I look up from my phone at the exhaustion in Gabby’s voice when she says, “I’ve got to get back.” She pinches the bridge of her nose as if to ward off an incoming headache. “They’ve called an emergency meeting to go over the charges and how to do damage control.”
“Want me to come with you?” I offer, already anticipating her answer, and look down to see Grant’s text. I own a boutique agency specializing in celebrity and athlete management and public relations, so I know my way around a scandal.
Don’t Text the Devil
Are you coming back too?
ME
Why? Miss me?
What is wrong with me? Stop goading him.
“I hate to have you miss the rest of the celebrations.” Gabby looks at me with pleading eyes.
“But I could help,” I finish for her, and she nods. “I’ll have my assistant coordinate the flight. You go pack. Ives, can you call the guys?”
I don’t tell her I’ve already arranged the flight home, but not with my assistant. Sooner or later this secret is going to blow up in my face. I’ve wanted to tell them several times since thewedding in St. John last November, but every time I open my mouth to confess, I can’t get the words out. I go back to my texts, pretending I’m texting my assistant and not their team owner—my husband—as the boys come back into the room talking about Chase’s arrest.
Don’t Text the Devil
You know I do.
ME
Yes, I’m coming back.
Don’t Text the Devil
We could use your help. I don’t think Mary and her team are equipped to handle a crisis of this magnitude.
ME
You don’t even have to ask. Gabby already did.
Don’t Text the Devil
Pain in my ass.
ME
And don’t you forget it.
Don’t Text the Devil
I haven’t forgotten anything about you.
Before I can dissect how I feel about that declaration, another text comes in.
Don’t Text the Devil
Pilot is heading to the airport now. By the time you get to the airstrip in Atlanta, you shouldn’t have to wait too long.
ME
Thank you.
Don’t Text the Devil
