“Sadie?” he assumed.
“Um, no.” Darting her eyes to one side, she said, “My ex-husband.” She shrugged. “I know. I can’t believe I agreed to meet with him, either.”
She was right. He couldn’t believe it. And he didn’t like it. He tried to read her expression but failed. Was it regret? Guilt?
Anticipation?
He hoped not.
“He wants to talk,” she muttered.
Talk. Hadn’t Aiden been “talking” to Harmony, too? And now look at him. Sacrificing himself for the good of the herd. Would Crickitt’s ex wriggle his way back into her arms? And what would stop her from taking him back? Certainly not Shane. He’d inserted his foot into his mouth twice already, first recommending casual sex and then insisting their attraction for one another was temporary. Right about now he wanted to extract that foot and kick himself in the rear with it.
“Guess I’ll go up.” He took a step toward the building. “Thanks for holding down the fort.”
“Have a good night.”
Soon she’d be flashing that same tender smile to her ex-husband. A thought that made Shane’s stomach sink like he’d swallowed a cinder block. He watched as she fished her keys from her bag, her hips swinging as she balanced the bag over one shoulder. One hand went to her head to arrange her curls, and Shane’s gut twisted as he pictured her ex leaning in for a kiss hello, her hair brushing his cheek, smelling sweet and looking sweeter.
Even as panic rose within him, he knew he couldn’t go to her. What would he say? No, don’t go back to a man who gave you over a decade of stability. Stay here with me, I can offer you a few hours of commitment at a time.
Once she was out of sight, he stalked to the door and swiped his key card. He wondered if it was possible for her to look more beautiful than she did today, and then he wondered how angry on a scale of 1 to 10 she’d be if he followed her to her next destination and broke her date’s nose.
In his darkened office he turned on the desk lamp, followed by his computer. As it hummed to life, he stood at the expanse of windows behind his desk and watched the cars below. Mothers headed home to make dinner for their families, fathers traveled to Little League games, and at least one woman was meeting with a former spouse who didn’t deserve her.
Feeling uncharacteristically melancholy, Shane collapsed into his office chair and sorted through his e-mail. A message from Crickitt stood out, and he read it twice, hearing her voice and inflection as clearly as if she was standing there reading it to him. And wishing he’d had the guts to suggest dinner with him instead.
With more force than necessary, he clicked the mouse, shutting down his computer. He’d see her tomorrow morning and then he’d find out what happened during her “meeting.”
Just as soon as he came up with a legitimate excuse to grill his PA about her personal life.
* * *
Eight o’clock came and went. So did eight fifteen, eight twenty-three, and eight thirty-two. Crickitt still wasn’t in her office. Shane knew because he’d been standing there for several minutes, grimacing at her vacant desk chair.
He’d ended up working late last night. On the way home, he toyed with the idea of calling her under the guise of a work-related question. But when he palmed his cell phone, images of her with a faceless, nameless man popped into his head and he’d pocketed the phone. Shane didn’t want to know what, if anything, they were doing.
Pivoting on his heel, he breezed through the waiting room, arriving at Keena’s desk. “Crickitt?”
She answered his one-word query with a shrug.
He took out his phone. No missed calls, no text messages. No voice mails waiting.
Keena lifted the receiver and punched a button on her desk phone. “There is a new message.”
He waited impatiently.
“She’s ill, said she couldn’t get out of bed.”
Shane’s fists clenched at his sides. An immediate and unwelcome image of her tangled in her mismatched bedding with her former husband flashed in his mind. By the time he marched back to his office, he’d envisioned the entire evening. The candlelight on the table highlighting her clear blue eyes, the bottle of champagne making her feel warm and loose and spontaneous. She and her ex had a history together, plenty of good-old-days memories to share. What else had they shared, he wondered, his gut giving a sickening twist.
He never should have let her go.
* * *
Shane slammed a file drawer closed on his finger and swallowed a string of swearwords. “Dammit,” he growled, unsatisfied with the lame vulgarity. The day that started badly had continued to spiral.