“But nothing’s impossible, right? Come on, Kat. You think like Georgina. You’re a hotheaded psycho, just like her. A demon spawn.”
“Thank you.”
“So, use that brilliant, evil, demonic mind of yours to channel Georgie. Tell me what would work onyou, in this same situation.”
“IfJoshwere the dumbass who’d kissed his ex in a garage?”
“Yes.”
She looks at Josh. “If Josh had kissed his ex in a garage, during Josh’s party, when our relationship was still brand new, and we were still building trust, and I’d been staying at Josh’s house for a week, falling head over heels in love with him, and I’djusttold him things I’d never told anyone else...? Hmm.” She taps her chin again, deep in thought. “That’s a tall order, Reed. Not gonna lie.”
I groan in pain and crumple over. “It sounds so bad when you say it out loud like that.”
Kat shrugs. “I think, if the situation were exactly as I’ve described, then there’s only one solution. Only one thing Josh could possibly do to even have ashotat winning me back.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Grovel. Reed, trust me on this: you need to grovel, grovel, grovel your arrogant ass off, like you’ve never groveled before. It’s the only way.”
I throw up my hands, exasperated. “I’ve already done that!Repeatedly. And it hasn’t worked.”
“What do you mean you’ve already done that? That’s impossible.”
“I groveled my ass off last night! The whole time I was following Georgina from the garage, into my house, upstairs to her room, downstairs to the front door, across my driveway, to my front gate! I groveled like a pathetic fucking idiot.”
Kat scoffs. “All of that wasn’tgroveling! It was explaining. Apologizing. Maybe begging and pleading. But real groveling takes time. It takes grand gestures. It takes humbling yourself until the woman knows you’re in it to win it, for real. She needs to see you’re willing to get down on your hands and knees, over a lengthy period of time, and beg and plead for forgiveness in a way that makes it indisputable you’re willing to sacrifice your ego completely, all in the name of winning her back!”
I look at Josh, and he shrugs, making it clear he’s deferring to his wife on this one. But I can’t sign onto this madness. Yes, I’m willing to do “anything” to get Georgina back.But only within reason. I’ll apologize profusely. I’ll even beg Georgina for forgiveness.ButI can’t give myself a personality transplant! I’m Reed Rivers. A survivor. A fighter. Ahustler. I’m a man who transformed his name from a badge of shame into a badge of honor—from a cross to bear into a designer label. I’m not a guy who’s going togrovelin the way Kat’s describing. And even if I were, why would I do that, when I’m certain it wouldn’t work! Georgina fell in love with me this past week, every bit as much as I fell in love with her. I’m sure of it. Which means, to win her back, I can’t turn myself into a guy she doesn’t even recognize—some simpering version of myself with no swagger and no game and no pride. The only thing weeks and weeks of groveling would do is make Georgina lose respect for me. Which, in the end, wouldn’t help my cause at all.
Once again, that same idea from before, the one that would vindicate me, pops into my head as my best option. But, quickly, my rational brain discards the idea as a non-starter, for all the same reasons as before. No. That’s not the answer. But neither isgroveling.What I need is to get back to basics. And what’s the most basic thing I know in life?Everyone’s got a price. All I’ve got to do to win Georgina back is figure out her goddamned price inthisparticular situation... which, I admit, is a tall order, like Kat said. But, still, I’ll do it. I’ll figure out her price, whatever it is. And once I do, I’ll give it to her.I’ll bribe her with it.And that’s how Reed Rivers, The Man with the Midas Touch, is gonna play—andwin—this particular game of chess.
65
GEORGINA
Monday, 7:16 pm
“Georgie,” Dad whispers, rubbing my arm. The edge of my bed lowers with the weight of his body. “There’s a delivery guy at the front door. He says he’s got a stationary bike for you. Does he have the right address?”
“Oh. Um.” I rub my eyes and glance out the window. It’s dusk. Nearly dark. When did that happen? When I crawled into bed it was just past noon. “Yeah, uh, the bike is mine. It was a gift.”
Dad’s eyebrows shoot up—a sure sign he knows that bike wasn’t cheap.
“It’s from my boss,” I add quickly. “CeeCee Rafael gives every new intern a stationary bike. She says it helps with productivity.” I hate lying to my father, but I don’t have a choice. There’s no way I’m going to tell him the bike was a gift from the CEO of River Records.
Dad turns on the lamp beside my bed. “That’s quite an employment perk, especially for a summer intern.”
“CeeCee is generous.”
Dad looks at me for a long beat, his eyes letting me know he thinksI’m full of crap. But, whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he stands and says, “I’ll accept the delivery, then. I thought for sure there had to be some sort of a mix-up.”
“Nope. It’s mine.”
When Dad leaves the room, I grab my phone to check the time. But my phone is still turned off. I turned it off two days ago while sitting in the back of that Uber—right after I’d started receiving frantic voicemails and texts from Reed—and I haven’t turned it on since.
When my phone springs to life, a backlog of text- and voicemail-notifications comes up—a bunch of them, not surprisingly, from Reed. My stomach churning, I slide into my texts, and, consciously ignoring Reed’s messages, head to one from Alessandra.
Landed safely in Boston. I hope you’re feeling better. I love you.
I tap out a reply.
I just woke up. I got back into bed after driving you to the airport this morning. Don’t worry. I’ve decided to stop wallowing now. I love you, too. I’ll call you tomorrow.
