She inhaled slowly, letting the fresh air fill her, and then went back inside, professional face on once more. Jenna and Tom introduced her to a number of people, never once bringing up their relationship, but overflowing with praise and reference. She collected so many cards and promises to call that she couldn’t remember half of them. At this rate, next year would fill up quickly, too.
For all her pride at wanting to make it on her own, there were some doors she wouldn’t be able to get through without help from her family and their connections.
As the evening wore on, Mal grew more and more tired, the glow of the evening fading as she found herself missing someone who belonged here, who probably ought to have been here…
Someone who just might have forgotten her, thanks to her pride.
Insecurity was a crippling weakness, and stubbornness made recovering from it excruciating.
Maybe she should have called him back, just once. Maybe, if he were still calling her, she would have answered this time. If she still felt this way, maybe he—
She shook her head quickly, forcing the thought out. There was no use in maybes and what ifs. What was done was done, and she was going to have to live with her stupidity.
She got Jenna and Tom’s attention and signaled she was leaving, which earned her a wave and a blown kiss. She got her bag and coat from the bag check, situated her camera snugly, and started the long elevator ride down. She was staying at a hotel nearby, and she would have brunch with Tom and Jenna in the morning, get the details of their next event, and then head back to Denver.
There was a lot of work to do, and more to come. Life was good… or something.
She pushed open the door of the Hancock building, just as a breeze came through, courtesy of the Windy City’s tricks, and she smiled to herself as that troublesome lock of hair dislodged itself again. She tucked it back, readjusted her coat on her arm, and started toward the street to get a cab.
She looked up and stopped dead in her tracks.
A cab was already in front of the building, but that wasn’t what stopped her.
It was the man leaning against the cab.
Hunter.
In a formal black tux, collar open, tie undone. He stared at her hungrily, as if she were dessert.
“Hunter,” she gasped, losing sensation in her lower extremities. She swallowed and tried to remember how to breathe. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
She almost threw herself at him right then and there, but there seemed to be a miscommunication between her brain and what used to be her legs. Hunter had that effect on her. He would always have that effect on her.
His voice, that low, almost rough timbre that had once scorched her lungs, set them aflame again. His eyes never moved from her face, and even with his casual pose against the cab, she could see a coiled tension that set her on edge.
She swallowed several times. “You’re wearing a tux,” she managed, blurting it out stupidly.
He nodded slowly. “Yep.”
“You hate tuxes,” she murmured, more controlled this time.
Again came the nod. “Yep.”
She smiled, the familiarity so natural, and his difficulty with taking bait entertaining. “Why are you wearing a tux?” she asked automatically.
“Oh, I’ve just been to a gala,” he said as if this were just a simple conversation.
Mal’s breath caught. “You hate galas.”
There was a slight tilt to his head as he heard that catch, and somehow, his gaze was more intense. “Yep. But I heard the photographer was amazing, and I had to come and see for myself. It was a black-tie thing, so…”
He’d been here. The whole time. She’d gone over the entire room. How could she have missed him?
He’d come for her. He wanted to see her.
“You look good,” she murmured, looking him over briefly, though she would much rather have spent a long time doing it.