If I Were You(87)

“Yes,” I agree. “Okay.”

“Good.” He smiles and glances at the clock. “You need to get ready if you want to make your session. Wait here a second.” He walks to the bathroom and returns with a hotel robe and offers it to me. “If I see you walk naked across this room, you won’t be making your session.”

The primal heat in his stare defies my messy, post throw-up state, and I quickly slip into the robe. I wasn’t joking about being toxic. Now is not the time for hot loving, no matter how appealing it might sound.

I scoot to the side of the mattress and my gaze locks on my shoes and purse laying in the middle of the floor. Beside them is the journal which has tumbled from my unzipped purse. Unbidden, panic rushes through me and I push off the mattress and scoop up my purse and shove the journal inside.

The sound of Chris picking up the phone tells me he isn’t watching, and isn’t interested in the journal. I’m the only one obsessed with it, and Rebecca, but I can’t calm the adrenaline flooding my system. My suitcase is a few feet away and I zip it up and drag it towards the bathroom, while Chris orders from room service.

The instant I clear the door of the bathroom, I shut it and lean on the surface. What would Chris think if he knew I’d been reading Rebecca’s journal? Would he understand? Would he believe me when I told him I feared for Rebecca? And damn it, if I fear for her, why haven’t I done more to find her? I’ve gotten so caught up living her life, I’ve forgotten I’m afraid for hers. Silently, I vow to do more for Rebecca, to find out where she is, no matter what the consequence to me. And deep down, I know there will be consequences to what I discover.



***



Hours later, I long ago showered and dressed in black jeans and a cherry-red top with sequins, a feature which my personal shopper seemed to favor, and I think I might as well. I spent several hours in the dining room overlooking the gorgeous Mayacamas Mountains, while Meredith, a very likeable thirty-something woman, managed to make the vast world of wine interesting and rather simple. And thankfully, I’d recovered from my hangover enough that Chris had joined us for one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever been served.

Now though, it’s approaching five o’clock, and the time to head home has arrived. Chris helps me into the passenger seat of the Porsche and by the time he’s behind the wheel, I cannot suppress a hint of sadness at our weekend coming to a close.

I sink into my seat, the grogginess of heavy food and the aftermath of being hungover weighing down my mind and body. Chris maneuvers over the back roads to the highway and we fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence.

“I have to go to Los Angeles on Tuesday morning,” he announces fifteen minutes into the drive.

This news punches me in the chest. Chris is leaving and I knew he would, but not this soon. But this isn’t Paris, I remind myself.

“I have a charity event for the children’s hospital over the weekend, and I’ve committed to a series of events leading up to it. I won’t be back until Monday.”

Tension uncurls inside me. He’s coming back.

“Come with me, Sara.”

Chris wants me to go with him? I’m surprised and pleased by the invitation. “I’d love to, but you know I can’t. I have a job.”

“I can convince Mark--”

“No.” I sit up straight. “Chris, we talked about this. Whatever is between you and Mark can’t overflow into my job.”

“I’ll get him press for the gallery.”

“No,” I repeat. “Please, Chris. Do not talk to Mark. I’ve told you. I need to know I can earn this job on my own.”

A muscle in his jaw flexes and I can tell he’s fighting with himself. “I won’t call him.” He cuts me a sideways look. “Your car is at the gallery and I live right nearby. If you won’t go, stay with me tonight. We can stop by your apartment on the way to my place if you like, so you can get some of your things.”

I’d hoped for some alone time to process what is between us but the idea of not seeing Chris for days twists me in knots. How has he become such a part of my life in so short a time?

“Yes. I’d like to stay with you.” I don’t want to go to my apartment, though, and it’s partially because I don’t want Chris to see how humbly I live. No, I correct myself. There’s more to it. My apartment is my old life that I’ve managed to escape for days, and on some level, I fear that I will never escape fully. I glance at Chris’s profile, his masculine beauty, and a deeper fear emerges, a fear that I will never truly belong in this life, his life. But this isn’t suppose to be about me. Rebecca. Remember how this all started. I need the information I pulled from her storage unit to properly investigate her whereabouts.