settling onto wooden
bar stools by the window. I want to see what’s going on—
who’s coming, and more importantly who’s going. Ethan
hands me a bottle of beer.
“Trouble with an ex?” he says gently.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I mutter,
abruptly guarded. I can’t talk about this—I ha一ve signed an
NDA. And for the first time, I really resent that fact and
that Christian’s said nothing about rescinding it.
“I’ve got time,” Ethan says kindly and takes a long slug
of his beer.
“She’s an ex, from years back. She left her husband
for some guy. Then a couple of weeks or so ago he was
killed in a car crash, and now she’s come after Christian.”
I shrug. There, that didn’t give too much away.
“Come after him?”
“She had a gun.”
“She had a gun.”
“What the fuck!”
“She didn’t actually threaten anyone with it. I think she
meant to harm herself. But that’s why I was so worried
about you. I didn’t know if you were in the apartment.”
“I see. She sounds unstable.”
“Yes, she is.”
“And what’s Christian doing with her now?”
The blood drains from my face and bile rises in my
throat. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
Ethan’s eyes widen—at last he’s got it.
This is the crux of my problem. What the fuck are they
doing? Talking, I hope. Just talking. Yet all I can see in my
mind’s eye is his hand, tenderly stroking her hair.
She’s disturbed and Christian cares about her ,
that’s all this is, I rationalize. But in the back of my mind,
my subconscious is shaking her head sadly.
It’s more than that. Leila was able to fulfill his needs in
a way I cannot. The thought is depressing.
I try to focus on all we’ve done in the last few days—
his declaration of love, his flirty humor, his playfulness. But
Elena’s words keep coming back to taunt me. It’s true
what they say about ea一vesdroppers.
Don’t you miss it . . . your playroom?
I finish my beer in record time, and Ethan lines up
another. I am not much of a companion, but to his credit
he stays with me, chatting, trying to lift my spirits, talking
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