“Consider it done, Sondra. You just focus on being there for your fiancé, and I’ll take care of everything else.”

“You’re the literal best, Win. I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too.” I take a deep breath. “You said he was… nice. What does nice mean?”

I can almost hear her shoulders sink in the silence.

“Sondra…”

“He’s… nice. Just… nice. He and Preston grew up together. His dad is the co-President of Fox and Latham. Aleck was running the New York branch but moved back to LA before his father’s retirement. From what I hear, Aleck is a viper in the courtroom. I’ve met him once—”

“Let me guess, he’s nice?”

She chuckles. “That he is. I have to go. Preston just got here. I already called the resort to let them know you’ll be checking in on my behalf. I’ll text you the details. And, Win?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to slip in Aleck’s blues…” Her smirk practically oozes through the phone.

“What? What does that mean?”

“GottagoloveyouWintertalklaterbye!” And just like that, she’s gone.

“Try not to slip in Aleck’s blues…” If this is some cockamamie scheme to get me boned, I’m going to kill her. And Preston. And Aleck, on principle alone.

* * *

The three-hour drive to the resort gave me the time I needed to work on writing my toast for Sondra and Preston’s reception. The toast I haven’t been able to write. Mostly because men suck, and I’m pissed, and I can’t write about love without thinking about Brian and his wandering penis.

“I just don’t think I’m the kind of guy to stay, like, nailed down at this point in my life. You know?”

“Yeah, I know, Brian. But, um, don’t you think you should have come to that conclusion before we dated for THREE YEARS?”

“Whoa. I don’t know what you’re getting all pissed about. It’s not like we were married. This is what people do, Winter. They try people out until someone fits. We don’t… fit anymore. It’s not like I never loved you, I just don’t love you now.”

Ouch. Remembering that conversation will never not hurt, no matter how much I hate him.

Two door attendants race my way as I park at the front of the resort, get out, and round the back of my Corolla with a bitter taste in my mouth from recalling how carelessly Brian broke up with me. I stretch my arms to the sky, noticing the way the palm trees lining the street entrance cast long and narrow shadows over everything in sight.

“Your name, Miss?” The valet asks, while I pop my trunk.

“Winter Sommers. Um, the room is under Sondra Bose, though...”

“That’s no problem, Miss.”

The door attendant pulls out my suitcase, sets it on the curb, then grabs my duffle bag, and hoists it over his shoulder.

“Your bags will be placed in your suite, Miss Sommers. Would you like your things unpacked and put away?”

“Uh, no thank you. I can do that myself.”