Rob waited. Looked down at her hand, still fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

Oh. She released it and flexed her hand, feeling a little stupid. She needed to say something. Anything. Get the conversation rolling. “I saw you. In a magazine.”

The look on his face grew shuttered. “Christ. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his neck again. “Whatever it was, it was probably lies. They make up all kinds of shit to sell papers. I haven’t touched another woman since I last saw you.”

Her eyes widened. “No, not like that! It was good.” Then, she peered at him. “Who did the tabloids say you’re dating?”

“Some D-list chick with big fake cans.” He shuddered. “Horrible. Not true at all. She’s just in one of the specials that we’ve been running lately.” He paused, and then corrected himself. “They’ve.”

“I saw information about the sale. Is it true? You sold The Man Channel?”

“All of it,” he agreed, his gaze intense on her. “Every affiliate, every video, every show, magazine, anything even remotely associated with Cannon Networks. It’s all gone.” He raised a hand and mimicked a firecracker exploding. “Poof. Done.”

He was smiling as he said it. What did that mean? Why did that give her such hope? “And . . . you gave away all the money?”

“I did. I didn’t want to keep any of it. Tainted money and all that. Seemed wrong to profit off of it.”

“Tainted?” Was he just saying words that she wanted to hear? She didn’t know, and was afraid to ask. Marjorie clutched her purse strap harder, as if it could hold up her weak knees. “Are you broke now?”

“Broke?” Rob’s eyes widened and he laughed. “No, I’m not broke. I had a lot of money socked into investments and real estate, too. I’m not as disgustingly rich as I was before, but I’m not broke by a long shot, sweetheart.”

That made her feel better. It was on the tip of her tongue to point out to him, as she had so many times before, that she wasn’t his “sweetheart.” But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. After a moment, Rob added, “Before you think I’ve turned over a completely new leaf, I’m looking at other avenues now. Like a bingo channel. Maybe some sort of at-home gambling for the elderly.”

She couldn’t help it—she laughed. Of course he was still thinking things up.

The look on his face was a bit mischievous. “I can’t help it. I’m not the type to sit on my hands and count my money. I see opportunity and I go after it.”

“Some things never change,” she said, smiling.

The pleased look on his face died at once. “Can’t they change?” he asked in a lower voice. “Or are you forever fucked because of choices made before you met the right person?”

Was she the “right person” he was referring to? Marjorie’s lips were dry; she licked them and felt the urge to run away from this sudden frustration. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ve been working my ass off to become someone you could respect. Someone you could like. Someone you can be proud of. Most of all, someone you can see yourself with. After we talked, I realized everything you were saying was true. I went through all of my life not giving a shit what anyone thought of me, because no one had ever given a shit about me. ‘Think I’m a dick? Fine. I’ll be a dick.’ But then I realized after talking with you that you have to earn respect to get respect, and I haven’t been bothering to earn it. I made a living off of tits and ass and the frat boy mentality, and so of course a decent, nice girl like you won’t give me the time of day. Why should you? I’m peddling everything that you hate. I get that, now. I don’t know if I can ever backtrack enough to undo what I’ve created, but I’m damn sure going to try.” He shrugged. “Nobody ever made me want to become something better than I was until I met you.”

Marjorie was silent. She held her breath, even, afraid that if she inhaled, she’d miss a word of his confession.

Rob’s gaze locked on her face and he tilted his head, examining her with an expression of such longing that her heart ached. “I haven’t stopped loving you, you know. I always thought love at first sight was such bullshit, and then I met you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Ever. It’s not just lust. It’s wanting to hear your laugh and see your smile and wake up in the morning with you right next to me. I miss the hell out of you and I want you back, and if that means I have to donate every dollar I ever earn to charity and live in a box under a bridge to get your respect, then that’s what I’ll fucking do.”

“I . . . I . . .” She could think of nothing to say. Longing and fear were twined hand in hand, holding her back. What if she confessed that he was saying all the right things to her and she still loved him, and this was all another trick? What if it broke her all over again?

“I know,” he said softly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know it’s hard to believe anything I say, but I’m telling you the truth. And I understand. Here. Take this.” He put his hand in his wallet and pulled out a business card. “Got a pen?”

She reached into her purse, fished one out and held it out to him, still in shock.

He took it and wrote something down on the back. “This is my place here in the city. If you ever want to stop by and say hello, I’d love to have you. Anytime. Day or night. You call and I’ll be there.”

Marjorie nodded, wide-eyed, and took the card as he handed it to her.

Rob touched her cheek briefly, smiled, and walked away.

And Marjorie stood there on the street corner, barefoot and clutching a pen and business card as she watched the man she was terrified to love stroll back out of her life again.

***

For two days, she stewed on what the card meant. She mapped his new address—Park Avenue—and stalked him via Google Maps. She might have taken a shortcut or two outside his building in the hopes of running into him so she didn’t have to make the first move.

And she stared at that magazine picture of him for hours before going to sleep.

Marjorie didn’t know what to do. She was inexperienced when it came to relationships, and felt completely out of her depth. She knew the easiest thing to do would be to call him, or go to his apartment and talk to him. Confess how she was feeling.

And . . . then what?

It was clear she couldn’t trust her own judgment. Anything he told her, she’d believe. So what did she do? Hire a private detective? That seemed . . . ridiculous. Right now it seemed like her options were: trust and hope for the best, or give up on him entirely and nurse the wound until it didn’t hurt.

What was sad was that seeing him again just emphasized how much she was completely, ridiculously, head-over-heels in love with the man, still. It took everything she had not to throw her arms around his neck and kiss the daylights out of him. To beg him to love her half as much as she loved him and to never, ever lie to her again.

But she still wasn’t sure if that was foolish of her. She needed opinions.

So at lunch on day three of her indecision, she met with Brontë and Audrey. It was really just to sit and enjoy talking together. Audrey was Logan’s assistant (or at least she was until she gave birth) and so she naturally spent a lot of time with Brontë. And as Brontë’s assistant, Marjorie was dragged along when lunches were planned, and they liked to go out on Fridays for pasta and to unwind. As usual, they talked about work, books, men, the wedding, and the weather. Marjorie was antsy and quiet as they chatted, waiting for their food.

When Audrey pulled out pictures of her latest ultrasound, Marjorie tore into a breadstick and then could hold back no longer. “Can people change?”

Both women turned to look at her, puzzled frowns on their faces.

“What do you mean?” Audrey asked.

“‘The universe is change,’” Brontë quoted. “‘Our life is what our thoughts make it.’”