A Match Made Up

Chapter 1

Gigi POV

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Traffic on the 405 was a nightmare, as usual. The air was thick with honking horns, the cacophony of insults flying between drivers, and the endless parade of middle fingers, all making it feel like LA’s true rush hour never really ended. I glanced at the clock on my dashboard: 5:34 p.m. Great. Late again. I’d promised Darcie and Emelia I’d meet them for drinks after work, but it was becoming painfully clear I wasn’t going to make it before happy hour ended. At this point, I was starting to regret the whole thing.

My phone buzzed from the passenger seat, buried under piles of manila folders I hadn’t had time to organize. Despite being behind the wheel, I couldn’t stop myself from shuffling the mess onto the floor to reach for it.

Darcie: Are you ditching us?

Emelia: Seriously. We’ve already finished our first round and started on our second.

I muttered a curse under my breath but took solace in the fact that traffic was at a standstill for the moment. I quickly tapped out a reply.

Me: I’m stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, but I’m almost tempted to head back to the office and finish this hellish week instead of dealing with your shenanigans tonight.

I wouldn’t really go back to the office, though. Not after what Nicolas Petersen had put me through. The guy somehow convinced the managing partners that I was the one who needed to review and re-draft over thirty agreements for clients, not him. He was always one step away from orchestrating my downfall, and this weekend, he’d somehow managed to ruin my plans again.

Emelia: You would NEVER.

Emelia: Plus, we ordered your favorite. TEQUILA!!

Darcie: WE did no such thing. I said no to the shots, Emelia vetoed.

I rolled my eyes and muttered a quiet curse. Sure, I’d drink tequila—hell, I’d drink anything clear—but the last thing I needed was a weekend hangover.

Me: Uh, hello, need I remind you that we agreed this was just a quick catch-up? Quick means NO shots.

As soon as I sent the text, the traffic started moving, and I slipped my phone back into the passenger seat. The road ahead was finally clear, and I put my foot on the gas, eager to escape the confines of my car and my unrelenting work schedule.

I arrived at Bar Be It just under seven minutes later, my car still idling in the parking lot as I pulled off my blazer and blouse, swapping them for a loose t-shirt and jeans I’d tossed into the back seat. As I made my way to the entrance, I was met by a bouncer who looked like a mini version of Jason Momoa—same face, less height—and after a quick check of my ID, I entered the bar.

The moment I stepped through the door, I collided with a frazzled waitress, her arms full with drink orders, and within seconds, I was falling forward, hands flailing as I went down with a loud, ungraceful thud. My face slammed into the edge of a chair, and I immediately cursed myself for being such a klutz. I was pretty sure I was bleeding, and there was a good chance I’d wake up tomorrow with a bruise that could rival the size of my ego.

“Oh s**t. I’m so sorry,” the waitress squeaked, her voice faint and apologetic.

I pulled myself up quickly, my cheek already stinging. I noticed the curious stares of the crowd around me, some people even pausing their conversations to witness my spectacular entrance. I didn’t need to feel the wetness on my face to know it was blood. Fantastic.

Trying to minimize the damage—and probably to avoid cleaning up my mess from the floor—the waitress rushed me to the bar. She handed me a stack of cocktail napkins, and the bartender, who’d no doubt witnessed the entire disaster, slid over a clean towel filled with ice.

I thanked them both and gingerly made my way toward the back of the bar, the whole room still buzzing with the memory of my very public face-plant.

I spotted Darcie at a booth, a smirk on her face as she watched me, clearly holding back laughter at my less-than-graceful entrance. Emelia, of course, was nowhere to be seen—probably off making out with some random guy or deep in a tequila-fueled haze. I settled into the booth, placing the makeshift icepack against my cheek, and Darcie let out an uncontrollable burst of laughter.

Resisting the urge to glare, I put on my best puppy-dog eyes, letting out a small whimper. “Darc, this really hurts.”

She wiped away the tears of laughter that had threatened to fall, shaking her head in disbelief. Before she could deliver the snarky comment I was sure was coming, Emelia appeared at my side, her face alight with mischief.

Between my embarrassing entrance and the look on Emelia’s face, I started to regret not just staying at the office like I threatened earlier. Maybe I could use my fall as an excuse to escape—complain about a headache, or pretend I’d chipped a tooth.

“Gigi!” Emelia’s perky voice broke my train of thought. “I’m so glad you decided to grace us with your presence! Now we can really get this night started!”

She slammed her hands down on the table, sending Darcie’s drink sloshing onto her phone. Emelia turned to me, her golden-brown eyes narrowing as she caught sight of the rag I was holding to my face.

“Wait,” she said, an amused grin spreading across her face. “What the hell happened to your face?”

Emelia, bless her heart, was one of the most oblivious people I knew. Back in college, during spring break, I fractured my foot attempting a disastrous Cammie-from-Coyote Ugly impression. It took her two weeks to notice that I was hobbling around in a giant metal boot.

As a self-proclaimed "free spirit," Emelia often missed the obvious. But that was one of the reasons I loved her. She was genuine, never judgmental, and the one person I could trust with my secrets—no matter how ridiculous they might be. We’d met in freshman year at Berkeley when she was pretending to be a good little engineering student for her overprotective father, and I was trying to get some distance from my overly involved family. We’d clicked immediately.

I sighed and explained what had just happened, from the bouncer that looked like Jason Momoa to my dramatic, unintentional dive into the floor. Emelia and Darcie exchanged amused glances, and both burst into laughter, their snickers loud enough to be heard over the noise of the bar.

I sat there, clutching the bar towel to my cheek, watching Darcie and Emelia giggle at my expense. The laughter, though warm, made me feel like the punchline of some cruel joke.

“You’re an absolute disaster, Gigi,” Darcie teased between chuckles, leaning back in her booth with a playful smirk. “You sure you’re okay? I mean, I’m starting to think your life is one big rom-com, but like… the unfortunate kind.”

“I swear, I can’t take you anywhere.” I groaned, pressing the towel harder against my cheek. “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”

“Oh, please,” Darcie shot back, still laughing. “This is nothing. You should’ve seen the time I tripped over a curb in front of that guy I was trying to impress last year. My ankle still hates me for it.”

“Well, at least you didn’t face-plant on the floor of a bar in front of a bunch of strangers,” I grumbled, but the edge in my voice softened when I saw her eyes flicker with sympathy.

She leaned forward, eyeing me carefully, her expression shifting from playful to something more serious. "But seriously, Gigi... we need to talk."

Emelia, who’d been half-listening while scrolling through her phone, looked up suddenly, her brow furrowing. “Yeah, we do,” she chimed in, her tone less carefree now. “You’ve been out of the dating game for way too long.”

I winced, feeling the tension build in the pit of my stomach. Not this again.

“I’m just not in the mood, okay?” I muttered, shifting in the booth to get more comfortable. “Besides, you guys know what happened with Jeremy. I’m not exactly in the place for a rebound right now.”

Emelia shot me a disbelieving look, her eyes narrowing. “Gigi, seriously? That was months ago. I get it, I really do—breakups suck. But I’m telling you, you’re not gonna heal sitting at home with your work and your emotional baggage. You need to get out there.”

Darcie nodded along, her expression growing more determined. “Yeah, babe. You’ve been talking about Jeremy and avoiding the dating scene for too long. It’s time to move on. You need to get laid.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “I do not need to get laid,” I said, the words coming out a little too defensively. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Uh-huh, sure you are,” Darcie teased, tapping her fingers on the table. “Look, I love you, but you’re as wound up as a damn spring. You need to let loose. Get out there, meet someone new—no strings, no commitment, just fun. You don’t have to fall in love, but you need to feel something other than work and heartbreak.”

Emelia was still staring at me with that intense look of hers, as if she could will me to agree. “Exactly. You’ve been mourning Jeremy for far too long. He’s out of the picture, and it’s time you start acting like it. Have some fun. You deserve it.”

I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. “It’s not that easy. It’s not like I can just… forget about him.” Even now, just saying his name out loud felt like a stab in my chest. The memory of his voice, the weight of his words that night, still haunted me. “And besides, who’s going to want to be with someone like me anyway? I’m a mess. A walking disaster.”

Emelia raised an eyebrow. “A disaster? You? Gigi, you’re hot as hell. And don’t give me that ‘I’m a mess’ crap. You’re a catch. But you’re so caught up in whatever is left of that relationship that you’re missing all the potential right in front of you.”

“I don’t know about all that…” I muttered, staring at the half-empty drink in front of me.

“Oh, don’t give me that humble bullshit,” Darcie said, her voice dropping to a mock serious tone. “Gigi, we all know you’re the complete package. Smart, gorgeous, driven, and hilarious. You have a killer career, a great group of friends, and you’re basically a walking woman of mystery.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You definitely have the ‘unavailable’ vibe going for you.”

“That’s not exactly a compliment,” I replied flatly.

Emelia snorted. “Who says it’s not? It’s the best vibe to have, trust me. Look at me, I’m practically a walking free spirit. Guys love that shit.” She paused, then gave me a sideways glance. “At least when I’m not too busy with tequila shots to notice them.”

I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my lips. I loved my friends, I really did. They had this uncanny ability to make me feel both seen and understood, even when I was determined to shut everyone out.

“Maybe I’m just not ready, okay?” I said quietly. “It’s too soon.”

Darcie rolled her eyes and patted my hand across the table. “Sweetheart, you’re never going to be ready. You’re just going to keep waiting until you wake up one day and realize you’ve spent more time avoiding the next chapter than actually living it.”

“I don’t want to just ‘move on,’” I muttered. “I want to feel something. I don’t want to be this… version of myself who just hides away from everything.”

“You won’t be, Gigi,” Darcie said, her tone softening. “I’m not saying you have to dive into some new relationship right now. But you deserve to have fun. You deserve to feel something that isn’t related to work or heartbreak.”

Emelia grinned. “And, I’m telling you, a little ‘fun’ goes a long way. It’s amazing what a random hookup or two can do for the soul. Trust me. You’d feel better if you just got laid.”

I groaned and slouched back in the booth, wanting to hide my face in my hands but trying to stay cool. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now.”

“Oh, you’re having it,” Darcie said with a wink, “and we’re not letting you off the hook. So what do you say? A little action? No strings attached? You never know, you might actually like it.”

I shot her a skeptical look. “I’ll pass on the ‘action’ for tonight, thanks. But I’ll think about it, alright?”

Darcie smirked, clearly unconvinced. “You say that now, but mark my words, Gigi. Next time, you won’t be able to resist. You’ve been holding back for far too long.”

As Emelia and Darcie went back to debating their own love lives—or lack thereof—I sat back in my seat, feeling a strange mixture of relief and hesitation. Part of me wanted to dive into the distraction they were offering, to finally close the chapter on Jeremy and whatever had been left hanging between us. But another part of me still wasn’t sure if I could just move on that easily.