“He hasn’t answered his phone in over a month.”
My pulse quickens. Cole hasn’t called him? That means Trace didn’t know I was back.
I straighten my spine and meet his cold, unwelcoming eyes. “It turns out I was right about one thing.”
“Just one?”
I’m sure there are other things, but I don’t recall them at the moment. “Yeah.”
He releases a haughty huff. “What were you right about?”
“Love isn’t a choice.”
A twitch tugs at his mouth, there and gone so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.
Then something shifts in his demeanor. The stiffness in his spine leaks away, slightly dropping his shoulders. His expression slackens. His eyes grow distant, empty, and that’s when I see it.
Deep sorrow.
My heart beats frantically, stabbing pain through my stomach. Maybe he’s trying to find happiness with the quiet beauty at his table. Maybe he’s too heartbroken to ever forgive me. But beneath his cool facade, he’s not okay. Not even close.
I bend toward him, holding his gaze until my mouth reaches his ear. “I’m going to fight for you.”
His hand flexes on his lap, and the intoxicating scent of his skin threatens to bring me to my knees.
“Enjoy your dinner.” I step back and force my feet to turn toward the door.
Then I go home.
Standing in my bathroom an hour later, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and cringe. I’m going to fight for you?
“Good one, Danni,” I mumble around the toothbrush hanging from my mouth. “How are you going to do that exactly?”
Impulsive as usual, I jumped in without a plan. What I wanted to do was rip that woman away from the table by her Pantene hair and toss her out of the restaurant. But I won’t win Trace by behaving like a psychotic, jealous bitch. He deserves better.
He deserves respect, sacrifice, and patience—all the things he’s given me.
Maybe his dinner date is a worthy, ideal partner for him. If so, points for her. She’s elegantly beautiful, and she’s never broken his heart. More points in her favor.
But her greatest competition is a woman who has nothing to lose and everything to gain. There isn’t a soul in the world who will fight as hard as I intend to fight for his happiness.
By tomorrow night, I’ll have the dance position at Bissara. He’s had seven months to hire someone. The job is still open because he wants me on that stage. After we negotiate a salary and schedule, I’ll dance my way through his chilly exterior.
I don’t have a strategy after that, but one thing I won’t do is give up. I let him go twice, and both times destroyed me. I’ve fallen and lost and hit rock bottom, and through the deepest pain, I found strength, found myself, and found what makes my heart beat.
Dressed in fleece pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt, I head to the kitchen and pour a glass of wine. Before the glass touches my lips, the doorbell rings.
Every muscle in my body tenses. It’s after ten o’clock. My neighbors are asleep. Bree has school early in the morning. There’s only one person who would show up at my door at this hour.
Trembling, twisting, nervousness rises and swells, months of separation threatening to spew my dinner across the kitchen floor. I swallow down the nausea and breathe. Another deep breath, and I concentrate on my lungs all the way to the door. But my tenuous grip on composure slips as I turn the lock.
I’m so nervous I don’t remember to check the peep hole until I open the door to…someone I’ve never seen before.
Black suit, weathered face, and silver hair, a short man stares back at me, expressionless. Parked behind him on the curb is a black sedan.
Is he one of Trace’s drivers? Is Trace inside that car? I squint at the tinted windows, unable to see the interior.
“I’m Oliver, a private chauffeur for The Regal Arch Casino and Hotel.” He lifts his chin. “Mr. Savoy would like to meet with you.”
His words invoke a profound sense of déjà vu, transporting me back to the night Trace and I met. A delicious shiver races through me, making me want to relive that moment, over and over. Maybe that’s Trace’s intent.
“Why does he want to meet with me?” I repeat the question I asked his assistant that night.
“He wants to discuss your services.”
The same answer. This has to be rehearsed.
My heartbeat accelerates. “If he wants dance lessons, he can set up an appointment.”
“He’s waiting.”
In the car? Instead of wasting words, I dart around him and sprint across the frozen grass, hunching against the cold. When I reach the sedan, I yank open the rear passenger door. My heart stops.
The back seat, the front seat, the entire fucking car is empty.
Shit. I close the door and back away, stomach clenching.
“Ma’am?” Oliver appears at my side. “I’m here to escort you to the casino.”
What game is Trace playing? Should I go along with it? Or should I stick to the script from the night we met? I bet he expects the latter, and I don’t want to disappoint him. I’ve done that enough.
“He can make an appointment.” I hug my chest and plod back inside. “I have plans tonight.”
“He was quite adamant, Miss.” Oliver trails behind me and pauses on the front porch. “The offer is now.”
“Send my regrets to Mr. Savoy.” I close the door partway, peering through the gap. “If he’s interested in my services, he can call on me himself.”
I close the door, twist the lock, and drop my forehead against the wood. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Did I do the right thing? I want to fight for Trace, not piss him off.
He sent a driver to take me back to the casino. Does that mean he ended his date? Maybe not. He knows me well enough to predict I wouldn’t have jumped into that car.
Dammit, I hate these fucking head games.
My insides shrivel as I pace through the sitting room. A year and a half ago, I sent Trace’s assistant away only to find him sitting on my couch like he owned the place. The mystery, the sexual tension, everything about that night was thrilling. He loved me then, and I didn’t know it. I didn’t even know him.
That night marks a transitional point in my life. I was grieving Cole, wholly in love with him. Trace showed up and tipped my world upside down.
I still love Cole, but everything’s different now.
My heart belongs to Trace, and I hurt him. Possibly irreparably.
Tomorrow, I’ll go to the casino as planned and get my job back. Then I’ll do whatever is needed to make him happy again.
With a reinforcing breath, I stride through the empty dining room, into the hallway, and yelp.
Tall and imposing, Trace stands in the narrow walkway in the kitchen. Hands clasped behind him and shoulders back, he scowls at me with an intensity that lifts the hairs on my nape.
“How did you get in?” After seeing the photos of the dead body in my house, I always make sure the doors are locked. “You broke in.”
“I have keys that will get me past every deadbolt.”