I feel like shit. And that’s why I consider buying Lola a drink. She’s open, trusting—she’d be easily played. The things I could make her believe, the things I could make her do…a million different scenarios start forming in my mind.

Then they stop.

The game won’t solve anything. It will be a quick high and then what? Then I’ll be even less worthy of Alayna than I am now. I can’t fight my demons with my demons. It’s not the solution I’m looking for.

So I swallow down my drink and close out my tab.

I stagger back to the loft and spread out on the couch. I don’t let myself sleep in my bed. I don’t deserve to be comfortable. I don’t deserve to be where she’s been. I don’t deserve her.

I wake the next day with a dry mouth and a fucking headache. It’s an instant reminder of the miserable situation I’ve put myself in. After texting my secretary to reschedule all my appointments for the day, I allow myself a glass of water, but I don’t take any pain relievers. I earned this discomfort, and I won’t back away from it.

When my phone buzzes, I check it immediately, hoping it’s Alayna. It’s not, and I pretend I’m not disappointed. It’s important though—a text from Norma asking me to call her. She knows not to text me anything incriminating. She also knows to be careful about her phone calls. If she’s texting, she needs me.

She doesn’t even say hello when I ring her. “You aren’t in your office.”

“No. I’m working from my loft today.” I look and feel like shit. I shouldn’t see people. “What do you need?”

“Stuart Reed’s having doubts.”

Stuart’s our man at GlamPlay. I don’t need this. Not today. “Did you explain to him that Walden Inc. is still me?”

“He’s not having doubts about that. They’re ready to sell to you no matter which company you’re purchasing with. He’s having doubts about buying into Werner Media. Their latest stock prices weren’t as high as predicted.”

“With the change in the economy, those prices were incredible. What does Reed fucking expect?” I run a hand through my hair. “You know what? I don’t give a fuck about his doubts. We’ll finish the purchase of GlamPlay first, and then he won’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Pissing off Stuart Reed is not a good idea.” Norma’s calm, reasonable. “Of course, you will have full power to do what you want when you own the company, but it will be much easier if Stuart is on your side.”

I lean against the full-length windows that look out over the city and remind myself why it’s not a good idea to punch my fist through them. “What do you suggest I do then, Norma?”

“You need to alleviate some of his concerns. I don’t think it will take much. A friendly conversation off the record.” There’s a voice in the background. Male. I’m pissed that she’s talking about this in front of anyone, but I trust Norma.

It’s because I trust her that I give her the benefit of the doubt. “Do you have a plan to arrange this friendly conversation?” We’re running out of time on this deal.

“I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t.” Her gloating grin can be heard through the phone. “Stuart will be at the Breezeway Charity Ball tonight. We’ll go together.”

“To the Breezeway Ball? Do tell me how you plan to get me in there.” The Breezeway board of directors, Alan Fleming, is not a fan of Hudson Pierce. I’d played his sister early in my history of the game, before I’d learned that the experiment was best performed away from my work and home. Not for the first time, I wonder if my past will ever let me go.

“Alan will not be there himself. And the name on the guest list is mine. So we’ll have to go together. We’ll go late, and we won’t stay long. Pick me up at eight.”

The plan sounds dreadful, but only because the last thing I want to do tonight is get dressed up in a tux and schmooze. But it’s necessary. And what else am I planning on doing with the evening? Another night of drinking doesn’t seem very productive. I manage to say thank you before hanging up.

Another text comes through before I put my phone down. This time it is from Alayna. Two words, a simple request—Come home.

I make my way to an armchair where I slump and stare at the screen, reading the message over and over. She still wants me. My throat tightens at that knowledge, and it takes everything in me not to jump to obey. But where would we be then? Nothing’s changed. We’re still at an impasse. And I’m not ready to do what I think will eventually be my only course of action.

I’m still sitting there when her next text comes in. Are you avoiding me now?

I type and delete my answer several times. I have no response. She sends more texts:

The least you can do is talk to me.

You said I was everything to you.

Talk to me.

I won’t ask about it if you don’t want to.

This isn’t fair. Shouldn’t I be the one who’s mad?

Each new message stabs me in the chest, wrenches my gut. I’ve caused her so much pain, yet I know this is nothing compared to the pain of the truth. What do I do? Let her suffer like this or confess what will likely destroy her? Perhaps I should just walk away. Break things off and break her heart. It will kill me, I know. I’m beginning to see there’s no saving us. Soon, I’ll have to choose what’s best for her and forget about me.

But not today. I can’t yet. I’m not ready.

I send her a text of my own because I love her, and I can’t bear to leave her hanging any longer. I’m not mad. I’m not avoiding you. I don’t know what to say.

I don’t know what to say. How true is that? So goddamned true.

Don’t say anything. Just come home.

I choke on a caustic laugh. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I’ve engaged when I shouldn’t have. Now I have to draw this out, repeating words she can’t understand. I can’t. Not yet. We need time.

I don’t need time. I need you.

Fuck, how I need her. She has no idea. We’ll talk later.

You don’t understand. I have to talk now. I’ll keep texting you. I can’t help myself.

And I’ll read every one. But she doesn’t send anything after that, and I’m disappointed. More than disappointed. I’m shattered. Her brief words were keeping me afloat. Her absence from my phone makes me worry. Did something happen? And I think the worst—that her life can go on without me. My life, on the other hand, is at a fucking standstill.

I check in with Jordan and learn she’s convinced him to join her for a run. I’d forbidden her from running outdoors, concerned about Celia and her stalking. She’s defying my wishes—can I blame her?—but at least she’s taken her bodyguard. At least she still cares enough about me to compromise. If only there was a way I could compromise with her. I’d give her anything she wanted, tell her every secret from my past, break down every last standing wall, as long as she could tell me she’d never leave me. That she wouldn’t give up on us.

And she’d say that she wouldn’t. She’d promise me forever.

But I won’t let her make that promise. If she found out what I’ve done, she wouldn’t be able to keep it.

My phone rings in the middle of the night. In a state of half-sleep, I reach toward the coffee table where I’d left it before settling down on the couch. Then I stop myself. It’s probably Alayna—and God, how I want it to be her—but I don’t have the strength to deny her right now. Not in the dark hours of the night when I want her so desperately that I’ll say and do anything to have her.

I sit up and scrub my hands over my face. I’m awake now. Actually, I’m surprised I slept at all. I look at the time. It’s almost three. I guess I slept more than I thought. I’d gotten in around midnight. As I’d said I would, I’d gone to the charity ball with Norma and even managed to chat up Stuart Reed. I think I did my job of convincing him that Werner Media was a good investment, but before I had a chance to confirm it, I’d gotten a text from Reynold, Alayna’s second shift bodyguard, telling me that not only was Celia at The Sky Launch, but that Alayna had dismissed him for the night.