it,” Colt says with a boyish grin.

“I did,” I breathe. “And I didn’t break.”

He looks at me like I’ve rewritten the ending to my story. “No, you didn’t. Now you’re stronger than ever.”

I tip my head against his shoulder and close my eyes as we climb inside the car. Once we’re buckled, it pulls away from the curb.

I’m not proving anything or escaping everything. I’m free.

“How do you feel?”

“Like the elephant is finally moving off my chest. This is almost over.”

He leans over, brushing his lips across mine, and we nearly lose control in the back seat.

When the SUV glides to a stop in front of Park Towers, we’re still kissing and laughing.

I step out in front of the paparazzi with swollen lips and messy hair and stand taller with him beside me.

Colt takes my hand, holding me close, and I glance over at him. He shoots me a wink, like we’ve always belonged side by side, even here.

I chose the right man—and he chose me right back.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

STORMY

By the time we’re back in the penthouse, the adrenaline is wearing off. The door clicks shut behind us, and the silence settles over everything.

I kick off my heels without thinking. They land beside the front door in a way that feels final, like they’ve walked their last boardroom hallway. My feet sink into the cool hardwood. I walk to the kitchen and pour two glasses of wine. I hand him one, and then we plop down on the couch.

“Thanks,” he says. “Are we celebrating at ten in the morning?”

I nod. “Yep! Two down. One to go.”

He takes a sip, and I drink half mine in one go. “She’ll be here. I need to decide what I’m going to say to her and change clothes,” I say, already moving toward the bedroom. “Order us something to eat. Delivery. Make sure it’s greasy. I’ve missed being a trash panda while in Valentine.”

“Greasy coming right up,” he says with a laugh.

I peel off the suit the second I’m behind the door, hanging it neatly on the back of the chair before slipping into a soft pair of leggings and one of his T-shirts. It still smells like cedar, cotton,and home. I move into the bathroom and pull my hair into a messy knot, wanting it off the back of my neck.

When I return to the living room, Colt’s on the couch, one leg stretched out, his phone in hand. Bare feet are propped on the edge of the coffee table like he’s a part of the furniture.

“Food’s on the way,” he says. “Lo mein with a double order of egg rolls.”

I cross the room and drop onto the couch beside him, curling one leg under me. “You figured right.”

His eyes sweep over my face. “You okay?” he asks.

“I think I am.”

The smell hits before the knock. Colt jumps up, barefoot, looking like sex appeal on legs, and answers the door. Seconds later, he’s returning with the bag of Chinese food like it’s sacred. We don’t bother plating it. He opens the containers one by one, and steam rises, filling the air with garlic, ginger, and heaven.

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