He knew a “Fuck off” when he heard one.
But Cruz was clinging to the hope that he still had one ace in the hole.
He couldn’t wait another twenty-four hours to see her.
Like a junkie waiting for his next fix, his addiction to Mia thrummed through him, better than effervescent bubbles in the finest French champagne.
He took a moment—yeah—he was procrastinating and he knew it. He looked up at the forty-story rose-quartz-colored glass building with its soaring modern lines. An elegant pink-and-black-striped awning belled over the enormous front doors, which were flanked by two man-sized glossy black jardinières, with some sort of fluffy feminine pink flowers and lush greenery. The words BLUSH TOWER curved the span of the awning in elegant copperplate script.
Understated. Classy. Impressive. Very Mia.
It was insane how nervous he was about seeing her here in her natural habitat, on her turf. Going to other people’s turf to get the job done was what he had always done. This was different. Completely different. This wasn’t work. There was no neutral zone for him to regroup here or anyplace he could neutralize to give himself the advantage.
He’d never been this nervous about seeing a woman in his life. Cruz dragged in a ragged breath of cool, foggy air. Standing across the street like a nervous kid on his first date wasn’t going to get the job done. He’d mentally rehearsed his bullet points, mapping out every action just as he would if this had been a hit. He’d only get one shot.
This was a risk. Bearding her here where she was on familiar ground, surrounded by loyal employees. She was either going to be damn happy to see him, or pissed. There’d been no closure, no deadlines, no promises made.
What they had had been dropped into a big black hole.
She was furious. Hurt. Felt betrayed.
He got that. He was one hundred percent at fault.
They had to work through it. He refused to give up on them.
That was unacceptable.
He’d mentally given the press three days to find something of more topical interest than Amelia Wellington-Wentworth ’s takeover of her own company. She’d triumphed. Of course she had. Cruz had never doubted her dedication, power, and tenacity. Now the headlines were about some actress’s sex tapes being released on the Internet. No mention of the attempts on Mia’s life, nor any mention of any arrests.
The person who had set out to kill her was probably laying low now, since Mia couldn’t be stopped and she got the company. That didn’t mean Mia was out of danger. Cruz knew it. He was also certain her security team knew it, since he spoke to Black Raven daily about Mia. Hell, at first Sebastian at Black Raven refused to speak to him. Then, after Cruz made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, he allowed him in the loop. Information for information. Cruz had resources and availability to intel that even the impressive Black Raven did not. He made sure her team kept Mia safe. And he made sure they didn’t tell her that he was doing it.
Now it was time to come back into her life. Time for him to make his move and stake his claim on the CEO of Blush.
Three cyclists pedaled by, then he had to wait for a damned lumbering bus to pass before he stepped into the street. Cruz stuffed his fingertips into his back jeans pockets as he started across the busy street. Should’ve worn a suit. . . .
The bus moved to reveal the approach of a discreet black town car. His heart thumped in anticipation. He made a suicidal dash through traffic to the center divide just as the limo eased to the curb right in front of Blush’s doors.
His heart leaped.
Mia.
An angry driver honked and swerved around him, and the muted clang of a cable car as it headed downhill toward the bay reminded Cruz where he was. She exited the car. The diaphanous fog took the sheen from her dark hair, and the beautiful cream suit hugging her curves was unfamiliar. He was used to seeing her mostly bare. His Mia. He wanted her on his Brazilian beach. Naked.
God. He just . . . wanted her. He was so tired of the hurting and longing. He was tired of the hole in his world that could only be filled with Mia. Now all he had to do was convince her that they would make this work. Demonstrate the depth of his feelings for her. He knew she needed him to say it. He felt it, but that wasn’t enough.
He checked for oncoming cars, then stepped off the median into the street again.
“Mia!” Her name burst from him joyously. Love. Holy shit. He loved Mia. He loved this woman. His life was nothing but pain and awful feelings without her. She was all the good things he wanted but never had. Love.
He loved Amelia Wellington-Wentworth. Mia. Now that his mind knew what his body had known all along, he couldn’t wait another moment to tell her. Cruz had never known such happiness, elation. He moved toward Mia. “Ameli—”