I slow clap. “Well done.”
“Yay! You’re learning,” Emerson cheers in a wildly sarcastic tone. She drops it, though, for me. “Okay, Easton. It’s been two days. How is the most epic grovel fest of all time going?”
Nolan flashes a smug grin. “I want credit for that name.”
“Take it,” I say. “That and a metro card will get you on a subway. Anyway, I wrote her a love letter.”
Emerson’s eyes shine. “Ooh, there’s just something about the written word.”
There is, indeed. “She’s recording a show this evening, but she wants to meet after. Here’s what she said.” I clear my throat and read Bellamy’s reply from last night, though I have it memorized. “I like this side of you a lot. Can you meet me tomorrow night after seven? I have my recording at six. Will send details on where.”
“That’s a good sign,” Emerson offers.
Maybe, but I’m not getting ahead of myself. She might ask me to meet outside the gym to say ‘thanks, but no thanks’ before she attacks forty stories on the StairMaster, post-show. I won’t make any presumptions.
Before I’m free to focus on Bellamy, I have another thing to make right. I check my watch. “I’m due for a side trip on the grovel train. Time to see Victoire.”
Nolan gives a low whistle. “Man, when you fuck up, you fuck all the way up.”
“I’m all about go big or go home.”
“Let the apology tour continue,” Emerson says, and I bid them goodbye and take off.
Angeline sits regally at her desk, her face unreadable. Spine straight, shoulders back. Gaze intense.
She’s not pleased, and with good reason. I feel like such a shit for letting her down. So I dig deep, and own my fuck-up.
“I let you down at the party, and I sincerely apologize. You’re a business partner but I also care about you as a person, and I failed you on both counts the other night. I let a personal matter distract me, and I regret letting you down,” I say, and holy hell, this adulting shit hurts. But it’s a good hurt, like an intense workout.
Angeline takes a weighty beat before she speaks, and in those few seconds, her expression softens. A bit of relief fills my veins. “It happens. I understand,” she says, then shrugs. “I was looking forward to meeting Max, but if he was more interested in meeting someone else, he wasn’t the one for me.”
And . . . she has a point. “That is true. And I understand if you want to end our business relationship. I didn’t put out the caliber of product you signed on to partner with. I’ll refund the sponsorship money, of course.” I’d be a terrible businessman, though, if I didn’t do everything possible to salvage this connection. “But I hope you’ll stay on for the year we contracted for. A year of free sponsorship for the chance to correct my mistakes.”
Her eyes pop. “Whoa. I didn’t see that coming.”
I’ve said my piece, done what I can. Now I just give her time to process.
She twirls in her chair a few inches left, then twirls back to the right. “What capsized you the other night? Was it the woman you kept talking to?”
Busted.
“Yes. I’m in love with her, and I sort of handled that realization badly,” I check myself with a self-mocking laugh. “There was no sort of. I handled it all badly. She deserved better, and I’m trying to win her back. She’s actually the one who helped find those Carpe Diem couples on Twitter.”
Angeline gives an appreciative nod. “That’s a lovely gesture on her part. She’s the podcaster? The one who called you elitist?”
“The one and only.”
My erstwhile client picks up a gold pen and taps it against her chin, as if deep in thought. “And you’re trying to win her back?”
“I am.”
“How’s it going so far?”
“Well? I hope?”
She laughs. “There are a lot of question marks in there.”
“That ought to tell you how it’s going.”
She sets down the pen, folds her hands. “What’s next? Want to tell me so I can help you strategize?”
Wow. She’s keen to help the guy who capsized her chance at love with Max? I’d always known she was a supporter of romance, of finding true love—but now I feel it in my bones. “You’d want to do that?”
“Yes. I would. You did something few people do in business—or in life—today. You took responsibility for your shit. I admire that,” she says, then wiggles her fingers. “Serve it up to dear Angeline.”
I’m not sure I deserve her help, but I’m damn grateful for it. “I would love your thoughts.”
I give her the SparkNotes on Bellamy and me.
When I’m done, Angeline dives right in. “So, she wants to see you tonight?”
“She said she does.”
“But she hasn’t let on why?”
I shake my head. “Not a word.”