Chapter 3: That Love: Chapter 2

I’m having a shitty day. No, it’s worse than shitty. Paparazzi are camped outside my house, hoping to catch a glimpse of me, hoping to see me looking as ragged as I feel. I’m just hoping, if I stay here long enough, they’ll forget about me and move on. Find their next scandal.

My phone dings for the millionth time. I seriously don’t know how they got my cell number but, this time, as I glance at it, a familiar name pop up.

No way in hell am I going home. My parents live across the street from each other, and even though they were married in a church, they are about as dysfunctional as they come. They won’t get a divorce because of their religious beliefs. Daddy started drinking again when I was six, and Mama kicked him out. To annoy her, he moved into the house across the street. Since then, they’ve lived to spite each other. It’s part of why I’ve never married. I don’t ever want to be like them. I also swore, I’d never be in a relationship with someone who couldn’t control their drinking.

But here I am.

Mama was right about one thing though. I do need to get out of town.

As I’m contemplating where to go, another text pops up on my screen. I glance at it, assuming it’s Mama needing to get the last word in even if only by text.

Instead, I see it’s from an unknown number. I click over, intending to delete it, but the preview makes me curious, so I click on the full message.

My heart does a flip as my mind flits back. It’s been, what? Fourteen years since I met a handsome, charismatic rookie quarterback named Danny Diamond? We had a crazy, instant connection. The kind of connection that, if he hadn’t been a newlywed with a brand-new baby, I would have acted upon that night.

I reply to Jadyn. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m a glutton for punishment. I’ve followed Danny’s career. I was in the stands when he won his first Championship. I obsessed over the photo of him holding his adorable little girl as confetti rained down on them that went viral and caused ovaries around the world to simultaneously explode. I understood why he stopped talking to me, why he chose to focus on his family, even though things were rocky with his wife. Or maybe it’s because Danny made me feel different—an odd combination of being extremely turned on while visions of a future together danced through my head like sugarplums. It sounds unbelievable, but on the night Danny and I met, I knew he was my future. I could see it all. Cheering for him at his games, having kids together, growing old.

We decided to just be friends though, and I respected him for being faithful to his wife.

I went to a Nebraska football game. By some miracle, he ended up there without his wife. I met his friends and loved them. We had so much fun together even though things were kept completely platonic.

I close my eyes, remembering how I felt when I saw the text from him saying he couldn’t see or talk to me again. There were other things said, but they didn’t matter. The damage was done. My heart felt shattered.

But then I met Troy at a friend’s wedding not long after, and we’ve pretty much been together ever since.

Well, together.

And the last thing I need is to be on the other side of a tabloid scandal. I can only imagine the headlines if I had an affair with Danny. Although it would be the perfect place to get away, and I’m dying to see him again, I can’t.

I just can’t.

Not to mention the fact that I haven’t seen these people in years and, even then, I only spent a short time with them. I know she’s sincere though. Jadyn is one of Danny’s best friends and was one of the most honest and real people I’ve ever met.

I’m getting ready to say, , when another text pops up.

I hear a car pull into the driveway, shouts from reporters, and the clicking of high-speed lenses. A few moments later, Troy comes in the front door with his manager, Jason, tagging along behind him. Troy looks horrible. Like he’s been to hell and somehow clawed his way back.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to remain unaffected by him.

“I need to set things right with you.”

Somehow, I knew that’s what he was going to say. It’s what he says.

“I told you not to come home. How can you even think of stepping foot in this house after what you did? You humiliated me—no, you humiliated yourself.”

“I know, I know.” He takes two strides toward me and slides his hand into the back of my hair. What used to be comforting now feels foreign. He looks deep into my eyes. “I had champagne backstage. You know I can handle a few glasses, but then I don’t know what happened. Things spiraled out of control. I didn’t mean to do it. Those girls meant nothing to me. I barely even remember what happened.”

“I told you this on the phone, but I’ll say it again in person,” I say, backing away from him. “We. Are. Through.”

“Don’t say that, Eddy,” he says, using his nickname for me. “I love you. You’re just mad. You can’t throw away our life together.”

“Troy, are the one who threw our life away. I had nothing to do with it. I’ve stood by you every time something like this happened. You might not remember, but I do. I literally pulled you out of the gutter because the people you were partying with didn’t give a shit and left you there to die. And I got a black eye for my efforts. But I stood by you. Got you into rehab. A few years later, you called me drunk—again—from an alley because the prostitute you’d been with robbed you. I told you, when you went to rehab the second time, I wouldn’t be around if there were ever a need for a third.”

“I came back home because we’re going to work it out.” He’s sweating and crying and miserable. I can’t stand it. And I refuse to let it affect me. “I’m not leaving.”

“Fine,” I say, pivoting on my heel. I grab my purse and make my way toward the garage door.

“You can’t go!” he yells, coming at me.

I’m instantly scared. It wouldn’t be the first time he lashed out at me in a fit of rage, but usually, he was drunk. Now that I study him closer, I realize he might be just that.

Fortunately, his manager grabs him from behind. “Let her go, man.”

I take one last look at Troy, broken and pathetic. Certainly not the larger-than-life rock star I first fell for. When I shut the door behind me, I know I’m closing it on a big chapter of my life.

I get in the car, throw on a pair of dark sunglasses, and wonder where I’m going. The second I open the garage door, the press will surround me. When I pull away, they will follow.

Jadyn didn’t say anything about Danny’s wife. But it doesn’t matter. If I go to Kansas City, it won’t be because of him.

I think back to my earlier phone conversation with one of Troy’s friends, who called me as soon as the news broke. Who told me I should hear Troy’s side of the story before I jumped to any conclusions. That I should give him a chance to explain. That maybe we needed religious counseling this time. There’s no way in the world he could explain away the video images of his alcohol-and-drug-induced orgy at an Amsterdam brothel. I’ll never be able to unsee the things he did with those women. And I’ll never be able to unhear his answer when one of the girls asked about the tattoo on his arm. She thought it was about a guy and that he went both ways.

What he should have said was that the tattoo was the nickname he called the woman he loved, but instead, he said, “She’s nobody.”

Tears fill my eyes. Part of me wants to run back in there. To make it all better. I want to forget what I saw. I want us to work. I want him to love me. I want him to get better. To be the kind of man worthy of my love. The man I thought he could be.

But I can’t. For myself. I can’t do this anymore.

What I need is a no-bullshit friend.

So, I reply.

She texts me where she’s staying. It’s an iconic Beverly Hills hotel on Rodeo Drive. I was there for an event a few years ago and probably would not choose to stay there. It looked like it’d seen better days.

Regardless, I pick up my phone and call my assistant.

“Jennifer, how are you?” she asks by way of greeting.

“As well as can be expected, Sarah. I need you to do me a favor.” I proceed to give her the specifics.

When I end the call, I hit the door opener, causing the California sun to stream in and light up the dark garage. Like a new day dawning. A symbol of me starting over. I take a deep breath, back out of the driveway, and pretend not to notice the cameras.

A few of the more enthusiastic photographers follow me in their cars. The traffic in LA is terrible, and it takes what feels like forever to get from Malibu to the hotel.

When I pull up, the photographers don’t follow. They know better than to trespass here. When the valet opens the door and I step out, I suddenly realize how I’m dressed. I look down at the slippers on my feet. The dirty white T-shirt I’ve been wearing for three days. I didn’t even look in the mirror this morning. I couldn’t bear to. Now, I wish I had.

I start laughing at myself. It’s either that or start crying.

“Miss Edwards,” the valet says gently, obviously knowing that I’m quite possibly going to have a mental breakdown right here in the drive, “do you have a bag?”

“No.”

“I understand your assistant will be retrieving your car tomorrow.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Very well. If you would allow me, I’d be happy to take you through the back entrance and straight to your room.”

“I look too rough to go through the lobby?” I laugh again. You’d think I was the one who had been on a bender.

“For what it’s worth,” he says as I follow him through the underbelly of the hotel and up a service elevator, “I’m sorry for what you’re going through. If there’s anything we can do, please let the staff know.”

“Thank you. I will.”

I text Jadyn.

That’s exactly what I need. A bottle of wine and a good cry.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock at my door. I look out the peephole and can’t help but smile. Jadyn looks just the same. I’d recognize her anywhere.

I throw open the door.

“You look amazing,” I tell her.

She’s dressed so differently than the last time I saw her when she was in jeans and a tight-fitting Nebraska T-shirt, but even in the expensive tailored suit, there’s an underlying casualness about her. Her face is still girlish, her skin glowing and healthy, her hair still long and blonde, and her body still thin and shapely.

“And you don’t,” she says, taking in my disheveled state, quickly setting the bottle on the closest flat surface, and then wrapping me in a hug.

I didn’t expect the hug. It feels warm and motherly and wonderful. I start crying.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Get it all out, and then tell me about it. I can’t believe he just showed up at your house.”

I stand in the hallway of my suite, the door not even shut behind us, and cry on the shoulder of someone I barely know. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who just hit rock bottom.

Eventually, I stop bawling, pull myself together, and invite Jadyn to sit down. “Fill me in on what’s going on with you all.”

“No,” she says sternly. “First, you are going to go shower.” She rummages through a large designer tote and pulls out a bag. “Then, put on a little of this makeup. While you do that, I’m going to run out and get you some things to wear.”

I study the older Jadyn. “Danny told me you weren’t the typical girlie girl. That you didn’t like to shop.”

“I have four kids to feed, clothe, and care for. My job involves designing and purchasing construction materials and furnishings for entire buildings. Shopping is pretty much my life now.” She gives me a smirk. “But, trust me, I am not a wander-around kind of shopper. I go to the right store, get exactly what I need, and am out the door. If I can’t find anything for you to wear on Rodeo Drive, something is wrong with me. I’ll be back before you know it.”

I consider telling her the name of a shop I frequent. They know my sizes and could whip together a wardrobe, but I’ll be going to Kansas City, and I figure she knows what style would suit me better there.

She gives me another hug, turns me around, walks me into the bathroom, cranks on the shower, and walks out.

It makes me feel like crying again. This is what a real friend does.

As I pour body wash into my hand, I do start crying, feeling sorry for myself.

I traveled with Troy whenever my filming schedule allowed it, but I tried to always go on tour with him, as that was when he was most likely to relapse. One of my best friends stood by me the first time Troy needed rehab, but the second time, she told me that, unless he changed his lifestyle, too, I was going to live my entire life this way. She knew I wanted kids and said that they shouldn’t be brought into that kind of world. Her father was an alcoholic, like mine, and she had suffered from it. I thought she was taking out her past on me, not looking at my situation. But she knew better than I did. When I didn’t listen, we grew apart. I did a lot of things in the name of love that I shouldn’t have. I made excuses to myself, excuses for him.

As the warm water washes over me, I have a renewed sense of well-being. I deserve better. I deserve to be better to myself.

This epiphany causes me to stop crying and get serious about making myself presentable and, although I’m going through the motions of making myself look better from an outward standpoint, internally, I am being real. I just turned thirty-six. My internal clock has been ticking for a while. I’ve set aside my dreams for someone else’s—or maybe I didn’t want to bring a child into my relationship with Troy. Maybe I knew something deep down that I wasn’t willing to admit. That, eventually, we’d end like this. Crashed and burned in a wreckage filled with drugs, booze, and an Amsterdam brothel.

Okay, I never thought a brothel would be involved, but whatever.

I think about what I want out of life. What I’ve wanted out of life. A man who loves me unconditionally, who wants to marry me, who wants that commitment. A man who wants a baby with me—but then I stop myself. This is bullshit. I don’t need a man. I have me. If I want a family, I can make my own, either through adoption or donor sperm.

Maybe staying with Jadyn is exactly what I need. To see how life works for a normal family. How they balance time with their kids, with their jobs, and with each other. Maybe it will show me that I can do it, too.

Troy and I always kept our money separate—thank goodness. Fortunately, he slightly outearns me, so even though my mother always reminds me that he’s my common-law husband, the state of California does not recognize such unions. Even the house we live in is owned by him. He purchased it right before we got together. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why he showed up there. His manager, Jason, was worried I’d change the locks and try to stake a claim to it.

What this all means is that our long relationship can end immediately. No messy divorce. No fighting about dividing up assets. All I need to do is send movers to pick up my clothes and personal belongings. I smile. Actually, I’ll make Jason set it up. I grab my phone and make the call.

“Jason, it’s me,” I say when he answers. “Please don’t tell Troy I’m calling. I don’t want to upset him further. I assume you had him come home because you were worried I’d try to take the house from him.”

“Hang on,” he says to me. I hear him say to Troy, “I need to take this outside.”

A few moments later, he comes back on the line. “I was concerned about it, yes. After what he did, most women would be feeling pretty, uh, spiteful.”

“You might not know the details of our finances, but we have nothing held jointly. The house is in his name, and we never commingled assets. I was wondering if you would be willing to hire someone to pack up my personal effects—clothes, jewelry, photos, the stuff in my office along with my Jeep, which is still in the garage—and have them sent to my storage unit until I find a place to live.”

“You’re really not going to sue him?”

“I just want it to be over. It’s just over,” I say with resolve.

“I understand,” he says, “and I will take care of that for you. For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry this happened.”

“Sorry it happened or sorry he got caught?”

“Sorry it happened. I knew he drank the champagne, which had been happening more and more lately. But he came back to the hotel with me and said he was going to bed. I immediately passed out. With the flights and time changes, we hadn’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours. Obviously, he had something besides the champagne because he should have been dead on his feet like me. I had no idea he would drink more in his room and then go out.”

“Sounds like Troy,” I say with a sigh. “Jason, take care of him, okay?”

“I will. Bye.”

I cry again. But the bout is shorter, and by the time Jadyn returns, I’m looking and feeling more like myself. She’s followed into the room by a bellman, who has a trolley filled with shopping bags and a single suitcase as well as a rolling clothing rack.

“You moving in?” I ask with a laugh, seeing the suitcase and assuming my suite is probably nicer than her room.

“No, everything I bought should fit into that suitcase. I figured you wouldn’t want to schlep all these shopping bags around.”

She tips the bellman handsomely, based on his profuse thanks, and he departs.

“You really got me a whole wardrobe in under two hours?”

“Yes, I did. And you look much better.”

There is a knock on the door.

“That was fast,” she says, opening the door.

A steward brings in a tray full of decadent-looking desserts, including a pint of my favorite ice cream, and a chilled bottle of champagne.

I pick up the ice cream. “I don’t think this is on the menu.”

“It’s not.” She smiles. “But it’s what you got when we stopped at the convenience store after the football game. Before we went to the hayrack ride. Do you remember that?”

Tears start to fill my eyes again—not for Troy this time, but because of the one who got away.

“I was so enamored with Danny. I didn’t care that he was married. I admit, it was selfish of me, and one of my biggest regrets is not pursuing him further. But he was so sincere when he told me he couldn’t even be my friend. I was heartbroken. I truly thought I had found my soul mate.”

“I thought you had, too,” she says, handing me a spoon. “I felt really torn about his decision. On one hand, I was proud of him for being responsible, for not giving up on his marriage, and for making his baby a priority. On the other hand, my heart ached because I wanted him to be crazy, happy in love.”

“I’m surprised you’d say that. Aren’t you and his wife best friends? Do you still live next door to each other?”

“To answer the question of if we are friends, I’d have to go back to the beginning.”

She grabs a chocolate truffle, pops it into her mouth, and then opens the champagne, pouring us each a glass.

As I’m trying to come up with something to say that effectively sums up my gratitude for what she’s done, she says simply and graciously, “To renewed friendships.”

Simple, to the point.

I’m glad now that I couldn’t come up with anything because I tend to overtalk. Word-vomiting comes to mind. When I won my first Academy Award, I announced to the press that I’d had a few shots. I kissed everyone at the after-party. I realize I’ve gone from the girl who always bluntly blurted out the truth to a woman who’s afraid of the truth.

Jadyn starts pulling items out of bags and arranges them on the rolling rack.

“Why don’t you try on clothes while I catch you up?”

She studies me as she hands me the first outfit. I notice it came from four different stores.

“Here’s the deal though,” she says. “If I’m going to catch you up, you have to catch me up on your life, too. And no bullshit fairy-tale version. Stuff like what happened in Amsterdam doesn’t usually just happen randomly. There had to have been signs.”

“There were,” I admit. I take a swig of champagne, shove a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, and take the clothes into the bathroom.

I come back out, wearing a bra and underwear that fit perfectly, a pair of red velvet skinny jeans, designer booties, and a black graphic tee that says, , along with an Alice + Olivia patched jean jacket. I can’t help but laugh at her sense of humor.

“It all fits perfectly,” I say in amazement. I usually try on a million pairs of jeans to find one that fits.

“This kind of thing is my everyday wardrobe,” she says. “Comfortable but pulled together. And you can mix the jeans with these two tops.” She takes out another long-sleeved shirt and a lightweight sweater along with a Burberry scarf that matches the jeans and a cute pair of loafers. “Fall in the Midwest can be a challenge. It’s chilly when you wake up in the morning, but by midday, it’s warm, so layers are key. I got you this brown leather jacket, too. It will go with everything. It seems like, whenever I saw you in the tabloids, you had on black, so I figured you might be ready for a change, something softer.”

“A softer freaking life,” I blurt out, my old habits coming back.

Jadyn raises her eyebrows and lets out a laugh. “Finally! The Jennifer I know and love! It’s good to have you back!”

“Based on this outfit, I don’t think I need to try on the rest,” I say, peeking through the clothes.

There is a small handbag, an evening clutch, and a tote. All brands I love but styles I haven’t chosen in years.

I dig through the bags, finding undergarments, pajamas and a robe, four different yoga outfits—the kind you look good in at the gym or on the street—a couple of daytime dresses, a few pairs of jeans, a bunch of shirts and scarfs, a pair of dress slacks, a plaid blazer, two skirts, and four pairs of shoes that somehow manage to go with it all.

“This is amazing,” I tell her. “Really, thank you.” I stop speaking when I notice a garment bag draped over the back of a chair. “What’s that?”

“I’d like to leave that one wrapped up, if you don’t mind.”

“Why?”

“It’s a dress. One that I hope you will eventually need. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“Let’s go out,” I suddenly say.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere to be seen. To prove I’m okay,” I reply confidently, getting myself mentally geared up.

I’ll flip off the paparazzi. Show them I’m fine.

“Prove to whom?” she asks.

What she says stops me in my tracks. “Everyone,” I mutter.

The minute it tumbles out of my mouth, I understand.

The Jennifer she knew wouldn’t have cared what anyone thought. She was a rebel in Hollywood. She took selfies on the red carpet and openly fangirled. Her award acceptance speeches were routinely bleeped. She would get onstage, be handed an award, and say, “I’m so effing shocked I’m even up here, I don’t know what to say.”

“You’re right. I have nothing to prove, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t eaten in a couple of days.”

“The bar downstairs where I was when you texted is supposed to have good food. I planned to have dinner there.”

“Gosh, there you were, enjoying a nice glass of wine after a hard day, and I interrupted all that. You’re probably hungry.”

“That I am.” She grabs the desserts from the table, thoughtfully putting them in the mini fridge, and then says, “Let’s go.”

We head downstairs to the hotel’s wood-paneled bar and quickly order a bottle of red along with a couple of Kansas City strips. I take that as a positive sign. In most restaurants here, they call them strips.

“You seem better,” Jadyn says.

“I am. Not just better than I was because of what had happened, but also because I realize that my relationship with Troy caused me to change. I miss me. But I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me about you! About your family. Show me a million pictures!”

She grabs her phone and pulls up a photo of a tall, cute boy. “This is Chase, our oldest.”

“He looks just like you.”

“He does, but his personality is all Phillip. He’s mature, poised, and smart.”

“How old is he?”

“Almost fourteen. He’s an eighth grader this year.”

“Fourteen? He has muscles. And how tall is he?”

“Six foot. He’s really into sports, and he works out a lot.” She scrolls to another pic. “Our daughter, Haley James. She’s eleven. Total tomboy, like I was, but dresses like a girlie girl and cheers competitively.”

“She’s beautiful,” I say. “And she looks like trouble.”

Jadyn laughs. “I think she and Danny’s son, Damon, might give us a run for our money. Paybacks for the trouble we got into when we were young.”

When she says Danny’s name, my heart skips a beat, but I hold my tongue and don’t ask about him. I need to be polite and get caught up with her first.

She scrolls to another photo of two little boys. “Ryder and Madden are nine and six.”

“They are adorable. Such a mix of you and Phillip.”

“They are each amazing in their own way. It’s so crazy how, with hot sex and some genetic mixing, you have this little human. They look related, but it’s just weird how they have such distinct personalities and looks.” She gets a big smile on her face. “Here’s one of Phillip and Danny out on the boat recently.”

I examine this photo a little closer. Both guys are shirtless and still quite droolworthy. A flashback of that kiss on the beach floods my thoughts. That’s how I have always referred to it—

. The only kiss in my life that has ever mattered.

“Juggling a family and two busy careers is definitely challenging,” Jadyn says, leading me to believe I must have asked her something in my Danny-memories-induced haze. “But we make it work. We’ve been creative, and it’s why we splurged on the plane.”

“The corporate plane? It’s, like, yours?”

“Technically, the ownership is split between my company and Phillip’s. We were spending way too much time in airports. And there was a tax thing that allowed us to write off a large portion of it, so the timing was right. It’s helped immensely.”

“When we met, you were working for Phillip and designing a building or something, right?”

“Yes, and now, I own a commercial engineering and architectural design firm that does work all over the country. I sort of specialize in corporate headquarters but, recently, I did a small call center. The owner of that company was so impressed, he asked me to redesign his hotel chain. Hotels were something I’d never tackled before, so I agreed to do one and see how it goes. That’s why I’m in town.”

“Wow, so you’ve done well.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And Phillip’s company?”

“Still white-glove deliveries, which is booming due to both internet shopping and the fact that Phillip could sell ice to an Eskimo.”

“Well, he is pretty cute,” I say. “That never hurts.”

“Initially, that was true. But he’s built a great sales team. His dad retired a couple of years ago, making Phillip the CEO, so he doesn’t sell much anymore.”

The appetizers are delivered to our table.

“Can I get a shot?” I ask the waiter.

“Sure. What would you like?”

“Do you want one?” I ask Jadyn.

“Of course.”

“Bring us something strong but that doesn’t taste like alcohol,” I request. Then I start chowing down on the food, suddenly ravenous. Both for good food and a good life. I can’t wait to get out and start living my life again. That makes me blurt out, “Do you know anyone who has kids that did it themselves?”

“Like a single mom?” Jadyn asks. “Of course. I try to hire moms in my business whenever I can. Moms get work done fast.”

“And they do okay? Like, their kids turn out okay?”

She studies me. “Did Troy not want children?”

“He said we were too busy. Traveled too much. It was a subject of contention between us, but I never pushed it. My father was an alcoholic.” I lower my voice a notch. “So is Troy. He’s always struggled with sobriety, and what you’ve seen in the tabloids was the result of a binge.”

“Motherhood is amazing,” she says. “Whether you have them yourself or adopt. Our friends Katie and Neil have two biological children and two who are adopted. You’ll get to meet them on Sunday. We’re having a big get-together at our house.”

“That’s soon. Are you ready?”

She stifles a laugh. “Most of our entertaining is pretty casual. Everyone brings food. It’s about hanging out, not creating the perfect party.”

“That’s amazing.” I’m ready to ask about Danny when the waiter brings the shots, interrupting our conversation.

“Lemon drop shots with sugared lemons, made with citron and regular vodka,” he says. “Technically, a double shot.”

“Perfect,” I say, quickly slamming it down before I notice that Jadyn has her glass in the air.

“If you’re going to hang out with us,” she says, “you’ll have to get used to the fact that we toast all the time. It’s Danny’s fault really. When he, Phillip, and I drank our first beers in eighth grade, he toasted to the good life. We’ve been toasting to our good lives ever since.”

“Has Danny’s life been good?” I blurt out.

“Yes, and no,” she says.

And it gives me hope. For what, I’m not sure.

“Danny is an optimist. To be a good quarterback, he has to be. For example, when he threw an interception or an opposing team cheered loudly, he always pretended—” She laughs. “Actually, knowing his ego, he probably they were cheering for him. It’s why he’s so levelheaded on the playing field. Things are not as bad as they seem, and he can overcome it. He’s a hard worker, and he gives his all to everything he does in life. Always has.”

“I’ve seen his underwear ads. So, is his life as perfect as his body?”

“No one’s life is perfect, Jennifer,” she replies.

I nod and toss another shrimp in my mouth, hoping she’ll continue.

“My parents passed away at the end of my senior year in high school, and I was determined to live life to the fullest—probably going a little overboard in that regard. I dated a lot. Partied a lot. Had a good time. Because of Danny and Phillip, I hung out with a lot of guys.

“Lori was in my sorority, but we weren’t friends at first. She acted like she was above it all. I always wondered why she even rushed. But a few years passed. She loosened up a little, and we became sort of unlikely friends.

“I introduced her to Danny at a party, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day. She wanted to get her medical degree and marry a doctor. No room in her life plan for a cocky jock. She knew zero about football, and even though he was like a campus god, she didn’t care. I literally had to bribe her just to go on a date with Danny. He liked her because she was pretty and smart, and she impressed that he was an athlete.

“They fell in love and dated for a year. He got drafted, and they were engaged and married within a couple of months. A few months after that, she was pregnant. Phillip and I got married and pregnant not long after, and our babies were born just five months apart …”

“It feels like you’re about to say, …”

“That’s because I am.

things started changing. Her not going to medical school was big though. Supposedly, it was her lifelong dream, but she gave up her spot the second she got married. Then she had a rough pregnancy. I felt bad for her, but she also seemed to use it as an excuse for just being kind of bitchy. Toward the end of her pregnancy, some photos of Danny and me together were leaked in the press. The photos showed us having lunch, shopping together at a jewelry store, and then checking into a hotel. I had helped him plan a special night for her. I had a million candles in my bag, and he had bought her a spectacular piece of jewelry. Granted, based on the photos and if you didn’t know us, you might think something was going on, but she should have known better. And I get that she was hormonal and irrational, but she went ballistic and said some horrible things to both of us. It was a mess. I thought they might break up before the baby was even born.

“They made up and had the baby, and life seemed okay. Well, not really. She was a wreck after the baby, too. And she wouldn’t let Danny help. Got mad if he did something she thought was wrong even though she had no clue what she was doing. A few months after the baby was born, Danny was miserable. His wife was wound up tight and constantly on edge. He talked her into a date night, and Phillip and I watched Devaney.”

“That’s such a cool name,” I interrupt.

“Danny came up with it. I was impressed.”

“After a former coach, right? I think I read that in an interview about the photo of Danny and his daughter after his team won the world championship game.”

“Wasn’t that the best photo ever? So much raw emotion,” she gushes. “I blew it up and framed it for him. And I have a smaller version of it in my office.” She pauses and takes a bite of shrimp, chews, pats her lips with a napkin, and continues, “Anyway, they had a great night out, and when they came to pick up the baby, I was hopeful that things would be better between them. But then Lori got pissed because, while they were out, we’d run out of breast milk. I had gone to their house, but there was no extra, so we gave the baby a little formula. I was pregnant and knew I wanted to nurse, but I had read up on it and knew, on occasion, it was fine to mix formula into the baby’s diet. And it was sort of an emergency. The baby was hungry. And she was colicky and didn’t sleep much. Turns out, she was allergic to something Lori had been eating, and that’s why her tummy always hurt, and she wouldn’t sleep; that is what led them to figuring it out. Regardless, Lori got crazy upset, started yelling at me, and told me I would be a terrible mother.”

I see the hurt in Jadyn’s eyes, even now, years later. It makes me want to punch Lori in the face.

“Phillip basically kicked her out of our house,” she says, practically swooning at the thought.

That’s what I want. A guy who will protect me. Who will stand up for me.

“She and Danny got into a huge fight, and he didn’t go home that night. I thought it might be over. But they made up again. Even though she didn’t work outside the home, Danny hired a nanny and a housekeeper to help her. I’d like to say that she became less of a bitch, but that’s not true. She became an entitled bitch, but thankfully, she bitched less at Danny, which made him happier.” She takes a sip of water. “I feel like I’m doing all the talking. I don’t intend to tell you their life story, but it’s important that you understand where Danny’s been, so you can understand where he is now.”

“Keep going,” I say with a nod because I want to know every single shred of detail about Danny’s life.

I want to hear I made the right decision back then, that it all worked out and that he’s deliriously happy now. Because he deserves it. But, if I’m being honest, there’s a big part of me that wishes he were miserable. That he would divorce his wife, so he could live happily ever after with me.

Jadyn’s phone vibrates on the table. “I’m sorry. It’s my family. We video chat before bed.” She glances at her watch. “As usual, Phillip has let them sweet-talk him into staying up too late. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

I watch as she answers. We’re sitting close in a booth meant for lovers, so I can see her screen. Her children are adorable.

They all yell, “Hi, Mommy,” over the top of each other, the youngest jumping up into the screen.

“It’s late there. You should all be in bed,” she scolds.

“Daddy and Uncle Danny took us out for pizza and beer!” her daughter says. “We played video games for hours. And I beat Damon at air hockey!”

She throws her arm up in a fist pump and hits one of the boys in the head. When he punches her back, she just grins.

“But we had to do our homework before we went,” Chase, the oldest says, clearly sticking up for his dad.

“I’m glad you had a fun night. Now, get to bed. Sweet dreams. I love you.”

There is a chorus of, “I love you.”

She smiles at her children, her love for them apparent, but when Phillip’s face comes on the screen, that look changes to something different—desire mixed with deep love. Their chemistry is still as off the charts as I remember.

The way it was with me and Danny.

“You’re in trouble for keeping them out so late,” she says, but it’s clear she’s not really mad.

“You can punish me when you get home,” he says with a sexy grin. We hear a scream and then a wailing sound in the background. “Duty calls, I’ve gotta go. Love you, princess.”

She smiles at the phone as she hangs up and says to me, “See? Chaos.”

“I love that he still calls you princess,” I say, practically swooning. But then I hear someone say my name. I look in their direction as a camera flashes in my face.

“Would you like to make a statement regarding the Brothel Debacle?” a reporter says, sticking a mic in my face.

“Yeah,” I say, not caring anymore, “here’s my statement.” I salute him with my middle fingers, which he takes a photo of before he’s escorted out by security.

The manager comes over to our table and begins to apologize to me. But he stops mid-sentence upon noticing Jadyn and looks completely horrified. “

, I didn’t know you would be dining with us this evening.” He looks at her like she’s the celebrity.

“I didn’t know I would be either, Lawrence, but Jennifer and I are old friends, and I called her on a whim after our meeting today.”

“Is the Royal suite suitable? Is the staff taking good care of you?”

“The suite is what I envisioned, based on the photos.” Jadyn gives him the kind of smile that seems to put him more at ease. “And I’d like to compliment you. I’ve had the pleasure of chatting with a lot of your staff, and many of them have been here for years. That tells me you make it a great place to work.”

“I didn’t feel comfortable about asking this in the meeting,” he confides, “but is the hotel really getting torn down?”

“That’s the plan. It’s too bad really. It’s a wonderful old place with a lot of character. Hopefully, I can design a new building that will honor its history.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate that, but it makes my heart hurt.” He shakes Jadyn’s hand, departing as our waiter arrives with our food.

We’ve only taken a few bites when a distinguished-looking gentleman appears. He looks familiar, but I can’t seem to place him.

“I see you turned down my dinner offer for a much more beautiful companion,” the man says to Jadyn.

“Jennifer, I’d like you to meet Tripp Archibald,” she says, introducing us and causing me to suddenly realize he is.

His family, based in Kansas City, made millions in the finance industry, which Harold “Tripp” Archibald III parlayed into billions in, well, industry.

“I understand you are staying at my hotel,” he says to me. “I’m sorry about what’s been going on in the press. I’m curious though. What made you come here?”

“Jadyn said she was staying here,” I answer honestly.

“And would you have chosen this hotel otherwise?” he inquires.

“Um, it’s a lovely old hotel,” I reply diplomatically.

“Exactly,” he says, turning toward Jadyn. “Jennifer is the client I want to come here—to seek refuge from the press, to relax in privacy, to be treated like royalty. The way it used to be.”

“I got taken up in a dingy service elevator,” I blurt out, causing Tripp’s eyes to bulge. “But it’s okay. The valet was wonderful. When I got here, I looked pretty bad. I had on slippers. It’s been a rough week.”

“I understand that, and I appreciate him taking care of you. What I don’t appreciate is that he was forced to take you in a service elevator for privacy. We have to change that.”

“If I do this project,” Jadyn says, “and I’m still not sure I’m the right person for the job, it’s going to be ridiculously expensive. The staff has already started sending me their wish lists, and I’m going to need to hire a lot of expert consultants—from wedding and event planners to celebrity assistants and studio heads.”

“And that’s exactly why you are right for the job.” The man gives Jadyn a beaming smile. “I’ll let you enjoy your dinner, ladies. Have a wonderful evening.”

“Holy crap,” I say. “I can’t believe I just met Tripp Archibald. I hear he’s quite the ladies’ man. I think he has a crush on you.”

“He has a crush on my company’s designs, ethics, and profitability. I know his reputation, but when it comes to work, he’s all business. He and Phillip have become friends, sort of. Actually, he is trying to acquire Phillip’s company.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Except that Phillip doesn’t want to sell—at least, not under the terms that have been proposed.”

A sommelier comes back, bearing a bottle of wine. “Compliments of Mr. Archibald. And I might add, one of the best wines in our cellar. You must be very special guests.”

“I’m here with a big shot,” I tease.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to talk work. And you need to eat.”

We eat dinner in a comfortable silence, savoring the incredible wine and delicious food. By the time we’ve had dessert and finished our wine, I’m raring to go.

“You’re in the Royal suite. We should have a par-tay!” I say.

“Who do you want to invite to this party?”

I suspect she hasn’t drunk nearly as much of the wine as I have.

I slump back in my seat when I realize I can’t think of anyone.

“I think you should skip partying and get a good night’s sleep. You’ve had just the right amount of wine to have you sleeping like a baby.”

“You planned this?”

She smirks. “Maybe a little. You look like you haven’t really slept in days. It’s like giving a baby some Benadryl before a long drive—something that has to be timed perfectly.”

“Let’s go upstairs then.” I give in, suddenly feeling the weight of the last few days.

When we’re in the elevator, I say, “When you tear down this hotel, can you leave the bar? It was cozy. I loved it.”

Although I’m pretty sure it was because of the company, not just the decor.