I shake my head, but she’s staring at her screen.
“WZRL in Jacksonville wants to know if you’ll stop in while you’re there for that golf thing.”
“I thought we cancelled that.”
“No, that was the one in Myrtle Beach. The Jacksonville date is still on.”
Breathe. I stare out the window. “I hate golf.”
“I know but your parents and the label said this one is important because it’s sponsored by JRV Promotions. Plus, Burn Card and some of Sam’s other clients will be there. Oh! Fleur Noir finally called after that meeting with your mother—”
She stops, and I swat at my eyes, angling as far from view as possible.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
I shake my head and pull in a ragged breath. Not now. Not yet. Not in front of Hadley. We’re almost home.
“Nothing. Sorry. I think I might be getting sick.” My voice is corrupted by emotion, and I clear my throat.
“You know what? Let’s do this another time,” she says softly.
I nod and blink back the rest of the threatening tears.
We finish the drive in silence, and my blood pounds with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation as we climb the hill to my neighborhood. Will he be there? Am I important enough to him to keep a promise? Oliver’s SUV is parked by the gate, and a sick mix of relief and regret courses through me when I realize I never called him in to security. He kept his word, and I couldn’t even be bothered to give him that one courtesy. The gate opens for us, and I roll down my window.
“Hey, Bobby. You can let him in. In fact, put him on my permanent list. Oliver Levesque.”
The security guard lifts a brow but nods. I understand his hesitation. No one has unrestricted access to my estate except my parents and intimate staff. I glance back at the sound of Oliver’s car starting, already breathing easier when I see his silhouette through the windshield. I strain for a view of his eyes, his smile, but all I get is a shadow from this vantage point.
“Oliver’s here?” Hadley asks, and I hear the unspoken second half of that question. After what happened earlier?
“I called him at the White Flame meeting. What happened earlier was my fault.”
Except she only looks confused. “What happened earlier? What do you mean?”
“When Oliver left this afternoon after I kicked him out?”
“You kicked him out? Oliver?” I cringe at the shock on her face, my stomach cramping. Somehow it’s worse that he left as a perfect gentleman, giving no hint of the basket-case who threw him to the curb. “No, I had no idea. He smiled and waved when he left like nothing was wrong. I just thought he was leaving because you had to get ready for the meeting. What happened?”
“He saw my writing, and I freaked out on him.”
“Your poetry?”
I nod. When did this driveway get so long? Hadley quiets, probably trying her best to process my crazy without letting on.
She clears her throat as we pull in front of the house. “Well, I have a lot to do, so I’ll be in the office. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything.” Her eyes search mine, and I swallow the rising pressure in my throat.
“Sounds good. Oliver and I will probably be in my room.”
She nods, reading my face one last time before exiting the car. I step out as well, smiling at my driver. “Thanks, Devin,” I say to him as he closes the door behind me.
“Will you need anything else or should I park the car?” he asks, eyeing Oliver’s SUV as my guest pulls in behind us.
“You can park it for the night. Thanks.”
He nods and rounds the front of the car to the driver’s seat. I feel Oliver’s approach behind me—his presence always seems to have a supernatural effect on my awareness. It calms me, makes me feel confident, like I can do anything with him standing behind me. It’s a strange feeling, so different than the weight of the conference room I just escaped. Once Devin pulls away, I turn to Oliver, almost shy after everything that’s happened between us.
Any lingering shadows dissolve through the current of his warm brown eyes.
I rush toward him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his chest. Color filters in. Air comes lighter. Tense muscles relax into relief.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
His strong arms tighten around me, and I breathe in spice and clean linen. His button-down shirt is soft against my cheek, and for a brief moment, I think I could stand here forever. I think things will be okay. Then—
Twenty-seven cities.
Millions of fans.
Radio interviews.
TV interviews.
Editorial shoots.
Clothing brand.
Fragrance line.
January world tour because—
You are everything.
Julie Sanchez.
And still not enough.
Then.
Panic.
“Genevieve?” Oliver pulls away to search my face, and I blink back the familiar tears.
“Can we just go to my room?” I whisper.
He brushes his thumb under my eye, catching a tear and dissolving it in his fingers. “Lead the way.”
I move quickly through the house, tugging him by the hand behind me. The staff probably thinks I’m desperate to jump my hot boyfriend as we scurry past. Only he knows the truth: That I prefer the lie.
We climb the stairs, his footsteps heavier than I expect below me. I glance back and notice the way he’s favoring his right leg again. Oh no. I didn’t even ask about his knee. I never ask. It’s always about me. My life. My drama. What I need from him. Until I toss him aside. Self-loathing bubbles deep, swirling among the existing sludge inside me.
I close the door behind us, shaking by the time we reach my room. He waits in silence, watching me, his huge presence filling my room, my awareness. Behind me a vista worthy of any lifestyle show stretches to the ocean, but I can’t tear my gaze
