Imani, happily married to a surgeon, had apparently tried to set Thea up with a colleague of her husband’s, only to be stonewalled. “I know Thea’s over Eric,” the other woman had said, “but whatever el slimeball did, he might have put her off men permanently.” A sad sigh.
David wasn’t sad about Thea not dating. He was ecstatic. Because it made it easier to believe that it had been his timing at fault. Like Imani, he didn’t have any fears that Thea was still in love with the dickhead—no, she was too smart to put up with that kind of bullshit. That didn’t mean the bastard hadn’t hurt her; a woman as strong and as independent as Thea rarely allowed herself to be vulnerable, and David had a feeling her ex had used that rare, beautiful trust against her.
Fuck, but David wanted to kick the shit out of him. But more, he wanted to make Thea happy. Even if it meant taking a beating himself.
Getting up off the floor, he grabbed his phone and began to type out a memo on the tiny screen. It took him hours of drafting and redrafting to make sure it said exactly what he wanted it to say. He was still working on it when the band headed out to the concert location—where he saw the last person he’d expected.
Thea, now dressed in sleek black pants that hugged her butt and a soft, silky T-shirt of midnight blue under a dark gray blazer that nipped in at the waist, had come to say good-bye to Molly since the two women had missed each other that morning. Narrowing her eyes when she saw him, Thea ostensibly spoke to the entire band—but he knew the words were directed at him.
“If you want me to continue putting out fires for you,” she said, “do not do anything that interrupts my vacation.” A blistering look that was very definitely focused on David. “And next time someone tells you to put ice on a bruise, you listen!”
Then she was gone, her luggage already in the trunk of the car that was taking her to the airport for her flight to the Indonesian island of Bali, home to her parents and little sisters. He watched her step inside the car, its taillights fading far too quickly into the night.
Even then he didn’t send the memo.
No, he waited until the minute before the concert was about to begin before pushing Send and turning off his phone. At least this way, he wouldn’t be able to torment himself by checking for a response until after the show.
Thea had barely sunk into the comfort of a cushioned armchair in a quiet corner of the airline’s frequent-flyer lounge when her phone chimed. Putting down the glass of champagne she’d allowed herself in anticipation of the first real vacation she’d taken in over a year, she picked up her phone. It was impossible for her to simply ignore it—hazard of having a profession where a single leak or news report could change the trajectory of an entire career.
You never knew if it would be for good or for bad until it happened.
Seeing the message was from David, she felt her abdomen tense. He’d hardly spoken to her today, not that she could blame him. She’d been so worried about that eye of his that she’d snapped at him twice when all she’d wanted was to grip his jaw and check for herself that he was okay. He’d probably written her a nice, polite apology for not contacting her as soon as he was picked up by the cops… Only the thing was, Thea had had it up to here with David being polite to her.
He was polite to her when she had meetings with him and the rest of the band. He was polite to her when she called to ask him his views on particular publicity options. He was polite to her when she joined the band for dinner as a friend and not their publicist. He was always polite.
And nothing else.