“I'm sorry, Mr. Lindstrom.” The man in front of me wrung his hands, his eyes wide and over-bright. “You know I would do anything to be able to help you out, but there some things I just can't do.”

If he’d do anything, then why in the hell wouldn’t he give me her phone number? He was the owner of the fucking salon, and he wouldn't just give me some way to contact her. I could've gone to her house, I supposed, but I knew she lived with her parents, and I didn't want to get them involved in any of this. I just wanted to talk to her.

The near panic in his gaze had me turning away before I made it even worse. I didn't like using who I was to intimidate people, even unintentionally. Shoving my hands through my hair, I stared hard at her work area as if that would make her appear.

So far, it hadn’t worked.

“When is she working again?” I demanded suddenly.

“Would you like to make an appointment?” Alistair asked hesitantly.

“No,” I snapped. And a split second later, I realized I should have said yes.

“Well…” Alistair cleared his throat, then in the same, apologetic tone, he continued, “I really can't be giving out my employee's schedules...” The words trailed off, then he smiled at me, brightening. “Perhaps if you could leave your information? I could give it to Allie, and then she could contact you.”

Somehow I didn't think she would do that. I had a feeling that if I didn't make the effort, I'd never see her again. She’d run away this morning because she hadn’t wanted to face me.

The likelihood of her calling me? I placed my odds at about a million to one.

Part of me should've been glad, and I knew it. She’d saved us both the awkward morning after talk, and if I’d just let it go, I wouldn’t have to worry about apologizing or seeing her again.

It would all just be over.

But I didn’t want it to be over.

I wanted to see her again.

I wanted to touch her again.

I just plain wanted her.

And no matter what, I needed to apologize for the position I'd put her in.

Aware that the manager was still staring at me, I met his eyes. “No, that’s not necessary. Thanks.”

Two hours later, I stood at the curb in front of the house where we'd picked her up Friday night. I hadn't wanted to come here, but I knew I hadn't had much of a choice in the matter. I needed to see her.

A few people glanced my way, their gazes lingering. Then those gazes moved to the car and lingered even longer. Part of me wondered if the McLaren would be in one piece after I spoke with Allie, or if it'd even be here at all.

Tossing my keys up and down, I took the steps at a jog, feeling like a bug under a microscope.

I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Blowing out a breath, I waited a minute, then tried again.

It wasn’t early, but we’d definitely had a…busy night. But shouldn't her family have been home? What were the chances that she, her younger brother, and her parents were all out?

I tried again.

Still no answer.

Son of a bitch.

* * *

I went back Sunday morning.

The apartment was the only address that I had, but I now knew it wasn't where Allie lived. According to one of the nosy neighbors, no deaf people lived in the building. Which made me think that maybe Allie had asked us to pick her up at her friend's house.

Her male friend who'd gone with her to get her dress.

But it was the only place I could wait. It was Sunday, and her brother’s school would be closed.

I couldn’t loiter at the salon either. I had a feeling I'd give Alistair a heart-attack if I did that.

So I tried the apartment, again, waiting until ten, hoping that would be late enough I wouldn’t wake her, early enough that she wasn’t out.

Hands in my pockets, I stood at the door and waited.

No answer.

I pushed it again.

No answer.

Swearing, I leaned into it this time, held it for almost ten seconds before I let go.

Damn it, I needed to see Allie–

“What the hell?” a sleepy voice said through the speaker.

A sleepy male voice.

Son of a bitch.

Staring at the little box for a longer minute, I sucked in a breath, hardly able to process the anger that blasted through me. It was a man's apartment. Her friend. But maybe he was more than a friend.

A stab of jealousy went through me.

“Who’s there?” the man demanded, a little less sleepy this time. “You wake me up, you can at least tell me what you want.”

I turned and stormed back to the car.

What I wanted was to reach through the speaker and rip out his larynx. After, of course, I asked him where Allie was.

But I didn’t think that was the right way to handle it. Especially since I didn't really have the right to be angry.

After all, I had a fiancée I needed to speak with.

* * *

After the day I’d had, the last thing I wanted to do was see Paisley. I'd even decided I'd wait until tomorrow to talk with her. Except, the moment I stepped into my loft, I knew I wouldn’t have that luxury.

I heard the TV blaring from down the hall – one of those insane bridal reality shows. She did nothing but snark at them, but she loved watching them, and trying to make me watch them with her was her new current pastime.

I was tempted to just go straight to the bedroom, but that wasn’t going to happen. On the way down the hall, I paused at my office door and stared in. I'd cleaned up enough that my weekly housekeeper wouldn't find anything incriminating, so there was no sign of Allie. But I could still feel her everywhere. I smelled her skin on mine, felt her hair against my body, tasted her on my tongue.

Staring at the desk, I remembered going to my knees in front of her, spreading her wide and licking her slit, holding her open. She’d moaned, arching against me.

Reaching up, I grabbed the carved oak door frame and squeezed. Hunger pulsed inside me as the memory played out, her hands in my hair, her lips on mine, tasting herself on and in my mouth.

A laugh rang out from down the hall, and the memory of Allie shattered.

With dread, I pulled away from the office doorway and started down the hall, on down the wide, arched entryway that led to the informal living room. Paisley sat curled up on the couch, her bare feet tucked under her, a smile on her lips. She started to lift a glass of water for a sip, then paused as she caught sight of me.

“Hello, darling.”

She rose from the couch and came to me, pressing her lips to my cheek. I couldn’t even find it in me to smile at her. Just looking at her filled me with this sense of resignation. How was I supposed to marry her?

I’d been apathetic about this from the start, but since I met Allie, I knew there was something more out there.

Not love. Certainly not that. But something more than what I had with this woman.

“I missed you,” she murmured, her lips still against my skin. She slid her hand down my chest, and I reached up to catch her wrist.

I hadn’t missed her. I hadn’t seen her since we parted ways the weekend I proposed, and I’d barely thought of her.

Guilt twisted into slippery knots, and I felt even worse now than I had yesterday. I’d been debating all weekend – did I tell her? How much? Did I pretend it hadn’t happened?

Now, face to face, I still didn’t know. The insane thing was that part of me suspected Paisley wouldn’t give a damn, as long as I was discreet and as long I kept it all away from her.

She didn’t love me.

I didn’t love her.

We both knew that.

We’re suited…I’d said those words to Allie, and she’d said it sounded insulting. I'd disagreed at the time, but now I thought she was right.

Now, standing there as Paisley leaned against me, all I could think about was how much fun I’d had with Allie, how easy it had been to laugh with her and talk to her. How often I'd thought about her during the day.

This wasn't working, I realized.

Paisley drew away, head tipped back as she smiled up at me. I returned the smile because it was expected, but I knew the smile was every bit as strained as it felt.

This wasn't working.

And I couldn’t lie and pretend it was.

I had to do what was right for our child, and that meant not making him or her a part of a lie.

“What’s wrong, Jal?” Paisley asked, her cool grey eyes searching my face. “Don’t tell me that you and Daddy got into another argument about the stock market. And if you did...never mind.” She turned away, making a dismissive gesture. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear all those figures and facts. They hurt my head.”

It was a game between us, a tedious one in my opinion, but a game regardless. Paisley knew more about the stock market than she let on and it was no surprise to me. She was Kendrick Hedge’s daughter, and he was a financial genius.

It might not be possible to grow up in that household and not learn a thing or two about the stock market, but Paisley preferred to pretend otherwise. Her world was limited to the social world, who to know and where to shop and what shoes one mustn’t wear.

“No. I didn’t even see him Friday night,” I answered honestly.

“Friday night?” Her brow puckered, then she waved her hand. “Oh, yes. That charity for poor kids.”

“It’s an inner-city project for schools, Paisley.” I’d told her that a hundred times.

“Of course.” She shrugged and sat back down on the couch. “Father decided not to go. Mama wanted him with her at a banquet for the Conservation Hall, then they went out with the Franklins.”

I didn’t care. Clearing my throat, I moved over to the bar setup and poured myself a stiff drink. It wasn’t stiff enough though, so I made it a double before I turned to look at her. “We need to talk.”

I had to get this done now.

Something flickered in Paisley’s eyes, and the guilt in my gut twisted just a little bit harder. Had she just paled? Her mouth had gotten tighter.

Did she know–?

Stop. How can she know?

“Of course, darling.” She gave me a smile, her composure perfectly in place. Maybe I’d imagined it. She patted the seat next to her. “Why don’t you come sit down?”

I stayed where I was, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans as I mentally rehearsed things once more.

I had to do this.

For everyone involved.

“First, I want you to know that no matter what, I’m going to stand by my responsibilities.”

It was pretty obvious she had no idea what I was saying. At first, at least.

Then she did and red crept up her check and to her neck before settling on her cheeks. She kept her composure though. After all, this was Paisley Hedges. She didn’t lose her temper. It just wasn't done.

“What, exactly, does that mean, Jal? Of course you’re standing by your responsibilities. We're engaged.” She stroked her thumb over her ring and smiled at me, but it was strained, too tight at the edges.

Looking away, I took a drink from the glass in my hand before I spoke again, “Paisley, I’m not so sure about the engagement. I’m not so sure about any of this. I need some time off.”

“Time off?” she demanded, her voice rising.

Shit. Her composure was cracking.

“You want time off.” She flung out a hand. “That’s just great, Jal. Great. You do realize I’m pregnant. I’m planning a wedding. Those sort of things don’t really allow for time off.”

Her voice hitched, then broke.

Shit.

“Paisley…”

I started for her, but she turned away, grabbed her shoes, her purse. “Leave me alone, you bastard!”

She slammed the door behind her, and I knew that I'd made a second choice that would change my life completely.