Page 89 of Deliverance

Again, I don’t disclose the horror that overcomes me every time I think about what the tour entails.

“I forgive you,” Tina says, her voice lowering as her eyes concentrate on something beyond me. “Give me a couple of minutes, will you? She guzzles down the rest of the champagne and heads back to the floor.

I turn around and watch her weave through the crowd until she reaches the object of her interest—a tall male with the specs of silver in his longish dark hair. When he shifts to greet her, I realize it’s Dominique, Justice’s manager. Tina’s entire face transforms into something ethereal, something I haven’t seen before. Something…human.

Interesting.

She’s not made of ice and ambition after all.

The bliss of solitude doesn’t last long. I don’t even get to finish my text to Santiago to wish him luck at tomorrow’s shoot before the creepy guy who almost ripped my hand off earlier approaches me with a long string of compliments.

“Just marvelous.” He scowls, his beady eyes inspecting my breasts. “Such attention to detail.”

Indeed.

I will myself into submission and smile; however, my attention is elsewhere. It’s on the person moving through the main room.

The espresso brown hair, the height, the haughty posture.

Cold hits my stomach when he whirls to face the patio. There’s a sizable stretch of space between us and the crowd slams together and conceals his features before I get a better look, but a mere peep is enough to kick start my paranoia.

This can’t be.

He’s in Illinois.

“I would love to take you out to dinner sometime,” the creepy guy continues to gawk at my body parts instead of my face.

“You know what?” I survey the party, searching for what might be just a figment of my imagination caused by the champagne, nerves and lack of food, but he’s gone. Disappeared into thin air as if he were never here. “Hold that thought.”

“Have you been to Mastro’s?” my companion asks, even though disinterest is written bright and clear on my face. “They have the best steak in all of Southern California.”

Doubtful, but nice try.“I’m vegan,” I lie. “Pardon me. I need to use the restroom.” Usually, men react to this with camouflaged annoyance because they already know a woman is on the run yet they can’t do anything about it.

The creep rearranges his mouth into what I assume is his idea of a smile. “I look forward to continuing this conversation.” He reaches for my hand.

Over my fucking dead body.I shoot back and duck into the crowd, not wanting to spend another second in the company of this sleazeball. To hell with formalities. Tina and her world-domination dream can eat shit.

My emotions come in waves, hot and solid, like a series of punches to my sternum. Head spinning and pulse roaring, I advance through the gallery toward the back hallway, needing an escape, needing to be alone with my thoughts.

His face, undeniably familiar despite the beard, emerges from behind the centerpiece. Dark brown eyes cut to mine from across the room and I feel my life—my art, my independence, my bravery—all of it slipping through my fingers like sand.

No…it’s not possible.

I blink and he’s gone again. There’s a woman standing in his place.

It’s not real, a voice in my head says.

Disoriented and terrified, I charge for the business end of the building where the working crew is too busy with their task to pay me any attention. My heart hammers, my limbs so numb that my phone slips from my palm and falls to the floor with a loud clunk.

“Drew?” a voice at the entrance of the hallway calls as I drop into a crouch to pick it up.

Glancing toward the sound, I see Zander approaching.

“Are you following me?”

“I’m sorry.” He stops within a safe distance, sensing my irritation. “I just want to talk.” An expression that’s a blend of shame and want distorts his elegant features. Arms at his sides, he moves closer but doesn’t dare invade my personal space, which I’m thankful for. At least he has better manners than the creep and his eyes are on my face, not my breasts.

I straighten and lift my chin. “I thought we established there’s nothing to talk about.” But there’s a wobble in my voice and we both know that’s not true.

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