Page 17 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

I nodded, waiting with bated breath.

“You would probably be more successful than you are now,” he said, his voice matter of fact. “Plain and simple.”

My heart raced faster. Because that was it. That was exactly the feeling that had been growing in the pit of my stomach for the last year. The thought I kept pushing down, burying under layers of guilt and loyalty and love for my best friend.

The question I’d been too afraid to ask out loud.

And here was Cash Bancroft—fact-driven, data-obsessed, results-oriented—saying it like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

“You’re talented,” he continued, still looking out at the ocean. “You’re creative. You have instincts about branding and strategy that most people spend years trying to develop. And you’ve been using all of that to build someone else’s empire instead of your own.”

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything except stand there and let his words sink in.

“I’m not saying you made the wrong choice,” he added quickly. “Loyalty matters. Friendship matters. And clearly, you and Melody have something special. But…”

“But?” I prompted, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze focused on the horizon. “But if you had spent all that time and energy focusing on yourself? Building your own brand? Pursuing your own vision?”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Because I could finish it myself.

Maybe I would have met my other half by now. Maybe I would be further along in my own career. Maybe I’d be on the way to starting my family, and Melody and I could have done this together. We’d be pregnant at the same time. We’d be building our empires side by side instead of me always trailing three steps behind.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

CHAPTER 7

CASH

Icould see the wheels turning in Cleo’s pretty head.

When Austin invited me out for the weekend, I did not anticipate I would be having a brutally honest conversation with Melody’s assistant. All of my interactions with her had been like chewing on sand.

But not tonight. Standing there on the balcony with moonlight washing over her features, she was more than pretty. She was striking. The kind of beautiful that didn’t fit into conventional boxes. Her beauty was layered. The more you looked, the more you saw. She was unpolished and raw and in your face in the best way.

I was surprised by how badly I wanted to know what she was thinking about. How badly I wanted to know what went on inside that head of hers. I just always assumed it was something like dueling natural disasters, but I could see that it was more than that.

“I should probably call it a night,” she murmured.

Cleo the Chaotic was running away. She had gotten real and deep and now she was retreating. I felt like we had just cracked her shell and I wasn’t about to stop now. I hadn’t gotten my fill of her yet.

“Stay,” I heard myself say.

She blinked at me, clearly not expecting that. “What?”

“Stay. Help me finish that bottle.” I gestured back toward the sitting area inside. “Tell me about the storm in your head.”

“There’s no storm.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She scowled. “I’m fine. I’ve already overshared enough for one night. You don’t need to hear more of my existential crisis.”

“What if I want to?”

That stopped her. She stared at me like I’d just spoken in a foreign language, and maybe I had. This wasn’t like me, but she had piqued my curiosity. And my sympathy.

“Why?” she asked, her voice suspicious.