Page 60 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
When the final score comes in—Bad News Babes: 11, Good News Guys: 9—the girls explode into cheers like they’ve just won the World Series.
Charli sprints toward me, throws her arms around my neck, and kisses me right there on the field. Her laughter is infectious, her joy absolute.
Sunni’s dancing. Brooke’s doing a victory strut. Mia’s already planning their costume choices for us with terrifying glee.
“You threw it,” Charli whispers in my ear as I hold her.
I shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She leans back, eyes sparkling. “You’re the worst liar.”
“Maybe,” I murmur. “But I’m the best boyfriend.”
She kisses me again. I lose track of the world.
Across the field, Parker hollers, “This better be worth the tights, Gallo!”
Still holding her, I shout back, “It is!”
Charli rests her forehead against mine, our smiles pressed together like puzzle pieces. The field buzzes with noise, but all I hear is her heartbeat.
Game over.
I’ve already won.
Epilogue - Charli
Iknow he threw the game.
Sawyer Gallo is many things—billionaire, broody, brilliant—but subtle? Not so much. I saw the way he “accidentally” tripped over second base. The way his pitch mysteriously flew three feet to the left during the final inning. The way he winked at me just before Sunni kicked the winning run in.
Did the Walking Ladies immediately erupt into cheers and start waving glittery pom-poms they’d mysteriously pulled out of nowhere? Yes.
Did Sunni and I leap into each other’s arms like we’d just won Olympic gold in dramatic flair? Also yes.
And did Sawyer smile like he’d just scored the real win just by watching me laugh?
Hell yes.
I should question it. Demand a rematch. Call him out for sweetly sabotaging his team in the name of love. But you know what? A win is a win, and I'm not about to give it back.
Especially not when our victory means the Good News Guys have to show up at Hooplas tonight wearing costumes picked by yours truly and the Bad News Babes.
And let me tell you—we did not go easy on them.
The Silver Willow is coming along beautifully. Sawyer spared no expense, but he’s also let me make every creative call, from the kitchen layout to the herb garden on the patio. It’s ours now, not just mine. And that makes every new beam, every brick, every steel appliance humming to life feel like a second chance I never thought I’d ever get.
Opening day is less than a month away and I couldn’t be more excited.
I’ve already reached out to every former employee I could track down. Most of them cried when I called. A few screamed. One offered to name her next child after me. We’ve been rebuilding together—sanding tables, testing menus, painting trim, while Ghost supervises like she’s got a clipboard and a union badge.
The fire, though—that still lingers like smoke in the background. It was ruled arson. Captain Morgan and Investigator Chance Carter say they’re still working the case, but the way they avoid eye contact when I ask about leads tells me either they don’t have any… or they do and they’re not ready to share. I’m betting on the latter. But I’ll wait. In the meantime, I’ve got a fire extinguisher behind every stove and Ghost trained to bark if anyone even thinks about suspicious behavior.
She’s very proud of this job, by the way.
Tonight, Hooplas is packed in anticipation of the show.
The Walking Ladies are in rare form—Florence is wearing flamingo earrings that light up in sync with her margarita sips again, Gladys is taking side bets on how many shots Kane can down before he tries to line dance with a speaker, and Betty has declared herself the official judge of the costume contest despite no one asking her to. Joan is sitting front and center with her camera at the ready.
