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“Holy shit, Ivy! You can access it now?”

I nod.

“So what are you going to do with it?”

I draw in a deep breath, and I finally stop walking and turn toward my sister. “I have no idea.”

“It’s a lot of money, isn’t it?”

I nod. “A terrifying amount, and it’s like I know I can do whatever the hell I want with it, and I have no idea what it is that I want.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you ran into me. Let’s talk it through while we munch on baguettes and steak frites,” she suggests.

“I think that sounds like a great idea.” She knows me well enough to know I want baguettes and steak frites, so maybe she knows me well enough that we can talk sister-to-sister tonight, and I can really start to narrow down exactly what I want out of this life.

We’re seated right away, and we place our drink orders for wine, because, according to Everleigh, this is a reason to celebrate. Once the wine arrives, we order our food, too.

She glances up at me, her eyes sparking, before she reaches for the baguette and pulls off a hunk for herself. “So what are you thinking?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t want to let Madden down for a second time, but I don’t want to work at VanBrad.”

“Then don’t. We’ve all done different things with it, but you should do what you want with it.”

“I kind of like how you worked for another company first to gain experience and then opened your own business when the opportunity allowed for it,” I admit.

She nods. “It’s one way to do it, but it’s not the only way. I’m proud of what I’ve built, and I personally feel like it was right for me. And if you want to continue working at Ever-Brand, you know how much I’d love to take you back.”

I reach over and grab her hand. “I appreciate that. But I don’t know if I want to be in Vegas.”

“Fair enough. How are you feeling about the Cash situation?”

I wince at the sound of his name.

“That good, huh?” she asks.

I force a wry smile. “It’s not getting better. It feels like each day is a little worse, to be honest.”

“It’s still new,” she says, and she punctuates her sentence with a sip of her wine. “It’ll get easier.”

“That’s what they say,” I mutter. “I’m not sure I believe it.”

“Have you considered forgiving him?” she asks softly.

I glance up at her, and I press my lips together and shake my head. “No. I haven’t.”

“Did you ever give him a chance to explain?” she asks.

I shake my head again.

She wrinkles her nose. “It might help, you know.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” I pick up my wine and swirl it around. Around and around. I study it and watch it, a perfect red circle leaving perfect red rings on my glass.

I’m not any closer to figuring things out, but I do know I was happy when I was working on Cash’s tequila brand. I miss the dynamic of working with him. I miss how much fun it was to serve the tequila at his house party before things fell apart and everything went to hell.

I miss him. I miss us.

Maybe it doesn’t matter how it started.