Page 163 of Aria

My head popped up as I swallowed back the penitent residue on my tongue. “Not at all. That was quite the compliment. Thank you.”

He smiled. “Drinks?”

“I’d love that.”

When the waitress approached, Thomas ordered our beverages. “A rum and Coke for the lady, please. I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks. Be a love and fetch us that flowerin’ onion appetizer as well.”

I ran my tongue along my teeth.

Whiskey.Did it have to be whiskey?

It had been six years. Six goddamn years, and I still reeked of Noah Hayes.

He was haunting me.

My purse began to vibrate as the waitress set our drinks in front of us. Lisa was calling again. I turned my phone to silent mode and reached for my cocktail. Maybe a solid buzz would kill my nerves, right along with any trace of Noah Hayes.

“So, what exactly brought you to Florida?” Thomas asked as his gaze roamed over the dinner menu. “We’ve worked side by side for six years, and I’m realizing I don’t know a lick about you.” His eyes twinkled as he paused. “Aside from playing remarkably hard to get.”

I ducked my head, my cheeks pinkening. “I just needed a change,” I said. “A fresh start. My parents were in Florida.”

“Go on,” he encouraged.

I clutched the cold glass in my hand and sipped on the straw. The cocktail was sweet as it slid down my throat, providing me with a bout of liquid courage. “Well…”

Hesitation suddenly seized me. Something made me stop mid-sentence. Swallowing, I stood from the booth, my drink still gripped tightly in my hand.

That name.

His name.

“What is it?” Thomas asked in bewilderment.

I hardly heard him. My eyes landed on one of the televisions above the bar, and I moved toward it, as if the newscaster on the screen had full control over my body. I felt hypnotized. Possessed. I drowned out the clamor of music and laughter, only hearing the “Breaking News” report that flashed across the TV.

“A tragedy occurred tonight here in Jericho, New York. Beth Hayes, wife of acclaimed solo artist Noah Hayes, was found murdered in the home of one of her real estate properties earlier this evening. She was allegedly found after she failed to return home after the showing of this property on Prager Court.”

A female reporter stood in front of a sprawling estate as red and blue police lights flashed around her. A helicopter loomed overhead in the distance.

“This story is still developing as authorities try to piece together what happened in the early evening hours of Thursday night. The police advise the public to come forward with any information that may lead to an arrest in this case. I’m Jasmine Delgado, reporting live from ABC7 – New York.”

The glass slipped from my hand and hit the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.

Much like my heart.

Two strong arms were suddenly around my waist, catching me. I hadn’t even realized I was falling until my limp body was being propped back up and guided toward a bar stool. I sat down in a daze, muddled voices swimming in my ears as Thomas’ concerned face came into view.

“Bloody hell, Chelsie. Are you all right?”

No. I was not all right.

Worried patrons swarmed me.

“Can we get a sodding glass of water over here?” Thomas ordered to the bartender. He turned his attention back to me. “Talk to me, love.”

I couldn’t speak. I could only stare up at the television screen as pictures of Noah and Beth reflected back at me. My vision blurred with hot tears. My skin prickled with insurmountable dread. My wildly beating heart was in my throat.

I felt sick. Dizzy.

Darkness was closing in.

Noah.

I had a feeling that nothing would ever be the same…

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