“Look what just arrived for you,” Brooke said, walking over with a vase full of fresh, snowy-white gardenias. “I love the way they smell.”
“Your brother has a good memory.” Emma admired the flowers Brooke set down on her desk. “Either that, or he’s a good guesser. It’s my favorite flower. You didn’t tell him, did you?”
Brooke shook her head. “No. He must’ve remembered how you’d always ask Mom if you could pick a gardenia off the bush to put it in your hair. You’d wear it until the leaves turned yellow.”
A fond memory. Emma smiled. “That’s when the scent is sweetest.”
Every day since her hospital stay, Dylan had done something thoughtful for her. The day she was released from the hospital, he’d sent her a basket of oils and lotions to pamper herself along with a gift certificate good for a dozen pregnancy massages with a message that simply read “I’m sorry.”
Yesterday, he’d sent her an array of fresh fruit done up in the shape of a stork. It was really quite ingenious, with wings made of pineapple slices and cherries as eyes. Again, there was a note, which read “Forgive me.”
And today, the flowers. She lifted the note card from its holder, her hand shaking. She wasn’t over Dylan, not by a long shot.
He’d wanted to see her. To apologize in person, but she wasn’t up to that yet. She needed time and strength and to make sure the baby was thriving again. She feared seeing Dylan would break her heart all over again. Luckily, because Brooke warned him off visiting her, he hadn’t pressed her about it.
Brooke had already walked back to her desk. It wasn’t like her not to nose around and ask what was going on. But then, Brooke’s heart had been broken, too. She didn’t believe in love anymore. Together, they were the walking wounded.
“I miss you,” the note read.
Tears pooled in her eyes. The gifts were getting a bit much. Why was he torturing her like this? Didn’t he know that she needed a clean break from him? That he owned her heart and soul and she was fighting like mad to take them back.
The capture of his stalker had made headlines and Dylan hadn’t been back to work yet, according to Brooke. The investigation had shut down production at the studio for a few days. His adoring fans had been outraged at the murder attempt and the police thought it best for him to keep a low profile. Dylan had his hands full with news helicopters circling his home, reporters at his front gate and paparazzi trying to get glimpses of him. He’d hunkered down at his mansion on Moonlight Beach and had his publicist offer a statement, thanking the police for their diligence, thanking his fans for their support and asking for the press to abide by his privacy during this difficult time.
Emma, too, had been the source of news, especially since she’d been a target as well, and as Dylan’s newly estranged bride, well...her life had become very public, very quickly. Emma refused to comment to the press and Dylan assigned Jeff to escort her to and from work each day to basically stand guard over her. It was weird having her own personal bodyguard, but she appreciated the gesture. No one had gotten near her, thanks to Jeff. Today, an equally juicy scandalous news story had broken and she hoped that she and Dylan were off the hook, at least for the time being.
This afternoon, she was working on a retirement party for a man who’d started his own business in foldable cartons back in the early 1950s. The exuberant senior citizen was finally retiring at the ripe young age of ninety-four, giving up the helm to his grandson. The party would be full of guests of all ages and she and Brooke worked tirelessly to throw an event that would encompass every one of the three generations attending.
Brooke turned away from her computer screen for a second. “Are you still on board for our meeting with the manager of Zane’s on the Beach tonight?”
“Yep, I’ll be there.”
“Okay, he’ll make time for us at around eight and we can go over the details for the party. I’ll meet you there, though. I have to run a few errands after work.”
“Sure. Jeff and I will meet you.” Emma lifted her lips in a smile.
Brooke rolled her eyes. “It’s for your own sanity, you know. Dylan’s used to having a swarm of reporters dogging him, but you’re not.”
“The reporters have backed off. Dylan’s probably getting the brunt of it.”
“He can handle it. The press loves him. Especially now. Since his murder attempt they’re treading carefully and trying to give him the space he needs.”
“For his sake, I hope so,” Emma replied. She’d lived in his world for a short time. There was never a time when people weren’t gawking at him, sneaking peeks or flat out trying to approach him.
“Me, too,” Brooke said. “Love that guy. I’ll be forever grateful he wasn’t hurt by that creep. I only wish...”
“What do you wish?”
“Nothing,” she said, dipping her head sheepishly. “I’ve got to go.” Brooke tossed her handbag over her shoulder and then bent to give Emma a kiss on the cheek. “See you later, Em.”
Emma closed up shop at precisely five o’clock, exited by the back door and found Jeff waiting for her by her car. He stood erect in his nondescript black suit, waiting. When he spotted her, she put her head down, stifling a frown. “I’m going home to have dinner. And then I’ve got an appointment.”
“Okay. I’ll follow you home. What time are you going out again?”
“Seven thirty. And I want you to eat something before you come back. Promise?”
He nodded and a silly smile erupted on his face. She was mother henning him to death, but in some weird way she thought he actually liked her fretting over him. If she was a better liar, she’d tell him she was calling it a night and going to bed early, but with her luck, she’d get caught in the lie and then feel bad about it for weeks. So, the truth had to be served.
Once she got home and Jeff was on his way, she created a healthy chicken salad with vegetable greens, cranberries and diced apples. She took her food over to the sofa, plopped her feet in front of the television screen and turned on the news until a report came on about Dylan’s would-be killer. She hit the off button instantly, shaking her head. She knew all she wanted to know about Craig Lincoln, Renee’s homicidal ex-husband, thank you very much. Her stomach lurched, but she fought the sensation and ate her salad like a good mother-to-be.
After dinner, she walked into her bedroom, took off her clothes and stepped into the shower. Until the warm spray hit her tired bones, she didn’t realize how very weary she was. For the past few weeks, she felt as if her emotions were on a wacky elevator ride going up and down, never really knowing where she was going or when it would finally stop. She lathered up with raspberry vanilla shower gel and lost herself in thought, allowing the soothing waters to take effect.
After her shower, she threw her arms through the sleeves of a black-and-white dress that belted loosely above her waist. There was no hiding her pregnancy any longer; her baby was sprouting and making its presence known. A cropped white sweater and low cherry heels completed her semiprofessional look. Next, she applied light makeup, eyeliner, meadow-green shadow and a little rosy lip gloss. The last thing she cared about right now was how she looked, but this was an important meeting.
She stepped out of her apartment at precisely seven thirty and there was Jeff, waiting for her. How long had he been standing guard outside her apartment? Gosh, she didn’t really want to know.
“Hi again,” she said.
Jeff stood at attention, his gaze dipping to her dress, and a glimmer of approval entered his eyes. Something warmed inside of her that she thought had been frozen out. She told him where she was headed.
“I know the place” was all he said.
She arrived at the restaurant a little before eight. She didn’t see Brooke’s car in the parking lot so she waited until eight sharp and there was still no sign of Brooke.
She got out of her car, and Jeff did the same. It was dark now, except for the full moon and the parking lot lights. The roar of the ocean reminded her of Dylan and the time she’d spent living as his wife and she sighed. Fleeting sadness dashed through her but she had no time for self-pity. She had a client to meet.
Jeff did a thorough scan of the grounds as he approached her. “I’m meeting my partner here,” she said, “but since it’s already eight, I’d better go inside to start the meeting.”
“I’ll walk you inside.”
“Is that necessary?”
He smiled. “It’ll make me feel better.”
She smiled at his comment. He’d taken a page from her mother-hen book. “Okay.”
When they reached the front door, he opened it for her. “After you.”
“Thank you.” She stepped inside the restaurant and her heart seized up at the sight before her eyes. Hundreds of lit votive candles illuminated the empty space. “Oh, no. We must’ve gotten the date wrong. Looks like someone is setting up for a party,” she said to Jeff.
When he didn’t answer, she turned around. Jeff was gone. Vanished into thin air.
Her heart pumped harder now and she was ready to scurry away, when a figure walked out of the darkness into the candlelight—a man wearing a dark tuxedo with lush blond hair and incredible melt-your-soul blue eyes.