“We barely heard from you today. Working on something good?”
“A concept for a new line.”
“Ooh. Can I see?”
“Sure.” I slid the drawings toward her.
She flipped through them, her face brightening with each one. “These are fantastic! Some of your best yet. They’re almost…I dunno…whimsical. And very romantic.”
I took them back from her and smiled. “You think?”
“I know.”
I looked down, admiring my own handiwork. They were definitely different from my usual stuff. Simple. Silver chains, semiprecious stones in varying colors. Pink. Pale blue. Heart-shaped.
“What are you going to call the line?” Chloe asked.
“A Lifetime,” I replied immediately.
Chloe just about squealed. “That’s perfect! It’s going to be amazing. It’ll blow any competition out of the water.”
“Thanks.”
“A Lifetime,” she repeated, then gave me a little squeeze. “I can’t wait.”
“Me neither,” I replied with more feeling than I meant to.
“Enjoy your wedding weekend, okay?”
“I will.”
I waited until she slipped out of the office before giving the drawings another once-over. Then I grabbed my pencil and scrawled the name on top of the first one.
The words—the concept, really—had been floating around in my head ever since Ethan said it. It’d stuck around all day, making my heart race and flutter. Making my hands shake at odd moments, so hard that I’d have to put down my pencil. Making me smile and sigh.
It was crazy. I knew that. Maybe just sex-fueled infatuation. But it felt so right. Like so much more than that.
A lifetime.
It was the perfect name for the new line. And I couldn’t deny that it was inspired by the emotions that bubbled just under the surface every time my mind drifted to Ethan. Which was every few seconds, really. And as quickly as my day had gone, I was eager to get back to him. Even just to hear about his day in person. As many jokes as he made about being little more than my secret concubine, he’d been exploring the city on his own while I worked, and his play-by-play texts about his experiences were hilarious. There was a lot of complaining about the rain. A lot of comments on the organic coffee and the plaid. And according to him, every second person was in socks with sandals.
But his stories were better when punctuated by kisses.
Smiling again, I pushed my chair back from my desk and stood up. As I grabbed my purse, my phone rang from inside, and I yanked it out, fully expecting it to be Ethan.
I answered without checking the call display. “Hey.”
But instead of Ethan’s voice, it was my landlord’s that greeted me. “Ms. Diaz! It’s Charlie Cho.”
I slung my purse over my shoulder and grabbed my sweater from the back of my chair, replying as I made my way out of the office. “Oh. Hey, Mr. Cho. Everything all right?”
“Perfect on my end,” he said. “Just wanted to check with you whether or not the new owner had been in touch?”
I moved down the stairs. “The new owner of what?”
“The building.”
“What building?”
“My building. Your shop.”
I paused in the middle of the store, my mind filling with unease. “You sold it? Just like that? I didn’t even know you were thinking about it.”
“I wasn’t,” he said. “The buyer came in and made me an unbelievable offer.”
“When?”
“Just this last weekend. My lawyer said the offer was far too good to pass up. Happened so fast that I’m still in shock.”
My pulse was moving at a cold, sluggish pace. “Who?”
“Owner of some big distribution company,” my landlord told me.
“Who?”
“Something…Holdings. The guy’s name is Ethan…uh…Bark?”
“Burke,” I corrected woodenly.
“Yeah,” agreed Cho. “You’ve heard of him?”
He continued on for another minute, telling me just how great the purchase was. How he could retire. Adding that the new owner had put in a clause about letting Trinkets and Treasures—and the other stores in the row—stay where they were for a minimum of three months. It mostly sounded like underwater gibberish to me. And when I finally managed to get him to hang up, almost all of it went out of my head anyway. Because Ethan had bought my store.
The reality of that statement played on repeat in my head, the emphasis a little different each time.
Ethan bought my store.
He bought my store.
Ethan. Bought. My. Store.
And with each replay, it grew a little more real. A little more infuriating. And a ton more sickening.
Overwhelmed, I ran from the sales floor to the counter. I bent down, grabbed the trash bin from behind the register, and heaved until my stomach was empty, and every muscle in my body felt like it’d been worked over by an angry personal trainer with something to prove. And when I was done, I felt no better.
The sonofabitch.
He hadn’t been able to talk me into getting what he wanted. He hadn’t been able to seduce it out of me, either. So he’d simply gone behind my back.
I closed my eyes and tried to find a way to ease the achy, shattered feeling in my chest. Why had he bothered to come back? Why bother saying all the things to me that he’d said?
Because he’s a narcissistic bastard.
Who I’d trusted. After not even two weeks. When I knew better than anyone just how untrustworthy people could be.
I pressed my fingers to my chest and cursed my own naivety. My own stupidity. I cursed that fact that it hurt.
In my hand, my phone buzzed to life again. This time, I took a careful look at the screen.
E.
No way in hell was I indulging in his game by answering. Who knew how long he thought he could keep his sneaky purchase a secret? I wouldn’t take the chance that he’d pick up on my tears, either. The asshole didn’t deserve my sorrow.
I let it go to voicemail.
But—of course—it rang again immediately. I swallowed against the thickness in my throat, and I pressed the button to ignore the call. I doubted he’d take the hint.
But he’ll figure it out quickly enough.
The real question was what I was going to do about it. Short term and long term. Three months minimum, Cho had said. But I wouldn’t put my hard-earned dollars into Ethan-the-asshole’s pocket. That much was for sure. No doubt his intention was to make it impossible for me, anyway. Drive up the rent. Force me to sell to him.
“Not a chance in hell,” I muttered.
I’d sooner sell my product out of my living room. I wondered how the staff would feel about that.
The staff.
My stomach churned a little more. Hadn’t Ethan cared at all how this obsessive acquisition of his would affect them?
“Of course not.”
You should confront him, urged a little voice in my head.
But I couldn’t stand the idea of letting him think he’d won. Of gloating over it. Of reminding me that he’d played my body as well as he’d played my business.
No wonder you thought he was hiding something, I thought. Lying, two-faced, disgusting jerk.
My phone erupted with another ring, and I automatically moved to silence it. But as I lifted it, I saw that this time it was Liv calling. I stared at her flashing name, and realized that I really needed a short-term plan. Because Ethan knew where I worked. Where I lived. My brother’s name. And speaking of Marcelo, I had the wedding to think about.
I breathed in, then made myself answer the phone in a calm, rational voice. “Hey, Liv.”
“Oh, thank God!” she replied immediately. “Aysia�
�s got a dress crisis, and she’s freaking the fuck out. The wrong-shaped pearl on the bodice. What the hell does that even mean? Can you come? Pretty, pretty please?”
“Where are you?”
“My place.”
Perfect. Ethan has no clue where that is.
“Yeah, for sure,” I said. “How would you feel about a sleepover, actually?”
There was no pause. “That would be so amazing. We could take care of this stupid pearl thing, have a few calming drinks, and—”
“Sold,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Now she hesitated. “Is something wrong? You always fight me on this stuff.”
I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me. “Not tonight. I just figured something out, and this is the perfect excuse to down a margarita.”
“Sweet. See you soon.”
I hung up, called a cab, then switched off my phone completely.
Chapter 18
Ethan
It took me a half hour after Mia’s expected arrival time to start to worry.
It took me ten minutes more to call, and ten seconds more to try again. A third call. A fourth call. A fifth. Straight to voicemail, and I knew something was off.
Another fifteen minutes went by before I decided I should do something about it.
I started with the obvious. I called Trinkets and Treasures. Though I wasn’t expecting an answer, it still made me grit my teeth with concern when the line just rang and rang.
I paced the room at the Memory Motel with my phone in my hand. “C’mon, Lu. What’s going on?”
I waited another half hour. Mia had made it clear she wasn’t yet ready to let her friends and family know about us. She’d specifically asked me not to come by the store. It was all fine with me. It really just gave me more time alone with her.
But that was before she was kidnapped. Or crashed into a ditch. Or was maybe abducted by aliens.
I paused pacing to question my sanity. Mia was a grown woman. An incredibly competent grown woman. Just because she’d turned up within twenty minutes of the end of her workday both Tuesday and Wednesday didn’t mean she had to turn up in that timeframe now. Things came up.
If she was late, there was a reason. If she couldn’t take my calls, there was an even better reason.
I hoped.
I started pacing again. Stopped again. Paced again.
“What the hell am I doing?” I growled as I spotted myself in the mirror.
My face was a ridiculous mask of distress.
You’re overreacting.
I took a breath and stepped to the edge of the bed, then made myself sit down. The problem wasn’t that I couldn’t reason through a scenario that would take her away from our room at the hotel. She could’ve stopped at home. Run into a genuine issue at work. Or been needed for something related to her brother’s wedding. I could posit something similar for the lack of phone contact. She might be in some kind of meeting where she couldn’t pick up. Or left the device somewhere. Broken it. Had it stolen, or just let the battery die by accident. Any of those things was more likely than the whole alien abduction bullshit my mind had only kind of been kidding about. But like I said. A valid excuse wasn’t the issue. What was the issue was that familiar kick in my gut.
It was the same one I used in business. The same one I’d used to conclude that Mia was more important than her store. Now rearing up, telling me something wasn’t right.
Deciding to give it yet another try, I grabbed my phone, selected her number, and muttered, “C’mon, sweetheart,” as the line clicked.
Voicemail.
I slammed the phone off.
“Fuck.”
What the hell was I supposed to do now? Sit and wait while my instincts screamed to go tearing out of the hotel in search of her?
“Double fuck.”
I took a breath, and attempted to do something sane. I dialed her. Again. This time, to leave a nice, normal message.
Which is probably what you should’ve done the first time.
“Hey, Lu. It’s me. And in case you don’t recognize my voice by now, I mean the man who saw you naked this morning. And if that doesn’t narrow it down. Well.” I cleared my throat, thinking that the joke sounded as forced as it felt. “Anyway. I was expecting to see you over an hour ago, and just wanted to check if everything was all right. I know how society frowns upon stalking, and I’d hate to be that guy. So give me a call and let me know you’re alive.”
But I did become that guy. Because she didn’t call. Or show up. Or answer a single one of my increasingly worried texts.
I swung by Trinkets and Treasures numerous times, and walked the area on foot in search of some clue as to her whereabouts. I had a cab drop me at her place, and sat on her porch for so long that one of the neighbors called the cops. It was actually my pathetic conversation with the Vancouver constables that finally sent me back to the Memory Motel.
“All right, Mr. Burke of Toronto, Ontario,” said the female cop as she handed back my ID. “It’s just about midnight. You want to tell us why you’re sitting on this porch here in a province that’s not your own?”
“My girlfriend didn’t come home,” I told her, hearing the slightly hollow ring to the label—Mia hadn’t yet confirmed she actually wanted to be called that, after all.
“Your girlfriend,” repeated the male cop. “You staying here with her?”
“No,” I replied.
“She expecting you?” He sounded like he knew full well that she wasn’t.
“It’s more complicated than that,” I said.
The female cop narrowed her eyes. “Complicated how?”
“She was supposed to meet me at our hotel after work, but she didn’t show up. Her phone’s off. Or broken. And I haven’t heard from her, so I got worried.” I tried to smile. “So here I am.”
The male cop shifted on his feet and exchanged a look with his partner. “You’re here from Toronto, visiting your girlfriend, but staying in a hotel?”
“Complicated,” I repeated. “Maybe you guys could look into where she is? She’s got a brother in town. He might have some idea of where she is.”
The female cop shook her head. “Mr. Burke, you said she didn’t show up and turned off her phone. Is there a possibility that she doesn’t want you to contact her?”
“No.” As soon as the word was out of my mouth, I realized I’d said it a little too emphatically.
It was the thing that my gut wanted me to acknowledge, but that my heart had refused to consider until that moment. Maybe Mia didn’t want to see me again. Maybe her protest about the boyfriend and girlfriend labels was more than a passing bit of discomfort. My chest compressed. What the hell was I going to do if that were true? Less than two weeks I’d known her, and I somehow couldn’t imagine my life just picking up where I’d left it before she literally fell into it.
Shit.
“You know what?” said the female cop. “We’re going extend you an unusual courtesy, Mr. Burke. We’ll do a bit of follow-up for you. And if we find something wrong, we’ll give you a call. Have you got a number where we can reach you?”
I tugged one of my business cards from my pocket, handed it over and started to thank her. Then I realized her promise had an edge. A couple of edges, really. If something was wrong, they’d have someone to question. If something wasn’t wrong, they’d have a suspected stalker’s phone number.
“In the meantime,” added the male cop, “we’ll also call you a cab. What hotel did you say you were at?”
I resisted an urge to tell them I hadn’t specified, and instead offered my most winning smile. “The Memory Motel. Room one-o-one.”
And thirty minutes later I was back in that room, slumped in a chair as I battled an increasingly hollow feeling in my ches
t.
She would’ve told you if she wanted to end things, I reasoned. At the very least, sent a text or an email.
Except both mediums remained woefully devoid of incoming messages. Mia’s cell phone was still off. Cops were probably running down my mundane rap sheet—a single speeding ticket and case of poor judgement that resulted in a teacher’s house being toilet papered—just in case. And not a damned clue as to why I was being left out in the cold.
At some point, I must’ve drifted off, because the ring of my cell phone jarred me awake. I grabbed it right away, sure it had to be Mia. Instead, my assistant greeted me cheerily from the other end.
“Did I wake you, Mr. Burke?” she said. “It’s after six there, isn’t it?”
I fought a snarly answer. “Guess I slept in, Julie. To what do I owe this early-morning call?”
“I just wanted to congratulate you.”
“For?”
“Trinkets and Treasures.”
My stomach rolled. “What about it?”
“Acquiring it!” she replied. “I was starting to think something was wrong, but then the owner called me this morning, and—”
“Mia called you?”
“Lumia Diaz, yes. She called the office.”
“What did she say?”
“That she was happy to hear you were taking ownership, that Charlie Cho had called to confirm that transfer of property, and that she hoped you were going to be very happy.”
“Charlie Cho?” I repeated, the name striking a vaguely familiar chord.
“That’s right,” Julie confirmed.
My mind struggled to find a connection. Ownership of—damn. Damn, damn, damn it all to hell.
“Did something come through from the lawyers?” I asked.
“Didn’t you read your emails yesterday?” she replied.
“Skimmed them.” It was a lie; all I’d done was flip through, hoping to find something from Mia.
Doesn’t it make you wonder how the hell you succeed in business at all? asked a snide voice in my head.
“Mr. Burke?” said Julie.
I cleared my throat. “I’m here. Just tell me what the emails said.”
“Your purchase of the property in Vancouver went through,” she told me.
Until Dawn Page 21
