Page 23 of Tender Offer (Chance at Love #3)

Madison

Now

I ’m in a damn Hugh Grant movie.

In Two Weeks Notice , George Wade was an annoying billionaire who couldn’t wipe his own ass without asking for help. Preston must’ve seen it, because he has one more text before I snatch his nuts through the phone.

The man owns a Monopoly board of luxury hotels but can’t choose a tie?

He’s been texting nonstop since I left London the morning after my hundred-meter dash from his penthouse. You would’ve thought I was on the run the way I packed my suitcase and exiled myself from London.

I needed time and space between us, so I hopped on the first flight to Los Angeles ahead of a red-carpet fitting. Kojo is here on business and hasn’t stopped laughing in my face about Preston “running me out of England.”

Technically, he didn’t run me out; I flew.

I’ll go back at some point. For now, I’m staying half a world away from his charm and that mouth.

I’m not letting you go this time.

He hasn’t made it easy for me to ignore him, but I don’t take his calls.

…which brings me back to Hugh Grant.

My phone chirps with another text. I bite down a smile at the message preview and cross the street. This fool is not asking me about pajamas.

Preston

Went with green. Does my stylist approve?

I swipe to the attached photo of Preston on his couch. He’s in green buffalo check flannel, his feet crossed at the ankles. I never had a foot fetish, but I understand why people lick toes that look like his.

Preston has beautiful feet. Long. Slight veins. Manicured.

I shift around a group of suits and type my response.

You’re joking. Pajamas?

Preston

Do I ever joke?

Go find a hobby.

Our texts shouldn’t amuse me this much, but they do. Preston messages me about random fashion advice he doesn’t need, and I call him out on it. He knows he’s being annoying asking about scarves and pocket squares, but he doesn’t care.

Like Hugh Grant in Two Weeks Notice .

An image loads, a book in his lap.

Preston

Found one. Back to my question.

I’m not answering after you texted me about socks at six this morning.

To his credit, he’s been mindful of the eight-hour time difference, but he still bugs me with random questions and forces an answer.

I emailed him a full styling guide based on his wardrobe, which should last him until I’m back in London.

I’d find his attempts cute if they didn’t start at the crack of dawn.

Preston

Did you forget we’re both early risers, Puff? I had a meeting this afternoon that required the proper attire.

They can’t see your socks under the table, Preston.

Preston

Testy. Are you always this mean to your clients? I love stroking your buttons.

“Ooh!” A sneer slithers through my growl.

Our back-and-forth reminds me of our daily emails in Paris while he was away. There was a thrill at rushing to the computer to read our thread. His dry sarcasm and my snappy responses rooted our short-lived relationship in a friendship I’ve yet to experience again.

I leave my needy ex of a client on read and wait for the crosswalk light. Los Angeles is a different kind of busy. The traffic on the street and the people on the sidewalk make my neighborhood in Hell’s Kitchen look like a quiet suburb.

Kojo keeps us away from the tourist spots in LA, but I’m half a block from sweating the crotch out of my underwear.

Nearby parking was nonexistent, which meant a four-block trek in five-inch heels.

I should’ve ordered a car, but someone insisted I rent one for the days we want to play Baywatch on the beach.

How am I the one with a driver’s license? I don’t need it in New York, but I’m always putting it to use so Kojo can play passenger princess.

At least the weather is perfect for this wrap dress. A sixty-four-degree day in late February is spring to me. No coat necessary.

I double-check the address as I approach a brick building with steel-framed windows. Kojo swears by this place every time he’s on the West Coast. Through the glass, servers bustle around seated patrons forking bites between conversations. The place is packed for ten forty-five.

I smile at the hostess and scan the lacquered black tables for my friend. Kojo said he was meeting someone here. I didn’t want to impose, but he insisted I come by after my call with a client in Vegas.

His grin reaches me from next to a painted brass column across a white marble bar. He’s in a color-block shirt that complements his hazelnut skin, which is glowing thanks to his dedicated skincare routine.

I match his smile, but it drops when I see the person at his side. The one who’s ready to do me bodily harm. The one who I forgot lives in the area.

Emma.

Had I known Kojo planned to meet with her, I would’ve faked an illness—anything to get out of attending.

It was only a matter of time before he pushed us together, extrovert that he is.

We all work in the fashion industry in some capacity.

Emma doesn’t know I styled her company’s pieces for Kojo’s fashion show when we were in New York earlier this month, which could make this awkward encounter deadly.

I’d hoped our paths wouldn’t cross until enough time had passed that the singles’ retreat became water under the bridge. My wishful thinking is not only delusional, but dangerous.

Death and retribution fill Emma’s calculated stare. Sweat from my palms seeps into my dress, which is now clinging to me from my trek from Timbuktu.

Will she attempt murder in broad daylight?

A crease forms between Kojo’s brows. I open my mouth to speak but snap it shut as Emma impales me with her glower.

“Madison.” My name grinds between her teeth.

Kojo looks between us. “You two know each other?”

How do I tell my best friend—one of my only friends—that I’ve been a complete bitch to Emma’s best friend because of years of hurt and jealousy? My behavior almost cost me my friendship with Tammi. I can’t lose Kojo.

My stomach drops at his heavy sigh. His shoulders fall, and a frown filters between the tense lines of his face.

“This was a bad idea. I should go,” I say, one step closer to the door. “We’ll work something else out. I-I have to go.”

I don’t wait around for the stain of Kojo’s disappointment to set. Outside, quick gasps of air silence the car horns until one speeds around me.

Shit .

I choke back the sob charging up my throat like bile and look both ways before running to the other side of the crosswalk.

Don’t cry in public .

My phone rings in my purse. “Hey.” I fish out my black shades to conceal my face and sniffle. “What’s up?”

Tammi is quiet. “Are you okay? I was finishing a school run and felt the urge to call you.”

My breath hitches through a forced laugh. “Your timing is impeccable.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know. Karma. Kojo invited me to brunch with one of his friends. When I got there, it was Emma, Justice’s best friend.” Tammi’s sigh matches mine. “I don’t want to be the reason his friendship or his business deal goes south.”

“Maddie.”

I sniffle again. “What if he doesn’t speak to me because of what I did?” The words catch on a knot in my throat.

“You didn’t do what you’re accusing yourself of doing.”

“But I wanted to! You stopped speaking to me because I wanted someone else’s husband. I don’t blame you; I deserve it. I-I just can’t shake—”

“The guilt?” Tammi’s voice is a whisper.

I clung to any justification for feeling the way I felt about Terrence. I was hurt, and I told myself there was no harm in flirting with him, regardless of his marital status. It was a game to me half the time, one that he didn’t notice. He was so caught up in Justice that he never looked my way.

That dismissal fueled my hatred. So did the men left in the dating pool. I’m a damn good catch, but I only attract moochers, cheaters, and deadbeats.

“Do you regret the harm you caused Justice?”

“You know I do, Tam,” I say.

“Forgive yourself for harboring bitterness for so long and move forward. When the time is right, try to make amends.”

I snort. “If only it were that simple.”

“Who says it can’t be? Look, did you show your ass and act all types of thirsty over a married man? Yes, you did. Grace is real, because I would’ve beat the dust off your—”

“Tammi!” I laugh, knowing she’s picturing someone in her congregation. “Breathe.”

Her smile reaches the phone. “My point is that you have grace and mercy, the grace to do better and the mercy that no one has snatched your edges. I love you, Maddie. You don’t have to be the villain in someone’s story in order to be loved.

Let it come to you— unattached —in its own time.

Actions have consequences, good and bad.

Emma has every right to feel some kind of way about you. Let time do the healing.”

“What if she doesn’t forgive me? I don’t want to put Kojo in a situation where he has to choose between us.”

“Forgive yourself and do better. You and Kojo are thick as thieves. Give him time to process. Y’all will be okay.”

My feet are crying by the time I reach my rental car. I unlock the Lexus and rest my head against soft black leather.

“Let me let you go. I’m meeting Smokey,” Tammi says. “Love you.”

“Love you too. Tam?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m telling the church you’re out here trying to fight.”

“Kiss my ass,” she snickers.

I cackle when the line goes dead. Then I drive back to my hotel.

My phone pings from the corner of my hotel room. It’s past ten, and I have neither a life nor a booty call lined up. Who’s texting me at this hour?

Kojo sent one right after my call with Tammi, asking to grab dinner and talk, which we did. He was more hurt that I kept my feelings from him, and he told me to give Emma space. We’ll have to figure out how to coexist since I’m helping him with the styling aspect of his business.

For now, I’ll count it as a win. My head is still on my shoulders, and Emma and Kojo’s relationship is still intact.