She’d found Shane’s laptop gathering dust in a corner. After hacking his simplistic password, she checked his incoming mail. Since then she’d weeded through some two hundred–odd e-mails. Even after throwing out the correspondence from herself, there had been several requiring immediate attention and a few requiring a bit of corporate butt-kissing.
Her stomach rumbled and she glanced at the clock, surprised it was after nine. She’d been at the kitchen table for hours. Pacing to the fridge, she pulled out the fixings for a sandwich, at the same time wondering if Shane had eaten yet. She hadn’t seen him since he vanished into his bedroom, where he still hid.
Crickitt made three sandwiches, unable to ignore Shane or his possible hunger, and piled them onto a plate. Grabbing a bag of unopened chips, she headed for his bedroom door and knocked. The television went quiet, but he didn’t answer. She tried the knob. Locked.
“Shane? Would you open the door?”
Nothing.
She’d lifted her fist to pound but the door swung aside. Shane was cleanly shaven, wearing a T-shirt and worn jeans that led down to tanned, bare feet. Dark circles decorated his eyes, and she wondered if between the two of them they’d managed one full night’s sleep all week.
“I made us sandwiches.”
His eyes went to the plate.
“You can eat yours in your room if you don’t—”
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Because…” I love you. “I thought you’d be hungry.”
He gave her an impatient look. “Why are you in Tennessee?”
Same reason.
But he wasn’t ready to hear a profession, and she wasn’t stupid enough to give one. As much as she wanted to believe he’d pull her into his arms and repeat the sentiment, she knew he wouldn’t. And she’d been there before, not all that long ago. Sometimes love didn’t conquer all. Sometimes love wasn’t enough. Especially when it was one-sided.
He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Sorry about earlier. I’m— You surprised me.”
She clenched the potato chips and heard the bag crinkle. If only this were a movie. Then she could drop their dinner and fling her arms around him, tell him she loved him while he kissed and held her and assured her everything would be all right.
“What’s going on?” He stepped past her and strode into the kitchen where his laptop sat open.
Crickitt deposited their food onto the table. “You haven’t checked your e-mail all week.”
He frowned at her, hand on the mouse. “And you thought you’d take it upon yourself?”
She could bring up the fact he’d all but abandoned his business for a week and a half. Or she could bring up the profits lost on two clients who fired them because they hadn’t heard back from Shane. “Did you know Henry’s having a launch party for Swept?” she said instead.
“When?” Shane asked, scanning the screen.
“Tomorrow afternoon. I received the e-mail on Wednesday. Investors, employers…everyone will be there.”
“Were you planning on telling me about this?” He growled.
She hated seeing him like this. Hated more that she was grieving the playful, smiling man who turned her heart inside out with a single brush of his talented lips. Would she ever see him like that again?
Don’t go there.
“You mean, like, call you?” she asked.
He looked away, chagrined. He should be. About something.
“Anyway, we’d have to fly,” she said.
Shane’s eyebrows slammed down. “No, we don’t.”
She used to think money meant freedom, but Shane had tons of it and had used it to build a padded room to hide in. And if he couldn’t risk something as simple as a two-hour flight, how could she hope he’d step outside of his comfort zone to be with her?
She shook her head, disappointed. “You’re afraid.”
His jaw clenched.
“But I’m not,” she said before he could argue. “I already booked a flight on a private jet for tomorrow afternoon. I’m going, but I refuse to spend the night riding down there.”
And have to see him sitting across from her, distant, untouchable after all they’d shared, after how much he meant to her. The ride would be unbearable.
“I have to go to Gusty’s to see Angel in the morning about my new accounts,” she said. “Then, I’m off.”
He stood. “Well, reschedule with her—you closed new accounts?”
“Three of them.”