Page 49 of Big Girl Panties

"We also need to finalize the trip to Ireland." She clicked her pen. "I will work out those travel arrangements today, too."

I held up a hand, as if I were stopping traffic, except instead of preventing a car accident, I was preventing my love life from becoming a train wreck. “Can you hold off until tonight?"

Angela's perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed in a way that suggested her world order was being disrupted. "Oh? Why?"

"I may need two tickets."

Lance's scowl could have curdled milk. "Who is the other ticket for? Your imaginary friend?"

I shrugged, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. It was a nice floor. Very… floory.

"Okay," Angela smiled, though it was the kind of smile that said she was filing this information away for future interrogation. "Just let me know as soon as possible. I'd like to check that off my to-do list before I lose what's left of my sanity."

"Sure thing."

"Great." Angela consulted her list like it held the secrets of the universe. "Next, we need to pick your dates for the next two events so that I can send in your RSVP." She pulled out a black binder from her desk drawer that I knew contained photos and profiles of up-and-coming models. It was like a catalog of beautiful people.

"We have to give a month's notice, so we're cutting it close." She shoved the binder across the desk like she was dealing cards in the world's most attractive poker game.

I pushed the binder back faster than someone returning a fruitcake at Christmas. "I already have a date."

Okay, so technically I hadn't asked Brooke yet. And technically, she might say no. And technically, she might laugh in my face. But I knew one thing for certain: I wasn't going with any of the models. I was either going with Brooke, going solo, or not going at all.

"Oh," Angela looked confused, like someone had just told her that gravity was now optional. "I didn't think we had picked for the next two events yet."

"We," I gestured between us like I was conducting a very small orchestra, "haven't. I'm bringing my own date."

Angela's manicured nails started tapping on the mahogany desk like she was sending Morse code to the universe, asking for patience. The sound echoed in the suddenly tense room, competing with the muffled chaos of phones ringing in the outer office.

"Matt." Her voice took on that tone that meant I was about to get lectured like a five-year-old who'd been caught eating cookies before dinner. "You are still under a PR contract for the next few months. You can't take your own date."

I scooted to the edge of my chair like I was preparing for takeoff. "Look, I met a woman, and she's amazing. Like, amazing, amazing."

"The modeling agency paid a lot of money..." Angela started.

My fist clenched on the armrest, probably leaving permanent finger indentations. "I don't care if they paid in gold bars. I signed that contract almost three years ago, when my biggest relationship was with my Netflix account. I had no idea I would meet someone."

"You don't understand," Lance cut in, looking like he was about to deliver news that would ruin Christmas. "The contract states if it's broken early, you owe them all the money paid."

I shrugged, as if we were discussing the weather. "Then give it back."

Lance and Angela exchanged a look that roughly translated to "our client has lost his damn mind and possibly his wallet."

"Man, you're really serious about this woman." Lance's scowl deepened. "Who is this million-dollar woman?"

I shook my head, my jaw clenching. "I'm not ready to go public yet." I tried to sound mysterious instead of terrified. "She's not ready to go public." I forced a smile that probably looked like I was having a small stroke. "But you'll be the first to know."

Angela's professional mask slipped, revealing the expression of someone who was seriously considering a career change. "This isn't a good look, Matt. Sponsors aren't going to want to work with you if you start breaking contracts for mystery women."

Lance nodded like a bobblehead in an earthquake. "She's right. You've worked incredibly hard to build your brand and get where you are. Don't throw it away for someone who might not even stick around."

"If me not taking models to my next two events is what ruins my career, then it was built on a foundation of very attractive quicksand."

Lance's shoulders sagged, as if he were carrying the weight of my poor life choices. "Let's just see what we can do, but if we can't get you out, you won't have a choice. You'll be sued, and I'm sure your girlfriend will understand."

I pushed out of the chair so fast it probably broke the sound barrier. "It doesn't matter if she understands or not." I leaned forward. "I'm not doing it. Look, I've done everything you’ve asked of me over the last ten years. I've smiled at cameras, worn clothes that cost more than cars, and pretended to enjoy parties where the music sounds like robots arguing. But now I'm drawing a line in the sand."

I straightened up. "So either get me out of that contract, or I'm done doing events until it ends. Do you need anything else?"