“Lina?”
“Holy fucking crap, Evan,” I shouted, more because I was embarrassed at getting caught than because I was actually scared.
Behind him, I saw Tyler and Cole at a conference table that was covered with blueprints and technical drawings and all sorts of sketches.
They all three looked frazzled. And none of them looked happy to see me.
“What are you doing here?” Evan said.
I swallowed, feeling like I’d been tossed into the middle of the school play, but no one had told me my lines. This wasn’t the way I’d imagined this. In the story in my head, I’d gone to him, confessed that he was right, and then folded myself into his arms.
Now I wondered if he’d even missed me at all.
Now I wondered about Ivy.
“I made a mistake,” I said, forcing the word out past the tears in my throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
I caught a flash of worry in his eyes, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I turned and ran toward the back door, then pushed through it and out into the bright afternoon sun.
Immediately, I knew I’d screwed up. The building was huge, and if I was going to get to the street, I had to go all the way around it. “Shit,” I snapped, even though I was the only one to hear it. I dug into my purse for my phone as I started to circle the building. I’d call a taxi. I’d call Peterson. I’d do something to get the fuck out of there, because I couldn’t stay. But I also couldn’t really move, because the tears had started to flow, and the world was blurry, and all I wanted to do was sit down on the asphalt and cry until everything stopped hurting.
“Baby.”
Evan’s arms went around me, strong and firm, and though I wanted to shake them off, I let him hold me as I made my way down to the curb where the sidewalk met the parking lot.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”
I pulled away from him, but then I had to hug myself, because as soon as his arms were no longer around me, I felt lost again.
“Lina? Jesus, Angie, talk to me. You’re starting to scare me.”
I sucked in a deep, stuttering breath, pushed my hair off my face, and turned to face him. “Who is she?” I demanded, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Who is Ivy?”
His eyes widened, and he said very slowly and very carefully—as if I was a bomb that might go off at any moment—“Why do you want to know?”
I told myself I wasn’t going to scream. That I was going to be rational. That I trusted him and I wasn’t going to be one of those women who flew off the handle in a fit of jealous rage.
I told myself that, but I was having one hell of a hard time implementing it.
I reached out and touched his arm. It was hidden by his shirt sleeve, but I almost felt as if I could feel the tattoo burning into me. “I need to know that you weren’t just playing me, Evan. I mean—I guess if you were then it was my own damn fault. I’m the one who said I wanted this to be temporary, right? I’m the one who said three weeks.”
I pushed up off the curb and turned to look at him. I felt the tears trickle down my face, but I wasn’t sobbing anymore. I was a wreck, but at least I was a wreck with some semblance of control.
“But then you asked if I was staying, and I guess I thought—I mean, maybe I hoped—”
“What?” he asked.
It was just one word, but he said it with such soft hope that it gave me courage.
“I came here because you’re right. Because I’m not being true to myself. I want art, not politics. Beauty, not bills and bartering. And so I came here to tell you that. Because, because—” I shook my head, not yet ready to put everything into words. “But maybe I presumed too much. Because I didn’t know about her. I didn’t know about—”
“Ivy,” he said, and I had to close my eyes to block the pain of that one simple word.