by Marni Mann
I’d thought we’d be in a better place.
I’d thought we’d be able to work things out.
I’d thought we’d have a future.
But the only person he had a future with was Kristin Evans.
God, why the hell did I come all the way here?
Why didn’t I just leave things the way they were?
I’d broken up with him for a reason, and it wasn’t a simple one. What had made me think a conversation with him would change that, would get him to be the man I wanted him to be, would get me more when he’d told me that he wouldn’t give it to me?
For weeks, the last vision I’d had of him was the hurt on his face when I left him at the soft opening.
Now, all I could see was the grin that he’d given to Kristin.
And it made me want to scream.
But, before I even had the chance to open my mouth, I felt my phone vibrate in my hand, and the screen showed a text from James.
She was the only person who knew I had changed my flight.
If I told her what I’d just walked in on, she would get so angry that I knew she’d say something to Max. I didn’t want that to happen, and I didn’t want Max to know what I had done or what I had seen.
I didn’t want to lie.
But I had no choice.
James: Is he home? Are you talking to him? Gah, I’m dying over here. I need to know what’s going on with you two.
Me: Nothing is going on because I decided not to come. So, I changed my flight…again.
James: What? Why? You were so sure that talking to him was the right thing for you guys.
Me: I thought about it more and decided things are best the way they are now. I’m leaving for a long time. No need to make either of us wait. Besides, what if I meet a deliciously handsome Italian man, and I don’t want to keep my hands off of him?
My eyes filled with tears as I sent the last message.
I couldn’t even imagine putting my hands on another guy. Not when my heart was still with Max. Not when he was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
James: I’m sure there are going to be hundreds of deliciously handsome Italian men, but none of them are going to measure up to Max. We both know this. You love that man. I wish you had told him.
She knew me too well.
I should have known I wouldn’t be able to fool her.
Still, she’d never know that I’d come to Miami, and that was what was important.
Me: Maybe, one day, we’ll be together again. But telling him before I leave doesn’t feel like the right time.
James: Stubborn bitch. Text me when you land. Love you.
“Eve Kennedy?” the driver said as he pulled up to where I was sitting with his window rolled down.
“Yep.” I wiped my face. “That’s me.”
“Where am I taking you?”
I climbed in the back of the car, and as I told him the name of the hotel and the address, he pulled a U-turn in the middle of the road.
I stared at Max’s front gate as we passed it.
I studied every detail.
I closed my eyes, my lids still dripping, to make sure I’d memorized it all.
I’d thought, one day, our vacation home would be behind that gate.
Now, in my memory was the only time I’d ever see it again.
Twenty-Seven
Max
Me: I fucking miss you.
UNDELIVERED.
I stared at the message that appeared right under my text to Eve, a word that I’d never seen come through before.
What the fuck does undelivered mean?
I was sure it was a mistake, so I tried sending another text.
Me: I wish you would call me back.
UNDELIVERED.
She had to be in a location that had poor cell service, and her texts just weren’t coming through.
But, just to make sure, I found her number in my Contacts, pressed the phone icon, and waited for it to start ringing.
Except it never fucking rang.
A recorded message began to play that said the number had been disconnected.
Because Eve used the same phone for business and personal calls, I couldn’t believe that she would disconnect it, especially since she was already in Italy.
If this was more than an accident, asking James wouldn’t get me anywhere. That girl would go to the grave before she told me a goddamn thing.
So, the only other option I had was to send Eve an email.
While I was already sitting at my desk, I shook the mouse to wake up my computer. I opened a new email, and I started typing.
With your phone shut off, it’s even harder to get in touch with you.
Hopefully, it’s just a mistake, and it will be turned back on soon.
Either way, I’m not giving up.
At least email me back, Eve, so I know you’re all right.
Just as the email cleared my inbox, my cell began to ring.
“Kristin,” I said as I answered.
“Hey, you. Have you given what we talked about any more thought?”
I laughed, swiveling back and forth in my chair as I looked out the window into downtown Miami. “It’s only been two days since I saw you.”
“And?”
“I need more time than that.”
“Max, I’m extremely impatient. You know this about me.”
I gripped the top of the Windsor knot and loosened it around my throat. “Listen to me, Kristin. I don’t move fast when it comes to things like this, so get yourself some patience because you’re not going to get an answer for at least a week.”
“Ugh.”
“Don’t sound so upset. Your pitch was all right. This phone call serves as your follow-through. I’d say you have a decent shot at getting what you want.”
She fucking giggled, and it reminded me of the sound she used to make when I tickled her. I used to love when she made that noise.
“That does make me feel a tiny bit better.” She paused. “Hey, do you have plans for lunch? There’s something I want to show you.”
I turned back toward my computer and pulled up my calendar. “I can probably squeeze in an hour around two this afternoon.”
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at your office.”
“I’ll see you then,” I said and hung up.
I was just setting my cell back on my desk when I saw a reply from Eve come through my inbox.
It was about fucking time she responded to me.
I clicked on the email, and it enlarged on my screen.
Mr. Graham,
I’m Eve’s assistant, Trevor, and while she’s working overseas, I’m responsible for monitoring her email.
I’ll be sure to pass along your message.
In the meantime, is there anything I can help you with?
Thanks!
Trevor Jackson
Assistant to Eve Kennedy
I slammed my finger onto the mouse, the email immediately getting deleted, and I walked over to the bar that was in the far side of my office. I found the scotch in the middle of all the other bottles, and I poured myself a finger’s worth. The tumbler went straight to my lips, and I shot the booze down my throat.
It fucking burned.
And I wanted it to.
While I was setting the glass onto the counter to pour a little more, my office door opened, and Scarlett walked in. She stood halfway between my desk and the bar, and she put a hand on her goddamn hip.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head, letting a few more drops fall from the bottle before I brought the glass to my lips again. Once I swallowed it all, I said, “Nah. It’s nothing this scotch can’t fix.”
“For some reason, I doubt that.” She waited for me to walk back to my desk before she added, “I have a hunch your day-drinking has to do with Eve.”
I took a seat, running both hands through my hair. “I’m talked out, Scarlett. Besides, I’ve alre
ady told you everything. I spent the night at her place, and she never showed up. I call her every goddamn day, and she never answers. I text her more than that, and she doesn’t reply. Today, I found out her phone is shut off, and her assistant—some fucking dude I didn’t even know she’d hired—is monitoring her email, so I can’t get in touch with her. No matter how hard I try, it’s over between us.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
I dropped my fist onto my desk, and the stack of papers right next to it jumped into the air before they scattered. “Hell no, I’m not okay with it. But I don’t know how to make this shit better, so I’m going to give her some time. That’s obviously what she wants.”
“Have you tried talking to James?”
I sighed so fucking loud, she knew my answer.
“I figured that was a long shot, but it was worth a mention.” She took the seat across from me. “The good news is, Brett and James’s wedding is in exactly six months, and Eve is the maid of honor, so you know you’ll see her there.”
I ground my teeth together. “That’s what you consider good fucking news? Six months is an eternity from now.”
“It is, but it gives you some time.”
“For what?”
She wrapped her hands around the armrest and smiled. “To figure out how to give that girl what she wants.”
“Jesus, Scarlett, you’re relentless when it comes to that.”
“That’s because it’s the only way you’re going to get her back. I can promise you one thing, Max. She doesn’t want to return to the same man she left. She had that, and look where it got you. She wants to come home to a better version of you.”
I pushed back in my chair and crossed a leg over my knee. “So, you’re saying, I have to change?”
“I’m saying, you have to meet her halfway, and if you love her, you will. The longer she’s away, the more you’re going to miss her, and the more obvious your love is going to be.”
I laughed. “You’re wrong.”
“Oh no, my friend, I’m absolutely right. But we’ll see, won’t we?”
“I need another fucking drink.”
“Not yet. We have to talk business first.” She took a folder off her lap and put it on my desk. “Here’s all the paperwork for the partnership. They came back and accepted our latest round of changes, so their attorney drew up a new contract. I need you to review it, and we’ll discuss it as a team again. Then, we’ll meet with our attorney to get it all wrapped up.”
It had to be over a hundred pages thick.
“Now that you’re single, you’ll have plenty of time to read it.”
I looked up from the stack. “Get out, wiseass.”
“Drinks tonight?”
“If I’m not already tanked, yeah, drinks sound real good.”
She smiled as she left my office, and I went back to the bar to pour myself another scotch.
Twenty-Eight
Eve
Italy was everything I’d imagined.
Intensely beautiful.
Quietly romantic.
Poetically charming.
I couldn’t get enough of the landscape or the food. I couldn’t take in enough of the culture and the accents and the smell that could only be described as warm citrus.
I loved it here.
More than I’d thought I would.
And I’d wanted it to be my new beginning, which was why, on the day I’d landed and moved into my apartment, I’d called my cell phone carrier and changed my number. I had known I didn’t have to go to that extreme, and I could just block Max, but I needed fresh, and a new number had given me that.
Even though James or Trevor would never give it to him, there was still a chance Max could get my new digits. Still, I was willing to take that chance just to give myself a break from seeing his words and listening to his voice every day.
If that continued, there was no way I would ever move on.
But just because I’d stopped hearing from him didn’t mean I’d stopped thinking about him.
That was the problem with having access to social media. I could never really escape. Pictures of him were only a click away, and I looked at them.
Way too often.
I saved those moments for late at night when I finally crawled into bed, knowing he was probably just waking up. When I got under the thin sheet and hugged a pillow to my chest, I wondered if his arms had been around another woman last night or if he had slept alone, if he had thought of me, if his heart was having a rough time healing.
I wondered if things were heating up between him and Kristin.
I was just waiting for the day when he posted a picture of the two of them online. It hadn’t happened yet, but I was trying to prepare myself for it.
Besides what I had seen at his house, maybe what I needed was proof that he had moved on.
Maybe that was what it would take for me to finally heal.
I knew I could ask James to do some snooping, but I refused to put her in the middle. Plus, we’d made a promise not to discuss him. I just couldn’t handle it.
Because what I really needed was to forget him, so I tried so hard to live my days unaffected by Max Graham.
I spent the first three hours of my morning at Horse Feathers’ design studio where I worked with a team to create their new line. It was a process I had been unfamiliar with until I moved here. Their staff allowed me so much creative freedom. They listened to what I said. They trusted my opinion. They translated my words into stunning mock-ups even if they didn’t initially believe the clothes would become something worth selling.
As soon as I left the studio around lunchtime, I would come straight back to my apartment and look through the photos Trevor had sent the night before. His job was to visit the showrooms and pull items he thought I would like. Each piece was then photographed and categorized, and that was how I chose my clients’ outfits. The items I picked would then be taken to the client’s house, and more pictures would be shot, so I could see how they looked.
The system was working.
My clients were happy.
Trevor was in love with his job.
From the outside, it looked like everything was going perfectly. I guessed, in a way, it was.
I had what I’d always wanted—a loyal client base who supported my sixth-month hiatus; a business that was expanding, even with me being gone; an opportunity to gain knowledge from the other side of the industry, participating in a designer’s line; and living abroad and experiencing a different culture like I never had before.
So, if I had everything, then why did nothing feel right?
Why did I go to bed with tears in my eyes?
When I’d met Alberto, he’d told me that their designs were influenced by their mood. They felt their surroundings and translated them into emotions, and each piece reflected that.
When I’d walked into their design studio for the first time four weeks ago, I’d told them that was something I didn’t want to change.
This year’s summer collection theme was going to be melancholy.
And, when the models put on the pieces and walked the runway in New York, Paris, and Rome, everyone would see the tears I’d shed over the love of my life.
Twenty-Nine
Max
“God, I’m so fucking excited,” Kristin said from the passenger seat of my car.
She was wiggling against the leather, unable to sit still, turning her body toward me, then straight, and then to the right to look out the window.
I laughed at the way she was acting, especially because her excitement mostly had to do with me, which I thought was pretty sweet.
“You need to relax there, killer. The really good part hasn’t even gone down yet.”
She bent her knees and put her toes on the end of the seat. “I honestly don’t know if I can wait, Max.”
I smiled, turning toward her as I shifted into third. “You’ve waited this long.”
“But it’s
been so hard. You’re all calm and reserved, and I want so badly to act like you, but when I want something this much, I’m barely able to keep my hands off of it.”
My grin grew. “Jesus, don’t I know that.”
There was that giggle again.
But I only heard it for a second before it got interrupted by the ringing of my phone, which came through the speakers in my car. The screen on the console showed it was James.
There was no fucking way I was going to talk to her on speakerphone in front of Kristin, so I sent her to voice mail.
“I’m sure that’s a first,” Kristin said.
I shifted into second, first, and then into neutral while I slowed for the red light. “What is?”
“That someone sends James Ryne to voice mail.”
“I doubt that.”
“She’s the highest-paid actress, and everyone wants to work with her. She’s stalked by the paparazzi and the envy of practically every woman in the world. But I’m sure you’re probably right; most people just blow her off when she calls.”
Before I had a chance to respond, the screen lit up again, and the ringing blasted from the speakers. I hit a button on the steering wheel that rejected the call.
I had no fucking idea what James wanted. She only phoned unless it had something to do with Brett or Eve. I couldn’t imagine today was about the latter. And, since I’d just seen Brett at the office and he was going to be in meetings all day, I doubted anything was wrong with him.
Whatever she wanted could wait.
“Max, you know I understand how demanding your job is, so please don’t avoid her call because of me.”
I shifted into first when the light turned green and said, “It’s all right. I’ll call her back.”