Chapter Thirty-Eight
One Month Later
Sutton
This Los Angeles winter is colder than usual. Grayer. I can’t seem to get warm no matter how many layers I put on or how high I crank the heat inside my apartment. I get up each day and go through the motions, but nothing feels like it did before.
No potential clients inspire hope anymore. I haven’t heard from Emerson Bratt—or Cecelia for that matter—but I caught wind of an event last week that was put on by the Rams, and both he and Max were rumored to be in attendance. I imagine they were there together, but can’t find it in me to care.
I’m going to release the few players I have from their contracts by the end of the year, then walk away from Hart Strategic Management. No one can say I didn’t give it my all.
But I just don’t have it in me anymore to fight for a company that seems to push back every step of the way. I don’t enjoy this the way I once did.
People with my law degree make hundreds of thousands a year while I’m over here barely scraping by to keep my father’s dream alive.
What about me? What about my dreams?
I close the file on my desk, then slip it back into the bottom drawer.
Honestly, I don’t even know what my dreams are anymore, but I know that running a failing sports agency can’t be at the top of the list.
Anderson knocks on my open office door, and when I look up at him, he gives me that same sympathetic look he’s been giving me since mid-October.
I’m pathetic, and everyone knows it.
Although, only me, Max, and Imogen know exactly why I’m so pathetic.
“You have a plane to catch,” Anderson says, bringing me back to him.
I shrug, then pull the Afghan tighter around my shoulders. “I’m not going.”
He purses his lips and levels me with a stare that tells me I’m about to get another lecture.
“You’re going. You’re gonna put on that insanely gorgeous dress, put some makeup on, do something with whatever is going on with your hair right now, then you’re going to walk into that gala with your head held high because you are a Hart. And Harts don’t wallow. We don’t wilt.”
“And we certainly don’t fucking let men rob us of our lives, Sutton.”
I lift my gaze as Mo strides into my office, then glance at Anderson, who shrugs.
“I called in reinforcements. Sue me.” He and Mo share a look, then he motions toward me. “She’s all yours.”
“Thanks, Andy. Take the afternoon off.”
He snorts. “Already done.” He gives me one last glance before he leaves my office. “Try to have fun, okay?”
Fun. Right.
Mo steps around my desk, then spins my chair toward her. “Whatever this is…” She motions toward me. “Has run its course. You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“Sutton. I’m serious. I don’t give a shit if Maximus Prime was the goddamn Prince of England, he doesn’t deserve the weeks of mourning you’ve given him.”
“I’m not mourning.”
Mo sighs, squatting down to meet my eyes. “Oh, babe, but you are. And it’s time to stop now, okay?”
I bite into my bottom lip as it starts to tremble. “When will it stop hurting?”
She smiles sadly. “I don’t know. Maybe it never will. But I do know that the only way to get back at a man who’s broken our heart is to live the very best life we can. To thrive. To show him that he doesn’t have power over you.”
I swallow, forcing the tears back. “It’s not just him, Mo…” Laughing bitterly as I wave my hand, motioning around my small office, I say, “It’s all of it. Look at how much time I’ve wasted chasing someone else’s dreams. And for what?”
She smiles sympathetically, rubbing my knee.
“It's just…I feel like everything is coming to a head at once. Max, Dominus, this agency… and I think I’m starting perimenopause!” The last word comes out on a dramatic sob, but I’m dying here.
She laughs, squeezing my knee. “That’s probably not helping, is it?”
“No,” I say loudly. “I can’t tell if I’m coming or going half the time, or if I’m sad about a stupid man—or I’m sad because my hormones are all out of whack.”
“Listen.” Mo stands, then grabs my blanket and carefully unwraps it from my shoulders.
“The good news is you’re probably too young for perimenopause, but either way, there are doctors for that.
Drugs for that. And… I don’t know, maybe this is your midlife crisis, you know?
You don’t know what you want, who you are…
so the Universe gives you an opportunity to try something new.
Maybe this is when you pivot.” She smiles sadly.
“But you still have to finish what you started, sister. I know you well enough to know that if you fuck-off this gala tonight, you’ll regret it for as long as you live. ”
“He’ll be there, Mo.”
She pulls me up to my feet, then grips my shoulders. “Then it’s a damn good thing we found that vintage Chanel over on Melrose. You’re going to make that man wish he’d never lied to you.”
“But he did.”
Mo inhales deeply, then purses her lips.
“What?”
“Don’t hate me for saying this…”
Oh god. I brace myself for the worst. Is he with someone else? Did she see him at Joyce or something?
Maybe it’s one of those women from the golf tournament. They were sweet—
“He did lie to you.” She nods. “I’m not going to justify that.”
I search her gaze as she searches mine. “But?”
“But you sought out that masked man, Slutty. You didn’t want to know who he was.
You didn’t care what he looked like or who he was outside of that club.
Teeth, no teeth—you. Did. Not. Care. You didn’t care to get to know him or find out where he aligns politically.
His likes, his dislikes… Can you tell me any of those things about Dominus? ”
My shoulders shake as I drag in a trembling breath.
She raises her eyebrows.
I shake my head.
“You wanted that anonymity, and he gave it to you.”
“But—”
“I’m just saying, maybe cut the guy some slack.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”
“Yeah? You’re over it?” She cocks one eyebrow. “I can tell.”
I scoff.
“Come on. You have a plane to catch, but we have a lot of work to do first.”
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“Have you seen a mirror lately? Your grays are an inch long.” She makes a sour face, then tugs me around my desk, grabbing my purse as we leave my small downtown office.
She’s right about one thing—if I flake on the Cowboys Holiday Gala, I’ll never forgive myself. Emerson invited me as his guest, and whether or not he already signed with Apex doesn’t matter.
I have to see this through, even though I’ll know in the back of my mind that Hart Strategic Management has done all it can do. I came, I saw, I tried my damn hardest.