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“Fine,” he muttered.

I got up and crossed the ballroom, weaving between people. I felt eyes on me, but ignored them this time. I slid my hand into the pocket of my pants, and cursed. I must have left my phone at the table.

“Damn it,” I said, glancing back at the table.

I was already at the bar, though. I’d sneak a text to Salt once I got back.

“What can I get you?” the man at the bar asked.

I needed something stronger than champagne at this point. “Moscow mule?”

He nodded. “I got you.”

I smiled and smoothed my hands down my pantsuit. I felt way better in this suit than the dress I’d packed, and I was glad to be wearing it. It made me feel powerful, and that power was keeping me from losing it on my ex-husband.

Just another day of this. Tomorrow there was a breakfast with more industry professionals, I’d relax in the evening, and then fly home on Monday.

We were so close to the finish line. Salt’s lawyers were fast returning everything to him, so we’d officially sign next week.

I couldn’t wait. Kendra and Lee were already coming up with plans for how to move forward with promotion, and Tommy was putting together a selection of producers for Salt to work with in the recording studio.

The bartender came back with my drink quickly.“Thanks,” I said.

“Of course.”

I smiled and lifted my glass, taking a sip. The lights started to dim in the room—my sign to head back to the table. I steeled myself as I approached it again.

“Have you seen my phone?” I asked Jeff as I sat down.

“Yeah.” Jeff pushed it across the table. “Here it is. You left it.”

I frowned as I took it and slid it into my purse. I almost texted Salt, but with Jeff’s hawk eyes on me, I decided to do so later.

Applause filled the room as a performer emerged on stage. I fully ignored Jeff and forced myself to focus.

Just a little longer, and I’d be able to go home to him.

FORTY-ONE

SALT

I was fucking cursed.I knew I was cursed.I don’t know why I thought anything would ever be any different.

Everyone always left. It didn’t matter what I tried to do differently. It didn’t matter that I’d gone to therapy and worked on myself and made sure I was a good person, becausefuck.

Iwasgood.

Just not good enough.

I slammed back a shot of vodka, the burn of it rushing down my throat. I felt sick. The alcohol couldn’t chase her away, no matter how many shots I did.

My vision swam as I read Pepper’s text message again.

Simon, we’re done. When I return to Nashville, you’ll be nothing more than a client. You aren’t good enough for me. I deserve someone better.

My breaths shortened again. The pain radiating through my entire body was breaking me. I tried calling her for the fifteenth time, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Fuck this,” I rasped.

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