Page 96 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

I swallow hard. “I know."

"Do you?”

Through the windows, fresh snow begins to fall, and I watch it, my mind spinning like one of the snowflakes outside.

"Oh God," I mutter. "I've really fucked this, haven't I?"

"Only everything that matters." But her voice holds nojudgment. “But now that you know better, Gray…You can do better.” A silent second passes, then another one. “By the way, I called the woman who matched me with James.”

“You mean Roz.”

“I’ve seen the headlines with you two. I just wanted to let her know that getting her version of the truth is better than letting others report their own. Because it’s exactly what happened to me. The press twisted and spun every story about me and you. My advice? Don’t let them do that to either of you.”

I already had.

Let the headline I’d read about Roz turn me away before I can even gave her a chance to explain.

“Thanks, Jess. I…I’m sorry I treated our relationship like a variable I needed to control.”

I can practically hear grin. “That’s alright. Just don’t make the same mistake twice.”

“I won’t.”

Ending the call, I stare down at the phone. So much time wasted avoiding that one conversation. Only for it to be everything I needed and more.

The moonlight casts a silver sheen over the terrace, the quiet hum of the city below barely registering. After a quick call to my car and driver, I adjust my cufflinks, ready to leave this circus behind, when the sound of uneven footsteps draws my attention.

Blond hair mussed and tousled, Joel stumbles out, a glass of something dark teetering in his hand. His tie is loose, his posture even looser, and the smell of cheap bravado follows him on the way out.

“Well, that was a shitshow,” he mutters, leaning heavily against the railing. His glassy eyes land on me, full of a confidence that’s as fake as his charm. “Women, right? Always gotta make things... complicated.”

I don’t bother with a response. Instead, I glance at my watch, willing time to fast-forward through this pointless interaction.

Joel chuckles, the sound hollow and bitter. “Not much of a talker, huh? Fine. I’ll get to the point.” He swirls his drink, the ice clinking like the ticking of a clock. “Roz.”

At the sound of her name, my hand pauses on my cufflink, but I say nothing.

“You really think she’s worth it?” He drags the words out, as if they carry weight. They don’t. “I mean, sure, she’s...something. But long-term? She’s not exactly the ‘settle-down’ type.”

My jaw tightens. “Is there a point to this, or are you just drunk and trying to impress yourself?”

Joel smirks, smug and sloppy. “Just wondering if you’re really in it for the long haul. Or if this is some kind of experiment for you.” He pauses, savoring his own voice like it’s a fine wine instead of bottom-shelf garbage. “Because if it is, you might as well let her go now. Let someone who actually knows her step in.” His eyes narrow, and his arrogance spikes. “Maybe I chose wrong. But who’s to say you didn’t, too?”

I step closer, my voice dropping to a level that probably reaches Hell itself.

“You did choose wrong, Joel,” I tell him, and for the first time, his smirk wavers. “You had something extraordinary in your hands, and you treated her like an afterthought. You fumbled the bag. Dropped the ball. Whatever sad metaphor helps you sleep at night.”

I adjust my tie, taking my time.

“But me?” I take another step forward, and Joel suddenly finds his drink fascinating. “I don’t have doubts. I don’t have regrets. And I sure as hell don’t need advice from the guy who lost Roz because he couldn’t decide if he wanted a girlfriend or an ego boost.” I let that sink in before adding, “Spoiler alert: you went with the ego, and it’s not aging well.”

His grip tightens around his glass, and I watch him swallow whatever weak retort he had brewing.

I lean in slightly, lowering my voice. “You had her, and you let her go. I have her…and I thank fucking God that I’m not stupid enough to make the same mistake.”

For the first time, he looks rattled, his drink hanging limply in his hand.

I straighten, turning my back on him as Imove toward the exit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I add, “it’s Thursday, and I have better places to be. And someone worth my time I need to see.”

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