“Can you please just give her a message?” Rich inquired politely. The way Greta skewered him with her gaze despite his pleasant tone, I knew Braxton had given her friend at least the gist of what he—we’d done. “Sure. The approved words for your message are—piece, shit, married, lying, a, of, I’m.” Giving Rich an accommodating smile, she cocked her head to the side, making her blonde hair fall in waves over her shoulder. “Feel free to use them in any order you’d like.” Stepping back, Groot promptly slammed the door in our faces. “She’s so not invited to the wedding,”
