All I want is for Ace Kingsley to disappear from my life, to go back to wherever it is that he dropped in from.

On Saturday, when I get back to my apartment, the silence reminds me of a cathedral. Instead of empty and depressing, the absence of sound—except the low hum of my refrigerator in the kitchen, the blowing air from the air conditioning unit as it cycles on and off—it wraps itself around me like a blanket. After the thundering noise of the Swan and the serrated daggers of Ace’s voice this morning, I can’t even bear to put my iPhone in its dock and play background music to work.

I take another shower, stripping myself of all the scents from the Four Seasons. My hair is heavy and wet, but I don’t bother drying it. I towel it off and then brush it back, hard, into a tight bun.

I could use a trim, and it’ll be nice to have someone wash my hair and massage my temples. My favorite salon in the city is three blocks away, so before I do anything else, I text my hairdresser, Janine. She normally doesn’t do weekend appointments, but today is my lucky day.

I laugh bitterly at the thought.

I’m doing a wedding party at the salon tomorrow. Done at 3:00. You want to come down?

Hell yes.

:)

Janine is the one person I can count on in the entire city not to ask me about Ace Kingsley, and the thought loosens some of the tension in my shoulders.

That asshole isn’t going to get the better of me. Not today, not ever.

And you know what? I’m done with one-night stands. He was hot as hell, and the sex was…well, it was mind-blowing. If I think about it separately from his douchebag behavior this morning, it still makes the space between my legs heat up.

Forget about him. There’s a man out there who’s even better, and when the time is right, I’ll find him, and I’ll take him. No doubt about it.

Some doubt pricks at the back of my mind. Are you sure? Are you one hundred percent sure that somebody can top that?

The brutal truth? No. I’m not sure, and it pisses me off.

In the end, what can I do?

Ace Kingsley wants nothing to do with me. When it comes right down to it, I’m probably dodging a bullet by not getting involved with him. Past experience tells me that it would end in disaster. The memory of cheating Anderson floats into view, and I slap it away, forcing it back into the past.

Not entirely, of course. But enough that I can move on.

Well, screw him. I don’t want anything to do with him either.

On Sunday afternoon, I linger in my walk-in closet, choosing a boho maxi dress in a bright, cheery pattern and pairing it with buttery leather boots. I start with my best bra and panty set, the one that makes me feel the sexiest, and then slip the dress on over my shoulders, finishing with the boots.

Then I sit down at my lighted vanity and open my makeup case. Two weeks ago I went to the makeup megastore on 5^th and 9^th and filled a bag with new stuff from Smashbox and Elizabeth Arden, replenishing my stash with smooth new containers and bottles and a new set of brushes. I work my own magic on my face until there’s no sign I might have been holding back tears.

I look fabulous.

There’s only one more thing I need to do before I head to the salon. My laptop is right where I left it, perched on the desk in the living room, the fall sunlight streaming down on it like a heavenly beacon. The dust motes in the air are almost transfixing.

Yeah—a nap is in order when I get back from being pampered.

I flip open the cover of the laptop and tap at the keyboard to wake it up. It takes no time to respond, and in seconds I’m at the Rainflower Blue login screen.

Of course, today is the day that the site has exploded with traffic, with new posts.

And they’re all about Ace Kingsley.

At least half of them are about Ace Kingsley leaving the Swan last night.

My heart rate speeds up.

I have options. I can confirm some of the rumors, as Magnolia, right now. I can ignore it entirely and wait until this blows over. Or I can keep watching, waiting, until the right move becomes more obvious.

I choose the most innocuous thread, titled ACE KINGSLEY, NEW YORK CITY?? and make a post at the end of all the chatter. Ace Kingsley is back in New York City. Then I change the title of the thread to read CONFIRMED: ACE KINGSLEY IS IN NEW YORK CITY.

That will be enough fodder for discussion until I feel like wading into this. I need to know what people are saying before I respond, if I ever do. The fact that I went home with him last night won’t help or harm anyone.

Unless, of course, he’s got a secret wife from Italy who also happens to be a member of Rainflower Blue.

Doubtful.

When in doubt, stay silent.

I’ll come back to this when I’m good and ready.

I grab my purse from the hook by the door and sling it over my shoulder, feeling lighter already. At least the conversation about Ace is in my kingdom. I can engage with it if I choose. I’m in control.

The elevator deposits me in the lobby a few moments later. I can’t wait to be back in the September sun.

I take a deep breath as I step out in front of the building, looking forward to the stroll I have ahead of me, only to be confronted with the sight of a massive moving truck. There are six men moving furniture out of it and onto the sidewalk.

Someone’s moving into my building.

I vaguely remember running into the realtor in the elevator a few weeks ago, but this seems like a quick sale. As far as I know, the only unit available in the building is the penthouse unit, and that would be….

My thoughts grind to a halt as a man in a white button-down tucked into flawlessly pressed, tailored pants steps around from the back of the truck, directing the other men in a voice that’s as collected and confident as ever.

It’s Ace Kingsley.

And that asshole is moving into my place.