I pick up my old diary, which I never did write in, and open it to the center page. A pressed rose is there, the one Adam bought me on our first date. I pick up the folded piece of paper in there, close the book, and open the paper up. It’s the last picture I ever drew of him, the one I started the night I left but never got the chance to finish. I could never bring myself to finish it.

I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear hits the paper.

Carefully drying it away, I fold the paper up and put it back into the box.

I kept our memories for all these years because I never stopped loving him. Maybe he kept his memories for the same reason. Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe Adam’s love for me isn’t gone. Maybe it is just buried under all his anger and my lies.

His words from last night come back to me…

“Tell me the truth—tell me why you left, and I’ll see if it’s something I can get past, see if we can move forward together, so I can try to learn to trust you again.”

The only way I stand a chance of ever getting Adam back for real, of having a future with him, is if I tell him the truth.

I could tell him and still lose him, but it’s a chance I have to take.

Getting to my feet, I make my way through the apartment. I poke my head into the kitchen, the scent of pancakes filling my nose.

“I’m going out,” I say to Dad.

He looks over his shoulder at me. “To see Adam?”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah.”

“’Bout time.” He smiles. “And, Evie? It’s gonna be okay.”

I leave the house, praying that Dad is right, that everything is going to be okay, that Adam will be able to forgive me.

I park my car just a little down the street from the studio and turn off the engine.

Nerves suddenly get the better of me, and my body starts to tremble, my heart beating faster.

Come on, Evie, you can do this.

Taking a deep breath, I get out of my car, hands still trembling, and I walk to the main doors.

As I’m walking, it dawns on me that he might not actually be here. I know his note said he left early because of a work emergency, but I thought that was a lie. And it is a Sunday. I figure the office would be closed. So, he could actually be at the hotel or anywhere else.

Crap.

Well, I’m here now. Might as well check it out.

When I get there, the main door is locked. But I can see a huge-looking guy with a bald head, wearing a security uniform, sitting in the reception area. His eyes are looking down at the desk, probably reading a magazine. Well, that’s what I would do if I were stuck in an empty office building on a Sunday afternoon.

I tap on the glass door, catching his attention.

He looks at me, so I wave my hand.

He gets up from his chair, not looking particular happy about the fact, and walks over to the doors.

He stops by the door and gives me a look that screams, What the fuck do you want?

“I, um…is Mr. Gunner here?” I say through the glass.

“Who’s asking?”

“Evie. Evie Taylor.” I won’t pull the wife card again.

“Well, Evie-Evie Taylor, you are out of luck. Mr. Gunner isn’t here.”

Fuck. Fuckity fuck!

Fine, I’ll just ring him and find out where he is.

I turn to leave, then, I realize that I don’t have my cell with me. It’s in my bag, which I left at home.

Triple fuck!

Fine, I’ll just go to the hotel, and if he’s not there, then I’ll go home and get my cell—

Hang on.

I turn back to the glass door and rap on it again, louder this time.

Huge guy had almost made it back to the reception desk.

He stops and lets out what looks like a massive sigh. Then, he turns back to me and marches over again.

“What?” he says loudly.

“You said Mr. Gunner isn’t here.”

“He isn’t.” His expression practically growls at me.

“But that’s his car right there.” I point to the black Range Rover Sport, which took me to Malibu yesterday. I recognize the license plate.

His eyes narrow on me. “Look, girlie, I get that you think that you’re something special and that Mr. Gunner will take one look at you and cast you as the lead in his next movie. Maybe he will. Who knows? But that day will not be today. I am under strict instructions to not bother him, and you, girlie, are not worth my job.”

“But that’s just it, I’m not an actress. I’m not here to see him about a movie. I’m actually…well, I’m a friend of his.”

He lets out a laugh that sounds like he’s heard this a thousand times before. “If you were his friend, then you would be standing on this side of the door, and not out there, wouldn’t you?” He gives me a knowing look, folding his arms over his huge chest.

I let out an awkward sounding laugh. “Well, that’s the thing you see…Adam—Mr. Gunner, he doesn’t like me very much right now and with good reason. So, that’s why I’m out here, and not in there. And that’s why I need to see him. So, I can explain.”

“No can do, girlie.”

Ahh!

“Please.” I press my palms to the window. “All I’m asking is, you call him and let him know I’m here. I’d call myself, but I left my cell at home.”

He stares at me for a long moment. So, I put my best pleading face on.

All I seem to do is plead with Adam’s staff to let me through to see him.

“Fine!” he huffs, reaching for his cell. He dials and puts it to his ear.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I have an Evie Taylor here—um-hum. Okay.” He hangs his cell up, putting it back into his pocket. “He doesn’t want to see you.”

“He said that?”

“Those exact words.”

Jesus. If he had smacked me in the face it would have hurt less, than Adam’s blatant rejection.

I watch as his expression changes to one of pity. I’m guessing it’s because of the look on mine.

I’m really close to bursting into tears.

Come on, Evie, pull yourself together.

I suck in a breath, blinking the tears away. “Well…thank you for trying. I really appreciate it.”

I turn from the door and stand there, not sure what to do.

Then, from nowhere, I feel a sudden rush of anger.

Well, fine, Adam doesn’t want to see me, but I want to see him.

He asked me last night for the truth, and that’s what I’m here to give him.

I’ve come this far, and I’m not going anywhere until I see it through to the end.

With determination in my stride, I march over to the bench across the street, facing the studio, and I sit down on it.

Okay, it might not be a massive declaration. And I’m actually starting to feel a little deflated, and stupid, now my ass is on this bench.

But this is all I’ve got. So, I’m staying put.

I mean, if I wanted to go all out, I could have tried to ninja kick open the door to the building—not that I know ninja, or how that would have even worked out—and if I had by some miracle made it through the door and made a dash for Adam’s office, I’m pretty sure huge guy in there would have taken me down in seconds and then called the cops. And I really don’t feel like spending the night in a prison cell.

So, I’m waiting here until Adam leaves the building.

Then, I’ll make him talk to me. Well, I don’t need him to talk. I just need him to listen.

Bench seats are not made for long periods of sitting. Both my ass cheeks are numb, and my back hurts.