The Little Black Dress (Love in Las Vegas)

“I know,” she sighs. “I’m just sorry I ever brought him into our lives.”

“I’m not,” I say. “If you hadn’t married him, you couldn’t have divorced him. And he wouldn’t have taken your painting and auctioned it off. I never would’ve met Sophie.”

“I don’t believe that,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “You would’ve found each other some other way.”

“You really believe that?”

“I do,” she says, nodding. “Now, go on. Get out of here and figure out how you’re going to earn her forgiveness and win her back.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” I say on a sigh.

“Of course, it is,” she says. “Lady Luck has always been on your side.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” I say, the response automatic.

“Well, you better start,” she says, standing and leaning over to pat me on the shoulder, “because with a fiery redhead like that Sophie, you’re going to need all the luck you can get.”

* * *

“She’s refusing my calls,sending them all straight to voicemail.”

“You’re lucky she hasn’t blocked your number, completely.”

Sam leans back into my couch and rolls his eyes at my stern look. He loves to use the words “luck” or “lucky” around me just to get under my skin, but it doesn’t bother me as much since my conversation with Mom last night. If there is such a thing as luck, then it definitely shined down on me the moment Sophie Jameson walked into my life. And left me just as abruptly when she walked out.

“She emailed me her resignation. She’s not coming back.”

“Do you blame her?” he asks, hiking up his eyebrows.

“No.”

I told him everything, and he agrees with Mom. I fucked everything up. But I can’t fix it if she won’t talk to me.

“Okay,” Sam says, straightening and sliding forward to perch on the edge of the couch. “Here’s my advice. Give her some time. Not so much that she thinks you’ve given up, but a couple of days, at least. After that, send her a text to tell her your sorry and that you’re thinking of her. If she doesn’t respond, wait a few more days and try again.”

“You really think that will work?” I ask, plopping down onto the couch beside him.

“Hell, if I know,” he laughs, “but it’s a start. You don’t want to harass and annoy her, but you want her to know you’re still here and that you want to make it up to her in any way you can.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?” I ask, my tone hopeful.

“Oh, no,” he says, laughing again. “I’m not getting in the middle of this. You buried yourself, you need to dig yourself out.”

“Thanks, a lot,” I deadpan, slumping back against the couch cushions.

“You’re welcome,” he says cheerfully, slapping me on the thigh. “I have every faith in you, man. I’ve seen the way Sophie looks at you, and she’s just as smitten with you as you are with her.”

“I am not smitten,” I grumble.

“Oh, yes you are,” he says with a grin. “And it’s absolutely adorable.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Aww, I love you, too, old man.”

He leans back and nudges me with his shoulder, and I can’t help but crack a smile. I know how lucky I am to have him––

Fuck. Now they have me believing it.

I am lucky, and I’m going to use every ounce of that luck to get Sophie back. Luck, hard work, and lots of groveling.

Because she’s worth it.