Elle sighed. “She’s probably avoiding me.”

“Why’s that?” When Elle cringed, Eve stopped herself, holding her hand out in a dismissive motion. “Never mind. I’m out of my element.”

“No, it’s fine.” Elle slipped behind the makeshift dressing room composed of a portable curtain. She felt like Daniel LaRusso in The Karate Kid when he was wearing his shower curtain Halloween costume. “Things are just weird. You know how things go. We don’t always see eye to eye.”

“Um, Elle—” Eve attempted to interrupt but Elle continued.

“She’s ridiculously stubborn, so—”

“Um, excuse me? I’m the one who’s stubborn? I gave you my opinion and you shut me out completely.”

Whitney.

Elle froze behind the curtain. Her bra was off and the dress was only halfway up her mostly naked body.

“Whit?” Quickly she pulled the dress to cover her breasts and waddled from the dressing room, constricted by the mermaid skirt. Perhaps this dress was not the right choice.

“Yeah, it’s me, your stubborn ass of a best friend.” Whitney rolled her dark eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She glared at Elle, who sheepishly bit on her bottom lip and shrugged.

“I’m sorry, and you’re not an ass. Can we just, I don’t know, make up or something?”

“You’re the one who left me alone in a booth after I got my heart trampled. You tell me.” Whitney turned on her heels and walked to a rack of size six dresses. The hangers squeaked against the metal bar of the rack as Whitney tore through the dresses. Elle toddled across the conference room to join Whitney by the rack of clothes. Eve quickly pulled the zipper so the dress fit snugly around Elle’s hips. The dress was comfortable, but her concern was Whitney. She had to make peace with her favorite person in the world.

“I screwed up, okay? I’m the stubborn ass. You were looking out for me, and I just—I didn’t want to hear it.”

“Fine. Whatever, it’s done.”

Elle grimaced. “It doesn’t sound done.” Whitney pulled a lilac chiffon dress from the rack and held it out for Elle, who immediately shook her head. “Doesn’t go with your skin tone.”

“True.” Whitney returned it to the rack. “I didn’t expect that from you, Ellie. We’ve always been brutally honest with each other. And this time, you treated me like the bad guy. I’m not the bad guy. I love you like a sister.”

Whitney pulled a garnet Versace gown from the rack. Cap sleeves, godet pleats on the floor-length skirt, and a boat neckline; it was stunning and the perfect dress for Whitney. Elle nodded emphatically before responding. “I love you, too. I was wrong. I promise it’ll never happen again.”

“Good. Now tell me what’s happening with the Globes. Has Luke bought a tux yet?”

Elle flinched at the question. She had no idea what Luke had done to prepare for the award show.

“Uh-oh. No. Tell me you two didn’t—”

Elle nodded, looking up at the ceiling, refusing to cry over the man who placed a rather large hole in her heart. “He’s done with me. Aside from work, I haven’t spoken to him in over a week.”

“Wait. He said you were worth waiting for . . . those were his exact words.”

Elle grabbed the clothing rack, holding on for support. “I know. But I guess he’s done waiting.”

Whitney placed the gown back on the rack and wrapped her arms around Elle. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Her voice cracked with that single word and she knew the tears were coming. Quickly she retreated back to the makeshift dressing room. Eve unzipped the gown and Elle slid it from her body, placing it back on the hanger. “I’ll take this one, Eve.”

“Very good, Ms. Riley.” Eve placed Elle’s dress choice on a rack marked with index cards, labeling who would be dressed in which designer’s gown. Whitney pursed her lips before retrieving the red gown and slipping behind the curtain.

“Maybe he just needs to cool off. I’m sure when he sees you on the red carpet, he’ll flip. He’ll remember why he’s crazy about you.”

“I don’t know about that.” Elle stood outside the curtain, dragging her fingers mindlessly down the polyester fabric of the curtain.

Whitney emerged from the dressing room and stood before the mirror. Eve zipped her up and placed her hand over her mouth. Elle stood behind her and managed a genuine smile as she took in the sight of Whitney in that dress. “Wow.”

“Yeah?” Whitney asked, smoothing down the fabric and gazing in the mirror. “First one I tried. What are the chances of that?”

Eve glanced at Elle, then back at Whitney. “Slim to none.”

“So tell me what happened. Why did he give up?” Whitney and Elle locked eyes while gazing into the full-length mirror. “Something had to happen . . . right?”

“He walked in on Troy and me . . . in my office.”

Whitney turned, her eyes wide. “You weren’t . . .”

“No, God no! We were just having dinner.”

“You two certainly like to eat a lot,” Whitney said with a sardonic laugh. “Pizza, Indian, and now . . .”

“Chinese.” Elle closed her eyes, shaking her head. She and Troy did eat on their dates. First they flirted over food, then they argued, and they usually followed that up with a makeup session and vows to do better. History was repeating itself in a major way—that pattern was the story of their relationship, their dynamic. Add in some cherished Beatles songs, and you had Elle and Troy in a nutshell. She shook off that thought as she waited for Whitney to respond. But the outspoken beauty was gritting her teeth as she stared at Elle with conflicted eyes.

“Whit? What’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid to say anything after last time. I don’t want to fight with you.”

“I won’t get mad, I swear.”

“Just be careful. You two have a history, an undeniably rocky history. Don’t lose Luke over this.”

Elle threw her arms up in defeat. “I don’t have a choice, Whit. He’s done. Done. You have no idea how much that word killed me. I have to move on, and Troy wants to give us a real shot. I’d be stupid to walk away from that . . . wouldn’t I?”

“I suppose you’re right.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s time to hang up my Team Luke shirt, huh?”

A weak laugh left Elle’s lips as her eyes welled with tears. “Yeah, I think so. I’m sure he’ll miss having you as president of the fan club.”

As if on cue, Elle’s phone pinged, and she raised her eyebrows for permission to leave the conversation. Whitney nodded and retreated to the dressing room as Elle checked her phone.

It was a text from Troy.

Can’t stop thinking about you.

She smiled. Knowing she was on his mind was a comforting thought. One she cherished and appreciated. She pressed the phone to her chest just as Whitney emerged from the dressing room and handed the gown to Eve.

“Vegas?”

Elle nodded. “We’ve seen each other a couple of times since everything went down with Luke. It’s been nice.”

“Have you slept with him yet?” Whitney pressed.

Elle cringed at the question and shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Eve scurried across the room, busying herself with the hanging dresses. Obviously Whitney’s frank nature was making her uncomfortable and Elle couldn’t blame her. Elle was part of the conversation and her discomfort was through the roof.

“Not yet.”

“How come?”

“We’re taking things slow—figuring out what we want.”

Whitney narrowed her eyes.

“What?”

“Well, I mean . . . what are you waiting for? Ten years of tension—you two must be going out of your minds.”

Elle was shocked to realize she didn’t feel that way at all. “It was like that in the beginning,” she said, remembering the evening he pressed her against the brick of the Indian restaurant. “But not anymore. We’re just being patient with each other.”

“I see.” Whitney’s lips pressed into a thin line. Elle could read her mind easily. She wasn’t buying it. But instead of getting defensive, Elle shared something she thought Whitney would appreciate.