Sounds perfect, Kinga replied.
Brief emails and text messages were how she and Griff communicated these days and, over the last three weeks, many days had passed without them touching base at all. She set up the publicity events, he attended them and always managed to steer the conversation back to Ryder International’s hundred years in business, their ball and the Ryder Foundation.
Remaining calm, he charmed the interviewers, insisting that he was still exploring his options career-wise and hadn’t decided on a clear path.
It wasn’t a path she would be walking with him...
Another message popped up on her screen:I’m thinking of dressing the backup singers in bright red sequins with white collars and big, heart brooches.
Knowing he was teasing—because, well, he knew she’d disembowel him if he did that—Kinga responded with a tongue-out emoji and returned her attention to her laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of her, needing to make sense of her master list for the ball, a detailed, massive, color-coded document.
Sitting on the cozy two-seater couch in her office, Kinga felt the familiar burn and reached for the box of antacids on the table next to her. She popped out four, chewed them and prayed for them to work. Her heart was on fire; there was a huge boulder sitting on her chest and a massive, invisible python was wrapped around her ribs.
Her stress-induced indigestion would pass. She just needed the ball to be a success and, after the fourteenth, she would feel like herself again. She was slated to take a two-week holiday, but she’d yet to decide where to go or what to do. Frankly, what she most wanted to do was hole up in her apartment and sleep for a week.
She missed Griff.
No, she missed himdesperately. Missed his intelligent eyes and rough voice, his agile mind and his truly excellent body. They barely knew each other, had barely scraped the surface of what made each other tick, but Kinga knew he had the potential to be someone special in her life.
Hell, he already was.
The truth was that she was mourning a relationship that was never fully formed, and the love she felt for a man she could never be with. He was the one she wanted at her side, the one she couldn’t live without, the puzzle piece she’d been missing.
But she’d sent him away because she was scared...scared to try, scared to love, scared to lose.
But since he wasn’t in love with her, what choice did she have?
Kinga looked up as her office door opened and she pulled up a smile as Tinsley walked into her office and dropped into the seat next to her. She placed her hand on Kinga’s back, and Kinga tipped her head sideways so it connected with her sister’s.
“It’s late, sweetie. Let’s go home,” Tinsley suggested.
Kinga frowned at the darkness beyond her window and glanced at her watch. It was past nine already—where had the time gone? And what had she accomplished? Not that much...
Tinsley leaned forward and picked up the box of antacids, her navy eyes concerned. “This box was full this morning, Kinga.”
Yeah, she was pretty sure she had an ulcer but she had no time to get it checked out. After the ball, she would, as she told Tinsley.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t perforate before then,” Tinsley muttered.
It wasn’t a cheerful thought and Kinga hoped so, too. That would suck.
“Did you get the invitation to Mick’s cocktail party?” Tinsley asked.
Kinga pulled a face. “I did.”
She’d finally confessed Mick’s actions to Tinsley and her confession had resulted in a few lectures about keeping stuff to herself and being stupidly independent.
“Are you going?” Kinga asked her sister.
“Hell, no!” Tinsley’s smile was just this side of evil. “And I’m telling everyone I can think of not to go, either. Mom, Dad and Seth are also encouraging all their friends and connections—and between us, we know everyone—to boycott the function and his mayoral campaign,” Tinsley said, looking smug. “I don’t think he’s going to have much support. If only we could get the press to boycott him as well.”
“It’s a story connected to Jas and those will always sell,” Kinga told her. She squeezed Tinsley’s knee. “But thank you for doing that.”
Tinsley smiled before her expression turned concerned. “How are you, Kinga?”
She started to insist that she was fine before admitting she was tired of lying, tired of trying to be strong. This was, after all, her sister. And her best friend. “I’m stressed about the ball and overworked, but mostly I simply miss Griff.”
Tinsley didn’t look pleased and Kinga couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t happy that the bad boy of rock and roll had caused such emotional chaos, either.