My day’s half over when my phone chimes with an incoming text, from yet another number I don’t recognize.

You’re absolutely clueless, aren’t you, dumb bitch? Get your head out of your ass and pay attention.

My heart starts pounding and I set my phone face down on my desk, perhaps a little too hard.

“Everything okay?” Sam asks, eyeing me from the sofa, where he’s playing a video game on a laptop computer.

“Yeah. It was a wrong number.”

Erin breezes into my office at that moment. “Who wants pizza for lunch?” she says, grinning. “Let’s walk over to Gino’s.”

Sam raises his hand. “Pizza? Hell yes. Count me in if the boss lady’s going.”

I laugh. “I think we’re a go then, because I’m definitely in.” Going out for lunch with these guys is the best antidote to nasty text messages.

Just as I’m grabbing my purse, Erin cocks her head, listening. “What’s that sound?”

We all listen for a moment, and Sam mutes the sound effects on his video game. There’s a low buzz coming from downstairs, and it’s getting louder. The noise quickly grows into a dull roar punctuated by excited squeals.

Mack pops his head through my open office door. “Celebrity in the house,” he says, and then he’s gone as quickly as he arrived.

We all three jump up and head down the hallway to the balcony overlooking the first floor. A huge crowd has gathered just inside the entrance, and Jonah Locke is signing things... all kinds of things. Books, random pieces of paper, tourist maps, even the back of a teenage girl’s hand. Lia’s at his side, of course, looking all bad-ass in a pair of Ray Ban aviator shades and chunky black boots. She’s performing crowd control as eager fans press closer.

Jonah’s wearing dark sunglasses, too, as well as a baseball cap in an attempt to hide his trademark hair, but still he’s hard to miss. He looks amazing in his grungy jeans, graphic T, and black leather jacket. His dark hair is pulled up into a man-bun, which is tucked up inside the cap, and that gorgeous face of his, with its trim beard, is a dead giveaway.

Since leaving Los Angeles, Jonah has adjusted to his new city quite well. Now, with his own private recording studio, he’s enjoying his new solo career. I assume his happiness is due, in large part, to the absence of his former, incredibly annoying manager, Dwight Peterson. That, and he has a new girlfriend who rocks his boat, I’m sure.

Jonah left the mainstream music industry and went out on his own hoping to keep a low profile, but ironically, the opposite has happened. He’s more popular than ever, and there are half a dozen new social media accounts set up now to track his movements in the city. Lia has her work cut out for her managing crowds and keeping the paparazzi in line. And now she’s developed something of a following herself – she’s the hot female bodyguard who’s been seen kissing Jonah Locke.

I wave over the balcony at Lia, and she waves back. I check Twitter and see that #JonahLockeSighting is trending already. Twitter is lit up like crazy with tweets saying he’s been spotted at Clancy’s Bookshop, with lots of pictures of the rock star autographing all sorts of memorabilia.

I text Lia:

We’re going to Gino’s for lunch. Come with?

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and texts me back one-handed while simultaneously managing the crowd.

God, yes. I’m starving. We’ll meet you there.

Lia says something to Jonah, then she grabs his sleeve and maneuvers him out the door. Mack runs interference so they can make their getaway without being followed, and once they’re gone, he disperses the crowd and the buzz quickly dies down.

Now that the coast is clear, the three of us head down the stairs to tell Mack we’re going out to lunch.

Erin grabs her purse and jacket from behind the sales counter. “Let’s go. I’m starving!”

I notice Mack watching Erin as she attempts to put on her jacket while simultaneously juggling her purse and her phone. He steps in and takes the jacket from her, holding it for her while she slips her arms into the sleeves.

“Thanks,” she says, blushing up at him.

She is so crushing on that man.

“You’re welcome,” Mack says, returning her smile. Without taking his eyes off her, he reaches out to free her dark hair where it’s trapped beneath the collar of her jacket. I recognize longing when I see it.

Mack says something that makes Erin laugh. Physically, they couldn’t be more different. Mack is a big guy, at least six-five and built like a tank, with a broad chest and muscular arms. His chocolate brown hair is cut short – a leftover from his military days, I’m sure – and it matches his eyes. He’s Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome – literally. Erin, on the other hand, is a dark-haired, freckle-faced, delicate flower with a peaches-and-cream complexion, unexpected blue eyes, and dimples. He’s GI Joe, and she’s a porcelain doll.

The three of us head outside to walk the short distance to the restaurant. Lia and Jonah are nowhere in sight, so I guess they’re already at our destination getting us a table.

I text her:

We’re on our way.

Erin walks in front of me, and Sam walks beside me, positioning himself between me and the street. He goes overboard sometimes when it comes to his bodyguard duties. I’m sure I’m perfectly safe walking down a busy Chicago sidewalk in the middle of the day. But he takes his job very seriously, and he answers to Shane. I guess that would make anyone take his job seriously.

When we arrive at the restaurant, the manager greets us at the door and escorts us to a small private dining room, where Lia and Jonah are already seated. Two female servers are bustling around the table, arranging place settings, silverware, napkins, and glasses of ice water. Even candles! We do get the special treatment when Jonah is around.

We order four pizzas and two pitchers of soft drinks, and while we’re waiting for our food, Sam and Erin beg Jonah to tell us stories about crazy fan encounters. I’m relaxed and enjoying the company of my friends, but there’s one crucial person missing. I know he might be busy, but I call him anyway, just to see if there’s any chance he can join us for lunch.

My call goes straight to voice mail, which tells me he’s switched off his phone. He must be in a meeting. I call his admin, Diane, to find out if he’ll be free anytime soon.

 “Diane, hi!” I say, when she picks up. “I’m trying to reach Shane, but his phone’s turned off. He’s probably in a meeting. Do you know if he’ll be free soon?”

“I’m sorry, honey, but he’s not here right now. He left about an hour ago without telling me where he’s going, and I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

“Oh.”  I try hard not to feel disappointed. After all, he’s a busy man, and he has meetings with clients all over the city. “Okay, thanks.”

“Do you want me to give him a message?”

“No, that’s all right. I was just wondering if he was free for lunch. Maybe another time.”

I end the call and try not to dwell on the fact that his phone is turned off. He never does that. But I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for it. I’m not going to start getting paranoid and read things into his actions.

Our food arrives in record time, and we dig in to our deep-dish Chicago-style pizzas as the conversation continues. Sam tells us harrowing stories from his days in the military, but the most horrific one is about his failed parachute jump – the one that broke over a dozen bones in his body and ended his career in the Army Rangers.

“I owe my life to a Maple tree,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “If that tree hadn’t been there to break my fall, I wouldn’t be sitting here eating pizza with you all.”

When my phone chimes with an incoming text, my belly flutters in hopeful anticipation. Maybe it’s Shane calling back. Maybe there’s still time for him to join us for lunch.

But no, it’s an unknown caller again. My stomach sinks. I’m so tired of these messages. As I read this one, a chill ripples through me.

I told you I’d prove it.

I sit there staring at the cryptic message. And soon it’s followed by another one.

Why don’t you ask your fiancé where he was today at lunch?

Then, a half-dozen images spam my phone, one after another. In the first image, Shane is talking to Luciana on the sidewalk outside a shop on N. Michigan. The photo was taken from across the street, using a telephoto lens. Luciana is dressed in a form-fitting red dress and matching heels and a short, white leather jacket. Shane’s dressed in his customary suit and tie, and he’s holding a small, white shopping bag.

I recognize the logo on the bag – it’s from the jewelry store where we bought our wedding bands last week. He must have picked up our wedding bands today. Instantly, my heart starts pounding. This photo is recent.

In the second image, Luciana’s hands are framing Shane’s face, and she’s leaning into him, her lips plastered to his.

In the third image, the angle is different, taken from behind Shane. His long fingers are threaded through her dark hair, and he’s holding her tightly against his body, his mouth locked onto hers. There are three more images of them kissing on the sidewalk, practically devouring each other in public. In one of the images, his hand has dropped to cover her breast. In another, both of his hands have slipped down to cup her buttocks, and he’s pulling her tightly against him.

No! No! No! This can’t be happening! My mind is reeling as it refuses to accept what I’m seeing. This isn’t real! It can’t be. He wouldn’t do this!

But the images are right in front of me, irrefutable proof. I scroll up to the first image, and it’s clearly Shane. There’s no doubt about it. And in the second one, his brow is tightly furrowed, as if she took him by surprise. But I guess his shock didn’t last long, because in the remaining four photos, he’s practically eating her alive.

“All I have to do is snap my fingers and he’d come running,” she said.

Apparently, she was right.

I’m going to be sick. I jump up from the table and race for the adjoining ladies’ room before I lose my lunch in front of an audience.