Free The Last Word by A. L. Michael

except without the sense of pride. Or, the most logical option: she could get the hell over it and move on with her life, realising that sometimes people sucked and it was not a big deal.
    So, that was what she would do. She would realise it was not a big deal. She would understand that Harry was not her friend, he was her editor, and nothing he’d said was essentially untrue. She would get on with her job. She wouldn’t complain. She wouldn’t write an article on how to crush a man’s windpipe. She would not spend an inordinate amount of time Googling ‘how to crush a man’s windpipe’. She would be a grown-up.
    Yes, Tabby thought smugly, she would be the grown-up in this scenario. Her phone buzzed, scaring her half to death. It was a text message. She tried not to lunge for it, imagining all the ways in which Harry might apologise via text. Except, he wouldn’t, obviously. If Harry were to apologise – and he wouldn’t, and even if he did, she wouldn’t cave – he would do it face to face so he could depend on his charm offensive and pretty eyes. The bastard. Instead, it was the one person who could possibly make things worse. Her mother. Claudia Riley was reminding her daughter that they were scheduled to meet for coffee, to discuss bridesmaid dresses. P.S., Tabby noted, No carbs!
    That was the exact moment Tabby decided to creep down to the kitchen and crack open the ice cream. After all, there were no carbs in ice cream, right?

Chapter Nine
    When Tabby opened her front door to find Harry on her doorstep, she was less than pleased. Her night had been going to include a rejuvenating face mask, half a bottle of red wine and back to back episodes of Buffy, Season 6. A good night. All of that would clearly no longer be happening, as Harry stood there looking all gorgeous and apologetic, holding a much more expensive bottle of wine than the one she’d been planning on consuming.
    ‘What do you want?’ More than angry or irritated or defensive, Tabby felt weary.
    He looked up at her from under his lashes. ‘Kiss and make up?’
    Tabby rolled her eyes and went to close the door.
    ‘No wait! I’m sorry, OK? I’m sorry!’ He tried to lock her into eye contact, but she instead focused on his trainers. Ah, pink Converse, we’re starting to have a thing going on, Tabby thought, resolutely not looking up. ‘I know I’m a prick, and you didn’t deserve that, and it wasn’t about you at all, it was this big thing, and I just…urgh. I’m a massive dickhead and I’m really sorry, Tabs, honestly.’
    Of course, Tabby lost it as soon as she looked up. Because seeing Harry frazzled and nervous was almost better than seeing him angry. He kept running his fingers through his hair so it stood up at odd angles. He dragged his hand across his face, and then raised an eyebrow at her.
    ‘You’re enjoying this too much.’
    ‘Maybe.’ Tabby shrugged.
    ‘This is me grovelling. Honestly, do you think I do this often?’
    ‘Act like an arse or apologise for doing so?’
    ‘The latter, smart arse,’ Harry huffed. ‘So, are we friends again? Please?’
    Tabby twitched her lips thoughtfully. It was in that moment, watching Harry’s eyes dart back and forth across her face, that Tabby realised her greatest power with Harry was silence. He couldn’t stand it. Sadly, she couldn’t stand to be silent for very long either, so it’s not like it was much of a superpower.
    ‘Come on, Princess, give a guy a break.’ Harry tried his best to look extra appealing: wide innocent eyes, hopeful smile. Her lips quirked up, and he grinned in response.
    ‘Well, that was a good thirty seconds of being sincere Harry, well done, a new record. Better open the bottle and celebrate,’ Tabby said, with the exhaustion of an overly lenient parent. ‘Come in, then.’ She took a brief moment to imagine how Harry would react to her raggedy flat. Or Rhi.
    He closed the door behind him and followed her down the narrow hallway, edging around