Jason Ciccone
I exhale through my nose, already knowing what this is about before I even pick up my phone and read the text on my lock screen.
Jason:Hey cutie, I’m flying into town next Thursday. Meet for dinner? I have some sponsor things I want to go over.
I shake my head with a smirk. I saw the break in his game and promotional schedule and knew this was coming.
Me:Sure. What time do you check into your hotel?
Jason:6pm. We could just order dinner in my room.
He follows it up with a wink emoji.
I bark a laugh and type back.
Me:Nice try. I’ll meet you at Thai Basil at 7.
Jason:Deal.
A second later, another text.
Jason:Can’t blame a guy for trying.
I laugh again, but as I set my phone down, the humor fades. Jason has been chasing me for two and a half years, never letting up, and yet, I’ve never given him more than professional courtesy. I wish I could give someone—anyone—the time of day.
It’s been a week since I saw Chance. Seven days since he walked back into my life like a damn wrecking ball. And every single one of those days has started and ended the same way.
Good morning, Beautiful.
Goodnight, Beautiful.
Every day. Without fail.
And every single time, I’ve hovered my fingers over my phone, wanting to respond, but not knowing what to say. Or if I even want to say anything at all.
Because how does he fix this? How does he make up for that final text three years ago?
I’m gone. Don’t try to find me.
What could he possibly say to make that okay?
A soft knock pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance up to see Meg leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow raised.
“Am I interrupting?”
I blink, adjusting back to reality. “Huh?”
She steps inside, perching on the edge of my desk. “The look on your face was either deep in contract review or contemplating murder. Which was it?”
I rub my jaw, exhaling. “Just… weighing if I should hear someone out or not.”
Meg smirks. “Well, I’ve been in negotiations with you, and I can say with certainty—I’m glad I’m not on the opposite side of the table from you. Good luck to whoever it is.”
I scoff with a smile. “Speaking of clients, Jason texted. He’s flying in next Thursday. Has some sponsor contract questions he wants to go through over dinner.”
Meg gives me a slow, knowing look. “Mmhmm. I’m sure he does.”
I roll my head back against my chair, groaning. “You’d think he’d catch a hint by now. Even if I was looking for something, I’m not going to date our client.”