I don’t answer him because my phone buzzes, and at last her email makes landfall. It’s from her attorney, but she’s copied on it, and the words are hers. With the fastest swipe in human history, I open the note and read the last thing I expected to see.

Dear Wyatt,

Please accept this as my letter of resignation. I have loved every moment of working with you. It’s been fun, challenging, and wildly productive. But I can’t work with you if I want to be with you. And I do. I really want to be yours. So I’m going out on a limb and making the choice that will let us be together. I checked with an employment attorney to make sure I wasn’t breaking my contract with you, and she said in certain circumstances, when you have a reasonable claim, you can terminate employment without giving two weeks’ notice. Seeing as I’m in love with you, please accept this as my reasonable claim to leave my post at WH. Effective immediately.

Love,

Natalie

Boy, did I ever fuck up.

When I look up from the screen and meet Larry’s expectant gaze, the question he just asked registers fully.

And I know how to try to fix this mess I’ve made.

Sometimes you just have to bet the house.

35

In my line of work, I’ve developed a specialty: the remodel.

Giving a kitchen a thorough makeover is my key skill. I know which materials I need and the right tools to use, and I’ve become a master at meeting a deadline.

This might be the toughest remodel I’ve ever attempted, though, given the wrecking ball I used on our union earlier today. But I quickly assemble a list of materials and then round them up, starting at the New York-New York hotel.

Once inside the doors, I run.

Okay. Not true.

If I ran, security would likely tackle me.

But I definitely trot. Through the casino, along the shops, up the escalator, and past the arcade, glancing longingly at the black curtain that hides the pinball machine. I don’t go for the entrance. Instead, I head to the exit of the ride.

A bunch of rollercoaster riders pours out, windswept and hopped up on the adrenaline of a loop-de-loop upside-down trip.

This is where Natalie and I had our first adventure, and as I arrive at the picture counter, I’m ready and determined to find the evidence of it. The original is safe and sound at my home. Thankfully, the same woman who worked that night is here today—the cheerful brunette with pigtails and red glasses, only today her hair is yanked into a high ponytail.

“What can I do for you?” She flashes a friendly grin.

I follow Chase’s advice once more—do the opposite of what I did earlier. Instead of spraying my frustration on her, as I did the clerk, I sprinkle sugar on my request. “Hey there. About two months ago I was here with the woman I’ve just realized I’m madly in love with.”

The brunette’s eyes light up, and I continue, giving her the date and the approximate time. “We had our photo taken, and our number was sixteen. If there’s any chance you could find it and print me a copy, I’d be incredibly grateful and will happily pay double, triple. You name it. I need this picture, though, to show her how good we can be together.”

The brunette clasps both hands over her heart. “I love this city. Vegas is full of stories of love.” She straightens and adopts a serious demeanor. “I will absolutely, positively find it for you.”

Ten minutes later, I walk out of New York-New York with a copy of Natalie and me at the top of the rollercoaster, riding high on our exhilaration in each other.

Next, I pop into a drugstore on the corner, use my phone to search for a photo online, email it to myself, and print it out. I buy two frames. Then I stop at the Wynn, and twenty minutes later, I have all the materials I need for one helluva redo.

The only thing left is her.

With a whole new fleet of nerves docking inside me, I call Natalie.

Her phone rings, and rings, and rings, then her voicemail plays. A momentary bout of worry touches down as I wonder if she’s avoiding me. But I shrug it off and dial Lila.

“Hi, Wyatt.”

“Hey, I’m looking for Natalie. Is she around?”

“She is, but we’re busy shopping. Give us a little bit longer, and I think she’ll be ready.”

“Where are you?”

She laughs. “Oh, Wyatt. Natalie’s just helping me with a few items I need to get organized, and she’s having quite a good time here. Don’t you worry. We’ll see you soon.”

And I grin as I hang up.

Yes, you will.

I’ve got a feeling I know where the woman I want is. Because I know her. I know what she loves.

She told me she could happily live here. That this is her favorite place in the universe.

And since she’s helping Lila with her closet, call me Sherlock, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ll find Natalie inside this big box not too far from the Strip.

When the cab drops me off, I say a quick prayer to the universe that I can find her and take not only one step, but all the steps to fixing us. As the doors slide open, I scan The Container Store, hoping for a glimpse of blond hair, a hint of strong legs, a flash of orange summer dress.

That dress. My God, that dress. My mouth waters as I think about how she looked in it and why she was so goddamn happy today at the courthouse. Because she was giving me everything she thought I wanted. Because she loves me.

She fucking loves me.

I head down the aisle, swinging my gaze from side to side at the sea of Tupperware, hatboxes, cloth file cabinets, cat food containers, ornament holders, shower caddies, laundry baskets, pill holders in every size imaginable, hangers, and garment bags, and at last I arrive in the land of closet organizers.