20. Kate
Kate
I feel like crap. Not physically. Physically, I’m golden. But emotionally? I hate playing games, and last night felt like a game I didn’t want to win. I needed air. Space. Time. All of it. But that doesn’t mean I wanted to hurt him. I just didn’t know how not to.
After slipping out from Claire’s toy store well past two in the morning, I crashed on her couch, curled up next to a rainbow of plushies and shame. And now… it’s a new day.
I wake up determined to stop avoiding everything. I go home, shower, and pull myself together. Chanel pencil skirt, cream silk blouse, heels that click with purpose. My hair’s blown out smooth and I pick a soft rose lip gloss. Clean, polished. Distraction armor.
Then I grab my keys—the vintage keychain from my grandma still attached—and slide behind the wheel of her old Jeep Wrangler. It’s loud, boxy, and absolutely nothing like the luxury vehicles parked outside Michael’s penthouse. And I never once mentioned it to him.
Good.
Let him learn something new today.
He’s met his match. I can play his game. I just don’t own a gun or a casino. But I’ve got brains, balls, and good taste in lipstick.
I roll up to the casino like I own the place, park in valet, toss the keys to the attendant, and walk through the glass front doors without missing a beat.
Heads turn. Maybe it’s the skirt. Or the hair.
Or maybe it’s just the vibe of a woman walking into a man’s empire like she left something behind.
I head straight for the Starbucks inside the lobby, order two of his favorites, and take a seat at the marble fountain café in full view of the escalators and all the overhead security feeds.
Then I send the text:
“Good morning. Great place you’ve got here. Thought I’d stop by.”
I sip my coffee, cross my legs, and wait.
3…2…1…
They descend like sharks in Hugo Boss—earpieces, suits, the full Secret Service fantasy. I don’t even blink as they surround me like I’m a dignitary or a threat.
I barely suppress an eye-roll.
Then the escalator whir and there he is.
Dark suit. Aviators. That controlled, icy calm stretched over a body full of fury. His jaw’s tight. His hands loose at his sides. His steps slow and lethal.
He’s not just coming down the escalator.
He’s descending like a king who just found someone trespassing in his throne room.
What do I do? I lift his coffee in salute and smile sweetly.