"I think I have it," I whispered to Katie, to the room.
My eyes still on the coat, I sensed her stand up and come closer. "What is it?" she asked quietly.
Grabbing the chalk, I dragged it across the back of the coat in big, bold letters.
NOT SORRY.
I stepped back, excitement buzzing under my skin because I finally had a vision. This was it. This was the moment.
"I've got it," I told Katie, triumph in my voice.
The ideas started coming to me fast and furious, so quickly I needed to sit down. Katie, bless her heart, handed me a notebook and pen, set my iced tea on the table next to me, then backed away, leaving me to it.
She was the absolute best.
I walked on a cloud the entire rest of the day and late into the evening, the buzz staying with me all the way until I walked in my door. Katie and I had ordered in for dinner, brainstorming and chatting happily for hours.
So for some reason, coming into my empty apartment was like being splashed with cold water, a rude awakening, a massive letdown. Because at the end of the day, especially at the end of such an exciting day, it was damn sad. I found myself wanting to talk to someone, to tell them all about everything that had happened, all of my ideas, how excited I was to implement my new campaign.
I thought of my sisters, but it was too late, and they were probably with their boyfriends anyway.
No sooner had I changed into my pajamas, then my phone buzzed. I knew who it was. Tristan of course. The man had texted me religiously every single day since the last time we'dspoken over the phone. That had been ten days now, and yes, I was indeed counting.
I'd been intent on playing the long game, playing hard to get and stringing him along, at the advice of my sisters, saying I was too busy to talk.
But tonight, looking down at his message—"Can you talk, gorgeous?"—I decided to cave. Not because I was lonely or anything, yeah, right, but just to see if I could mess with him a bit.
There was a rather obnoxious scheme my sisters had engineered coming up next week, another hiccup for Tristan along the way to the ultimate revenge, and I needed to make sure things were in place on his end.
"Sure," I wrote back.
My phone rang immediately, making me smile at his urgency. It was actually hilarious.
"Finally, she deigns to speak to me," he said as soon as I answered. "Was it my charm or did I just wear you down?"
I couldn't help laughing. "Neither," I answered.
"Baby, you wound me so. I've been texting or calling you for ten straight days with not even a peep back from you until now. I was about to... to... I don't even know, call up the National Guard or something. I was actually worried about you. I even contacted Ethan Locke to make sure you were okay."
I'd heard. Believe me, I'd heard. That was on day five. And again on day eight.
"What'd I do?" he asked, his bewilderment and concern so strong, I could feel it through the phone. "Let me fix it. You just have to tell me what I did wrong, what I did to piss you off so much."
I swallowed thickly, all of these confused emotions swirling together. He sounded so sincere, so worried, that it was nearlyimpossible to believe this was the same man who'd put up the cow posters.
But he had. He absolutely had. There were zero doubts about it.
God, he must have taken acting classes somewhere along the way to make himself seem like such a decent person. Or it was just in his blood, the ability to lie and deceive so effortlessly.
"I was just super busy."
There was silence from the other end as I wondered what he'd say. And during that silence, there was one word on the tip of my tongue that with any other person, I would have said.Sorry. But not with Tristan Hawthorne. I refused.
He sighed then spoke softly, "Okay."
This was not working. There was no way I was making this man fall in love with me. I was terrible at this and really needed to up my game. It was just so tricky, because how was I supposed to flirt and act all cute with someone I despised?
"So what have you been busy with?" he asked. "Work? Travel? Family? Charming the men of New York City?"
