Page 22 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Player

Dinner stretches into speeches. Speeches become an auction. The auction becomes dancing.

By the time the band starts another slow song, the ballroom has relaxed.

People are laughing. The photographers have mostly wandered off.

Jo leans toward me. “So...”

“So?”

“I think your publicist is happy.”

I glance toward Monica. She’s talking to my agent now. Both of them look...pleased.

“They’re terrifying when they’re getting along.”

Jo laughs the sobers. “You okay?”

I realize... I am. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

Her smile is even brighter than mine. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Across the room, another flash goes off. Instinctively, my shoulders tense.

Jo notices immediately. “Want to take a walk?”

I don’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

We slip out a side door and into a quiet hallway lined with oversized black-and-white photographs from previous charity galas.

The music becomes little more than a muffled hum behind the walls.

We stop beside a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city.

“I owe you an apology,” I say.

She looks over. “For what?”

“I should’ve warned you.”

“About what?”

“All of...”

I gesture vaguely toward the ballroom.

“The cameras. Monica. The schedule. Everything.”

She smiles. “I survived.”

“I know.”

“I even got a really good piece of cheesecake.”

I laugh. “That’s your biggest takeaway?”

“It was excellent cheesecake.”

We stand there another moment.