“I’m sorry, honey. I know how much you want him there with you. Is he still keeping in contact?”

“Every day.”

“That’s something. Listen, I know you worry, and you have a right to. This media frenzy can’t be helping any. I see the articles and news reports, too, but I don’t want you putting any stock into them. They live to destroy things, and if you let them, they’ll steal any happiness you two could have had. I don’t want that for you. For either of you.”

“I know.” I sigh. I’ve heard these words before. As much as I want to believe them, it’s a case of easier said than done.

“That boy loves you, Vista,” Mom says softly. “He really does. Most men wouldn’t go through what he is to be with someone unless they were really invested. Just don’t give up on him yet.”

I don’t know how she does it, but it’s almost as if she knows my thoughts. Between the way he left and his refusal to come back, I feel more like an afterthought than a priority, but my mom hasn’t given up hope for us. Every time we speak, she makes sure to renew my hope, too.

I just pray that she’s right. “Yeah,” is the only response I have to give her.

“Well, sweetie, I need to go. I have an appointment for a mani/pedi in an hour. Are you going to be okay?”

“Mom, I’m fine. Go have fun and pamper yourself. You deserve it.”

“So do you. I wish you were here so we could go together.”

“Me, too.” But she’s stuck in Chicago until the divorce is final, and I’m stuck here because…well, everything.

After we hang up, I lay back in bed and stare out the window. It’s a sunny day. I know if I go outside, it will be cool, maybe a little breezy. But I won’t. It’s not worth the cost. So I spend the rest of the day in bed, catching up on shows that I’ve missed throughout the week.

By the late afternoon, I get up to fix some dinner. Since there’s no one to impress with my mad cooking skills, I tear open a packet of Ramen and smash the dried noodles into a bowl, then I fill it with tap water and pop it in the microwave to cook.

Before I have a chance to sit down to eat, the phone rings. I answer it with no small amount of hesitation, never sure who I’ll find on the other end.

“Miss Marquis?”

“Yes?”

“This is Manny from the front desk. There’s a gentleman here to see you by the name of Charles Tanner. Would you like me to send him up?”

I wrack my brain for anyone by that name, but come up with nothing. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“No, ma’am.”

I frown, biting my lip as I struggle to make a decision. I know I shouldn’t entertain a stranger, but having Manny there to supervise makes it safe enough that I don’t need to worry. Decision made, I reply, “Tell him I’ll meet him down there in a few minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Quickly, I get dressed and pull my hair back in a sloppy bun and slip into a pair of flip flips as I head for the door. I’m missing dinner for this, so this guy had better not be with any kind of press, or I might just throw in the towel and move to Tahiti.

When I walk off the elevator, I make eye contact with Manny and he tips his dark head to the side, indicating where I need to go.

Turning left, I amble toward the double glass doors leading out to the street with caution. Through the tinted glass, I can see a small group of people lingering around. They have cameras around their necks in plain sight. My head shakes in irritated disbelief.

Aren’t they bored yet?

Catching movement to my right, I turn to see an older man standing among the quaint seating area staring up at a Jackson Pollock print that’s an incredible mass of colors swirled around and through one another. I’m sure to anyone with an eye for art, they’d say it meant something profound, like the chaos of modern life or something, but to me, it looks more like a mass of tangled yarn.

“Charles?”

At the sound of my voice, the man turns on his heel to face me. He’s older, pushing fifties from the looks of the fine wrinkles in his skin, and he’s dressed casually in a pair of dark jeans and black suit jacket over a plain white cotton shirt.

He’s probably trying to come off benevolent, but I’m already on my guard. There’s just no telling with these people. Once, a woman not unlike this Charles character made it all the way into the elevator with me before she busted out her camera and started throwing questions at me.

Hence the reason for Manny.

I don’t live in a fancy apartment, so security isn’t a staple. But Levi is very protective of what’s his and as soon as he caught wind of what was going on, he hired the best security his money could buy. Now, I don’t have to worry so much once I cross the threshold. My home is my sanctuary from the world. Even if it is less than six-hundred square feet.

Charles’ soft brown eyes meet mine and crinkle at the corners as he steps forward and extends his hand. “Miss Marquis. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Finally? “Um…I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

Chuckling to himself, Charles spans his arm out, indicating that I take one of the plush club chairs. I do and wait for him to seat himself opposite me.

Propping his elbows on the arms of the chair, Charles folds his hands together and crosses his ankles in front of him. He’s the epitome of calm and comfortable, all of which I am not.

“You are correct. We haven’t met, and you’re probably thinking I’m some crazy person right now, but I assure you I’m not.” He smiles dolefully. “I caught mention of you in the Sunday paper, in the sports section.”

Popping to my feet, I glare down at him. “Will you people never leave us alone? You’re reprehensible!”

Confusion colors Charles’ expression before realization takes over. Before I can storm away, he jumps up and touches my arm. I jerk it away, even more upset that this piece of slime would deign to touch me.

“I’m not a reporter,” he insists. “I swear. I came here because after I recognized your name in the paper and saw the success you’ve had with the business, I just had to come out and see it for myself. I knew I was going to be in town, so I looked you up. I just wanted to tell you congratulations.”

Believing this to be another ploy to get me to stick around long enough for him to dig his claws in, I cluck my tongue and turn to leave. Once again, he pulls me to a stop.

“It’s not every day that such a young woman, especially one in the position you are in, makes it in the business world,” he rushes to add. “And as you’re one of my first clients, I’m doubly thrilled. Please, Miss Marquis, I really am just here to extend my support and maybe, if you’ll let me, share my enthusiasm.”

“Who the hell are you? Really?”

“I’m Charles Tanner?” He forms it like a question, as if that should explain everything.

“And that should mean something to me?”

The corners of his mouth turn up. “Well, probably not. Yet.” Standing taller, he says, “I’m the private investor.”

Oh shit. What the hell is he doing here? Is this even normal? My spine stiffens in warning. “If you’re here to ask for your money back, I don’t have it.” Plus, we have an agreement, in writing. Any money paid out to him has to be done over time, not on a whim.

“No, no. Like I told you, I just wanted to stop in and see for myself how the investment was coming along. And, of course, I had to meet the infamous Vista Marquis. You’re a real sensation you know.”

“Yeah, right.” Feeling the start of a headache coming on, I close my eyes, pinch the bridge of my nose, and inhale deeply. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Tanner, but this is really weird for me. Even though I appreciate you helping me get my start, I never expected to meet you.”

“I get it. That makes total sense, and I will get out of your hair. I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity since I was in town.”

I smile faintly and shake his hand once again. He seems like a nice enough man, but I’m eager for him to leave. This is just too strange for words. I’d ask how he knew where I lived, but I’m sure that’s public knowledge by now.