The tension headache that had been lurking for days was back. She exchanged her dress for black yoga pants and a long white top, lay down on the bed, and reached for the headphones she always traveled with. Moments later, she heard the soothing sound of Bill Evans’s “Peace Piece.”
She tried to relax, but not even the evocative harmonies of the man who’d been one of the world’s greatest jazz pianists could soothe her. Something about the unflinching way Owens had looked at her made her uneasy. More than uneasy. “You don’t know me, lady, and you don’t know a damn thing about my character.” But she did know his character!
Didn’t she?
She couldn’t stand the uncertainty. She turned off the music and reached for her phone. Alyssa picked up her call on the second ring.
The two of them had once been close, but now that her former roommate was immersed in motherhood, they’d drifted apart, and it had been at least a year since they’d spoken. “Hey, famous lady!” Alyssa said. “I’ve missed you. Hunter, get down from there! Jesus . . . That kid . . . Honest to God, Olivia, don’t ever have kids. I’ve been to the emergency room twice with him just this month. Do you have any idea how many things a three-year-old can stick up his nose?”
As Alyssa detailed the exact objects Hunter had stashed in his nasal cavity, Olivia remembered how Alyssa’s irreverent humor used to make her laugh.
“So what’s up with you?” Alyssa said. “Ready to tackle Tosca yet?”
Olivia’s mezzo-soprano wasn’t well suited for that role, but Alyssa had never had more than a rudimentary grasp of opera. “A temporary gig,” Olivia said. “I signed on to promote Marchand watches.”
“Marchand? Tell me you’re giving out free samples.”
“Unfortunately not. Also . . .” She gripped the phone tighter. “There are two of us on the road together promoting the brand. I’m traveling with Thad Owens.”
“The football player? That’s hysterical.”
An icicle slithered down Olivia’s spine. “‘Hysterical’?”
“The soprano and the quarterback. What a combination, right? Is he still hot? That man was gorgeous.”
Olivia shot to her feet, dread pooling in her stomach. “Alyssa, I’m talking about Thad Owens. The football player who tried to rape you.”
Alyssa laughed. “God, Olivia. You knew that was bogus. Remember? I told you all about it.”
“You didn’t tell me any such thing!” Olivia exclaimed. “You said he backed you into the bedroom. Pinned you down. You came home crying. And you talked about it for weeks afterward.”
“I only cried because Kent walked in on us, and I only talked about it when he was around. Remember how suspicious he was. I can’t believe you’ve forgotten.” She pulled the phone away. “Hunter, stop it! Give me that!” She readjusted the phone. “Anyway . . . So I met Thad at a party just when Kent and I were getting serious. Kent went off to shoot pool or something, and Thad and I started talking. One thing led to another, and we were making out. Then Kent walked in on us, and I needed to come up with an excuse quick. I told you all that.”
“You didn’t tell me anything!” Olivia felt sick. “I tried to get you to go to the police.”
“Oh, yeah . . . Now I remember. I was afraid if I told you the truth, you’d tell Kent. You were always the righteous one.” Water ran in the background. “Here, Hunter. Have a drink.” The water shut off. “Can you believe I walked away from a chance at a relationship with Thad Owens because I didn’t want a loser like Kent to dump me?”
Olivia sank back down on the side of the bed and dug her hand into the mattress. “The only loser, Alyssa, is you.”
“What are you getting so upset about? It’s not like I accused him or anything.”
“You did accuse him. To me.”
“Did you say something to him?”
“Oh, yes. I said a lot.”
“Shit.”
“Shit, indeed.” In her rush to judgment against Thad Owens, Olivia had forgotten that Alyssa could be both self-centered and manipulative. That was exactly why Rachel had never liked her. Olivia should have trusted her best friend’s opinion. She pressed her hand to her stomach. “False accusations have consequences, Alyssa. They make real rape victims afraid to speak out because they don’t think anyone will believe them.”
“Ease up, okay? Stop being so judgy.”
Olivia’s voice shook. “Wrong is wrong, and lying like you did is a betrayal of every woman who’s been assaulted.”
“Jesus, Olivia. You’re making too big a deal out of this. You always did think you were better than anybody else.”
“Good-bye, Alyssa. And lose my number.”
“Hey, you’re the one who called me.”
“It won’t happen again.”
*
Olivia was furious with herself. She hadn’t been thinking clearly for days, but that was no excuse for the way she’d attacked him. Some superhero she’d turned out to be. A crusader for justice? How about a dispenser of injustice. She’d known Alyssa wasn’t always reliable, and even drunk, she shouldn’t have attacked someone without verifying the facts. Adam was already on her conscience, and she didn’t need another transgression to add to her list of misdeeds. She had to apologize immediately.
She paced the living room waiting for him to get back from the gym. Eventually, the door opened. She tried to form exactly the right words, but before she could utter a single one, he’d strode past her as if she didn’t exist and disappeared into his bedroom.
She started pacing again. This was torturous. She pressed her ear to his door and heard the shower water stop running. She hurried to the closest couch, kicked off her flats, and picked up a magazine.
No one liked to admit when she’d been wrong, but this was a big wrong, and it had to be righted. Once this was over, she could only hope he didn’t believe in holding a grudge.
She tugged at the knee of her yoga pants, turned a page of the magazine without having read a word. His door finally opened.
When she’d seen him only as a sexual predator, his off-the-chart good looks had been an insult. But now? He wore a dark blue blazer, faded jeans, a gray T-shirt, and he might be the handsomest man she’d ever met. Thick dark hair, dazzling green eyes set off with dark brows and full lashes, cheekbones that hit the sweet spot between too sharp and too blunt. His top and bottom lips were perfect. If she’d been born with his looks instead of being saddled with her own strong features, she might have had an easier time of it. All that perfection was wasted on a man who threw footballs for a living.
She’d lost precious seconds ruminating over what couldn’t be changed, and he was nearly at the door. She jumped up from the couch. “I need to talk to you.”
It was as if he hadn’t heard her.
“Wait!”
The hotel room door shut behind him. She shot across the room and out into the hallway. “Mr. Owens! Thad! Wait!”
He continued his march to the elevator.
“Thad!”
The doors slid open and he stepped between them. She just made it inside before they closed.
He punched the button for the lobby without a glance in her direction. The elevator began to descend. “Thad, I want to apologize. I—”
The elevator slid to a stop, and an elderly couple got on. They smiled automatically, and then the woman took a closer look at Olivia.
Please, no.
“Olivia Shore! Oh, my goodness! Is it really you? We heard you sing Princess Eboli in Don Carlos last year in Boston. You were amazing!”
“Thank you.”
Her husband piped in. “‘O don fatale.’ That high B-flat. Unforgettable!”
“I can’t believe we’re meeting you in person,” the woman gushed. “Are you performing here?”
“No, I’m not.”
The elevator stopped at the lobby. Thad strode out ahead of the older couple. Olivia could see they were eager to engage her in a longer conversation. She quickly excused herself and hurried after him.