Evening Bags and Executions(37)

I went back to my car and took the surface streets to the 405, headed south, and exited on Wilshire Boulevard. I parked and walked toward the Golden State Bank & Trust building—the destination for which I’d selected today’s impressive black Prada bag.

Last year I’d come into a whopping sum of money—long story—which I’d given away, shortly thereafter—long story—but only after I’d bought some essentials for myself, such as clothes and handbags—really fabulous handbags, of course. I’d kept some of the money and added more to it when I’d gotten back from Las Vegas—long story—not long ago.

Because I know me, I’d put those funds into a special account here at the old-money, stately, venerable GSB&T. The account was special—to me, anyway—because when I’d opened it I hadn’t ordered a debit card or checks. That way I couldn’t get to the money easily. If I wanted something that was out of the reach of my everyday bank account and my numerous credit cards, I’d have to go to all the trouble of coming into the bank and withdrawing the money in person.

So now, thanks to my breakup fog and all the shopping it had caused, I needed to make up the considerable shortfall my bank was hounding me about, and the only way I could manage that was if I took money out of my GSB&T account.

No way was I returning all those awesome things I purchased—whatever they were.

It was lunchtime, so lots of people were on the street. Most everyone looked sharp, dressed in really terrific business attire, carrying expensive briefcases and carryalls.

My gaze caught a man coming out of the GSB&T, and my heart jumped. Wow, he was totally gorgeous. Tall, with light brown hair, an athletic build. He had on a Tom Ford suit that fit great, and—

Oh my God. Oh my God.

It was Ty.





CHAPTER 12


Ty looked great—Ty always looked great—which was one of the things I always liked about him. But right now, seeing him on the sidewalk outside the GSB&T, it irked me.

Obviously, he wasn’t a total mess like Shuman. Granted, Shuman’s girlfriend had been murdered and I hadn’t, but unlike Shuman, Ty looked pulled together, calm, and in control, just like when we were dating. It was as if, from his outward appearance anyway, our breakup hadn’t affected him at all.

He glanced at his watch, then looked down the street as if he were waiting for someone, and his gaze landed on me. He froze.

My heart started to pound. My breathing got short as I stared back at him.

Was he going to come over? Talk to me?

My thoughts scattered. What would I say to him? Should I give him a big sarcastic thank-you for treating me so badly, for being such a great boyfriend by always putting me second? Should I tell him that I felt like a complete jackass for holding on to our relationship all that time, putting up with all the crappy things he did, trying to make it work?

Ty stood there looking at me. He didn’t smile. I knew that expression on his face. He was thinking, trying to decide something. Like maybe he should just ignore me and walk away?

He headed toward me. My knees started to shake.

What should I do? Ignore him? Put my nose in the air, turn around, and leave? Hurry over to him and act like nothing had happened? Turn our conversation into a rehash of why we broke up?

Then it hit me—I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him know that I’d been completely devastated by our breakup. I mean, really, telling him wouldn’t do any good. And no way was I going to be one of those whiny, clingy, why-didn’t-you-like-me-enough-to-stay ex-girlfriends.

I marshaled my half-beauty-queen genes, put on my everything-is-great-no-matter-what-happens expression, channeled my mom’s nothing-can-upset-me attitude, and walked over to meet Ty.

“Hi, how are you doing?” I asked, putting on an it’s-terrific-to-see-you grin.

Oh my God, he smelled wonderful.

“I’m okay,” Ty said—he didn’t have an it’s-terrific-to-see-you grin. “You?”

“Awesome,” I said, forcing you-broke-my-heart-but-I’m-over-it glee into my voice.

He tilted his head slightly to the right, the way I’d seen him do a zillion times when he was trying to understand something, put it in the right context.

“Really?” he asked softly.

“Really. Absolutely,” I told him, stretching my it’s-terrific-to-see-you grin into a look-how-great-I’m-doing smile.

Ty nodded, then said, “I understand you have a new job.”

I have no idea how he knew I had a job, but I rolled with it.

“Love it,” I told him. “I love the job. It’s totally me. The work is fabulous, the office is terrific, my boss is fantastic.”