23
She saw herself as he was seeing her, with wild eyes, bare feet, and tomato sauce smearing her white top. The steam from the boiling pasta water had unleashed a frizzy tangle around her face. She was a mess—a lunatic—and ambushing him like this was a terrible mistake.
He’d made his intention more than clear, but she’d ignored the direct message he’d sent by ghosting her. She’d shown up at his friends’ homes, his agent’s office, and—God forgive her—his parents’ front door. Now, with him standing stone-faced in front of her, his fists hard curls at his sides, she realized too late that she was no better than the stalker who’d once hounded him.
Her hand flew to her mouth, horrified with herself. She fled down the hallway into the kitchen and out the back of the house.
The security lights came on. She looked at the keys she’d snatched from the counter on her way out. Not hers. This was the key to Clint’s black Cadillac Escalade parked in the drive. She threw herself in and peeled out of the driveway.
* * *
Thad had pushed her too far. He hadn’t intended to ghost her forever, just long enough to build up his reserves before he had to listen to another of her apologies—time enough to be able to put on his game face and convince her that she hadn’t meant that much to him in the first place. Time to pull himself together just enough so he could tell her she didn’t need to feel guilty about dumping him. Now he realized he’d made a horrible mistake.
That stricken expression on her face . . . It didn’t look anything like guilt. It looked like—
He raced after her toward the back of the house. One of the rear doors stood open. The security lights shone on the swimming pool and beds of spring-blooming plants. He followed the twisting paths around the garden fountain, past the pool, and through the shrubbery calling for her, hearing nothing in return.
He hurried to the front of the house. Her car was still here. He wasn’t leaving until he found her.
Half an hour later, Garrett pointed out that his Escalade was missing, and Thad realized she’d gotten away.
* * *
Olivia waited in the dark shadows of the adjoining street with the Escalade’s headlights turned off until she saw Thad drive away. She rested her cheek against the window. The raindrops splattering on the windshield seemed like tears from the gods. The only way she could make up the distress she’d caused him was never to contact him again.
* * *
Thad drove to her apartment and parked on the street near her building’s parking garage. He jumped out of his car into the rain. The orange barrier gate arm was down, but he could see inside. Garrett’s black Cadillac Escalade was missing. She hadn’t come home.
The wind whipped through his hair. Rain pelted his face. He’d screwed up big-time. Something was very wrong. He’d seen it in her face. He headed for the Starbucks across the street to keep watch.
* * *
Thunder boomed outside th
e sliding doors that led to the balcony patio of her apartment. She sat at her piano picking at the keys. Her clothes were still damp from the soaking she’d gotten when she’d returned Clint’s car and sneaked inside his house to get her own keys. Fortunately, she hadn’t seen Clint. She couldn’t bear facing another person she’d inflicted her insanity on.
It was too late for a courteous apartment dweller to play the piano, but she played anyway. Something soft, Bach’s Prelude in C Major. But the music did nothing to soothe her.
It was ironic. She had her voice back, and with Thad out of her life, no more messy personal entanglements stood between her and her ambition. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Nothing held her back from greatness except hard work and dedication.
A tear trickled down her cheek. The concierge had rung half an hour ago to tell her Thad Owens was in the lobby. She wouldn’t let him up. She needed him to understand he was free of her. No more texts. No more visits to his friends and his family. She would give him the gift of knowing he was free of her harassment.
A sob tried to escape. She squeezed her lips tight to keep it inside. If she started crying now, she might never stop.
A boom of thunder vibrated the piano bench, followed by a bang against her balcony doors. She spun around and gasped.
A man, silhouetted in a flash of lightning, stood on the balcony of her twenty-second-floor apartment. Tall. Lean. Arms pressed to the glass.
She raced for the door and fought with the latch. When it finally gave, she was hit with a blast of rainwater and the smell of ozone.
“What are you doing?” Terror made her push past him to the balcony rail. She looked down, expecting to see—a ladder? Ladders didn’t extend this high, and a fifteen-foot gap stretched between her balcony and her closest neighbor’s. The street lay far below. How had he—?
She looked up into the rain. The elderly, white-haired woman she’d once seen in the elevator leaned out the window directly above, oblivious to the rain, gaily waving. Thad pulled Olivia inside and shut the sliding door.
Everything went quiet.
They stared at each other. His wet, dark hair lay perfectly against his head. Rainwater dripped from the tip of his nose, and his shirt stuck to his chest. Her terror at the risk he’d taken—what could have happened to him—blocked out everything else. “You didn’t!” The words were hoarse. “You didn’t jump down here from my upstairs neighbor’s window.”