James bit back a curse. The headline was pure sensationalism. In the image accompanying it on the page, Sienna smiled up at him, her stilettos in her hand, as they exited the art gallery.
He’d been clueless to the shot being taken, just as he had to the article being written. He’d thought he’d shut down anything like this last night with the call to Clarinda, but this had apparently slipped through somehow.
Christ, what have I done?
The paper rustled again as Sienna turned to the front page.
“It’s one of his.” Zach scowled at James. “I already checked. He can’t blame a rival paper just trying to create a scandal.”
My paper. My karma. My hell.
Sienna didn’t move. Didn’t lift her head to look at him. Just continued to study the paper in her hand. His paper. Dyson Media Corps’ second-highest daily rag. The most tabloid paper to be sure, but still, one of his.
Response after response reeled through his mind, each one an attempt to pacify her, to deflect her rage. He rejected each one. If this was a business confrontation, he’d know exactly how to handle it, how to shut down the situation, how to crush the opposition and accusations. But it wasn’t. And anything he said in an attempt to lessen the monumental fuck-up would result in Sienna hating him even more than she already did.
And still, he searched his mind for what to do, what to say. He had to do something. He couldn’t let the best thing in his life go without a fight. He refused to. He wouldn’t. He would fight to keep what he had. He would…
Behave like a Dyson?
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple like a jagged rock in his throat. “I didn’t know this was going to print. I tried to shut down the plan…” He swallowed again. “My plan, last night. I left a message with my assistant—”
“Last night,” Sienna finished for him. Nothing in her face told him what she was thinking. “You tried to stop it last night.”
James ground his teeth at the significance of those two words. Cold contempt twisted through him. Less than twelve hours ago, his plan had still been in play. They’d slept together twice before that, and his plan had still been in motion.
Zach was right. He was a prick. A selfish, arrogant fucking prick.
“Sienna,” he began. What did he say? Sorry? Huh, sorry wouldn’t even come close to expressing how shitty he felt.
She sighed, shaking her head. “Y’know what? I’m done. We’re done. You and I. Done.” She turned to Thomas—standing beside them, quiet and motionless. “Mr. St. Clair, if you send me your details, I’ll arrange for the drawing to be delivered to you.”
Thomas nodded, even as he flicked James a quick look. “Sounds good.”
Sienna returned her attention to James. “Mr. Dyson, you can leave now. I won’t be completing your portrait. I’ll find someone else to paint for the Barton.”
His breath tore at his tight throat. He reached for her hand. Christ, he was aching all over. Maybe if they were touching, maybe if their fingers were threaded together he’d stand a chance of stopping this nightmare? “Please let me—”
She stepped backward. “If you’re not leaving, I am. I can’t be in the same room as you.”
She turned and hurried through her studio space, heading for the door.
“Sienna!” He hurried to follow.
A firm hand on his arm stopped him.
“Dude.” Thomas released his arm. “Don’t. I know what a woman who needs to be left alone looks like. You go after her now and keep talking to her, you’re only going to make it worse.”
Right. Thomas was right, but goddamn it, every fiber in his body demanded he chase her. He clawed at his scalp, the cold weight in his chest turning to shards of ice when she pulled the door shut behind her.
Gone. She’s gone.
“You’re a fuckwit, Dyson.”
He let out a ragged breath at Zachary’s flat statement.
“I agree, dude.” Thomas grimaced, wry disappointment in his voice. “I have no clue how you’re going to fix—”
A scream outside cut him off.
James’s blood ran to ice. Sienna’s scream. High and angry and scared.
Scared.