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.”
He must’ve come in through the back before his driver knocked on the front door? I don’t even care. He’s in my house. He came for me.
My pulse goes wild, throbbing in my throat. He’s so insanely good-looking I can’t focus. It’s not just the sexy suit, the alluring eyes, and strong jawline. It’s the proud way he holds himself, the confidence he carries through every action. He radiates tenacity and strength without opening his mouth.
I clear my voice. “Was I supposed to get in the sedan?”
“You tell me.”
“I think…” I scrunch my face, contemplating. “It doesn’t matter. The point was you wanted me thinking about the night we met.”
Stern and indifferent, he crooks a finger, commanding me closer.
I’m captivated by his eyes. They’re things of beauty and power, made of magical ingredients that fuse with my eyes to create an unbreakable spell. I have to physically shake myself to look away and put one foot in front of the other.
Stepping into the kitchen, I pause just out of arm’s reach. “How did you know I moved back into this house?”
“I had you followed when you left the casino.”
“You didn’t know I was in town?”
“No.” He casts a clinical glance around the kitchen. “How did you get the house back?”
“Apparently, Cole bought it a month after I sold it. You haven’t talked to him?”
He shakes his head, expression tensing. “Why isn’t he here with you? He stopped answering his phone when—”
“I left. Or rather…he left. But it’s not what you think.”
I need a drink, and wine isn’t going to cut it. Crouching, I dig through the bottom cabinet until I find the bottle of scotch I bought a couple weeks ago. Then I pour two glasses and slide one to him.
“When did you start drinking scotch?” He lifts the tumbler to his perfect lips and sips.
“Tonight. Can we…?” I point toward the sitting room. “Sit down?”
At his nod, I lead the way.
We settle on opposite ends of the couch, cradling our drinks. I take a second to steel my backbone. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to fuck this up. I’m just going to lay it all out, honestly and maturely.
“I never got over you.” I gulp down a swallow of scotch and launch into a fit of coughing.
Fuck that shit. I set the glass aside, wait for the burn in my throat to subside, and turn to Trace.
He watches me with disinterest, but I don’t miss the twitch in his fingers. He wants to reach for me, and I desperately want to be worthy of his touch.
“I tried to make it work with Cole.” I brush the hair from my face. “We had the connection, the commitment, it’s just…it wasn’t the same.” I stare into his eyes, let him see the raw wounds in mine. Wounds that bleed for Cole. “When he came back from the grave, I wasn’t the same person. I loved another man, and I still do.”
“But you picked him.” His hand balls against his thigh. “He’s your first choice.”
“He was a choice. Don’t you get it? You were never a decision.” I breathe in, recalling the words he said to me. “You’re the realization clawing at my insides without coercion or doubt or the pressure of time. My heart beats for you and only you, not because you command it, but because we’re meant to be.”
He sets the glass on the coffee table and rises from the couch, staring at the front door.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, heart aching. “For everything, but mostly for making you so unhappy.”
“I’m a grown man, Danni.” His voice is harsh, snapping through the room. “I don’t need your apologies or your coddling.”
Sucking in a breath, I jump to my feet. “I’m not coddling, dammit. I’m fighting.” I dart around the coffee table and stand before him, tilting my head back to see his face. “The day we went on the balloon ride, you told me I made you ridiculously happy, like you discovered a magical cure. You said you wanted to lock me away and protect me. Remember that?”
His jaw stiffens as he glares at me. Yeah, he remembers.
“I want to make you feel that way again. Lock me away, Trace. Do whatever you want with me. Just let me in.”
His unnatural stillness makes my scalp tingle. I search the shadows darkening his face, looking for hints that he’s considering my words. I only see pain.
He reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, removes a folded document, and offers it to me. I don’t have to open it to know it’s an employment contract. It’s not a tearful reunion, but it’s a lifeline, nonetheless. I grab on with both hands.
“Same terms we agreed on last time?” I unfold the pages.
“Read it.”
His detached tone makes my skin crawl. Be patient with him, Danni.
From the drawer in the coffee table, I remove a pen. Then I quickly scan the document and make a few changes. Instead of working five days a week, I’ll work seven. Instead of the obscene salary I proposed last time, I want a reasonable wage for a dancer.
“There.” I hand it back to him. “Those are the new terms.”
He glances at the modifications without emotion and returns the papers to his pocket. “You’ll start tomorrow.”
No argument. No reaction. I hate the distance between us. “Tell me about your dinner date.”
Pinning his lips, he heads toward the exit.
Dammit, I said the wrong thing. “Don’t go. We can—”
“Goodnight, Danni.”
He opens the door and steps onto the porch.
When I came back to St. Louis, I didn’t expect him to welcome me with open arms. But this…this is worse than a cold shoulder. It’s a kick in the teeth. He’s going out of his way to reject me without actually saying the words. If he didn’t feel anything for me, he’d tell me to leave him the hell alone.
It’s like he’s trying to prove he can’t and won’t be effected by me, as if having feelings for me is a flaw.
“Trace?” I stand on the porch, hugging my waist and shivering against the chill.
He slows his strides along the sidewalk and stops, tilting his head without looking back.
I raise my voice. “If you still love me, even after I broke your heart, that’s not a weakness. It’s bravery.”
His chest rises and falls. Then he climbs into the back of the sedan and leaves.