“You were right. She’s in town.” He clears his throat. “She—she’s rented an apartment. And she wants to see you.”

I clutch the edge of the desk so hard the wood cuts into my hand. “I don’t want to see her.”

“I don’t blame you, kiddo. But, ah, I probably shouldn’t have, but I told her you were pregnant. She got wind of the story out of Dallas, and I just—”

“It’s fine,” I say, even though it really isn’t. I don’t want her to know. It’s too intimate a secret. Too special. And I’m too afraid that she’ll ruin it. More than that, I’m scared of that tiny part inside of me that—despite everything—wants to hear her congratulations.

“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure. I regret it now, anyway. She said—well, she said it would destroy your figure.” The words sound heavy. As if he wishes he could drop them and let them just sink away.

“That sounds like Mother. What else did she say?”

“She wants you to call her.”

“I didn’t call her after she moved. I don’t know why I’d call her now.”

“Not arguing. Just passing along the message.” He hesitates, then says, “I’m going to cancel the trip.”

“The hell you are. You’re already at the airport. Your bags are already checked.”

“I should be there for you. What if she comes to your office? To your house.”

“I have Damien,” I say. “Plus, I can take care of myself.”

The silence on the other end of the phone is heavy. “I should never have left you. Never left Ashley.”

“Stop it. Just stop it.” I manage to keep my voice steady even though my insides are churning merely from the thought that my mother is in the same town as I am. “You’re here for me now, and that’s true even if you are in Europe. You cancel, and it’s like you’re giving her the power. Trust me, Dad. I spent way too much time shifting my life around because of that woman.”

“Dad,” he repeats, his voice so soft I almost can’t hear him.

With a small shock, I realize it’s the first time I’ve called him that. “Yeah,” I say, my voice just as soft. I clear my throat and force a smile into my voice. “So, anyway, I’ll see you in a few months, okay. I’ll be the one waddling toward you in the airport.”

I keep my voice cheery—and I mean what I say—but at the same time, I’m all twisted up inside.

She’s here.

She’s really here in LA.

As soon as we hang up, I start to dial the phone again—then stop. Because it’s not just Damien’s voice I want. It’s the man.

I glance at the time—already three. I know he’ll be back from his lunch appointment, and I also know that even if he’s in the middle of a conference call or another meeting, if I ask Rachel to interrupt, he’ll come to me.

I hate that I’m even considering interrupting his work. I hate that I’m truly that weak.

But where my mother is concerned, dammit, I am.

And if I’m going to get through this—if I’m going to keep my head and my emotions on straight—I need him.

Dear God, I need him.

I’m not entirely sure how I get to my car, but the next thing I know I’m on the 101 and I’m headed toward downtown. Honestly, my head’s in such a mess, I probably should have called a cab or had Edward pick me up. But I make it downtown without causing a horrific accident, and then take our private elevator all the way from the parking structure up to the penthouse on fifty-seven.

I get out of the elevator on the office side, then head straight past the reception desk for the closed door to his office. “Is he alone?”

“He’s not here at all,” Rachel says. “I’m catching up on paperwork.”

“Not here?” I think back, trying to remember what appointment I’d forgotten. “I thought he was coming back after his lunch.”

“That was the plan, but some sort of crisis came up and he had to go to Santa Barbara. Is there a problem? Do you want me to call him?”

“I—no.” I must look more shaken than I thought if Rachel is offering to call Damien for me. “I just finished work early and thought I’d entice him into the apartment.”

She laughs. “He’s going to be sorry he missed out on that.”

“Well, I’m going over there now. When you see him, tell him I’m waiting.” I force a light-hearted wink, and she laughs.

“Will do.”

I make a point of seeming nonchalant as I head back to the elevator. Normally, I’d walk down the corridor that connects the office side to the apartment’s rear entrance, but that keeps me in Rachel’s sight for longer than I think I can handle. And right now, I’m certain my legs are going to collapse out from under me, and I really don’t want her to see that.

The elevator has doors on both sides, and I know that it’s sitting right there, just waiting for me. I want to scream and cry and rant, but I’m pushing all that down, forcing myself to look normal. To act normal. To give absolutely nothing away to Rachel, whose eyes are burning into my back as I press the elevator call button. The office-side door opens, and I step on, then punch in the code to operate the opposite door that enters the apartment.

It glides soundlessly open, and I step into the familiar foyer, and as soon as the door closes behind me, I quit fighting. A wave of tumultuous emotions crashes over me, and I sink down to the tile with no goal other than trying to control my breathing.

The only ornament in the foyer is a round marble table topped by a stunning flower arrangement that the office staff replaces weekly. The vase is pottery, and as I climb back onto my feet, I imagine myself ripping at those flowers. Pulling them out and strewing them across the floor, the thorns on the roses scraping my skin and raising a thin line of blood. My arms, lashing out to send the vase crashing to the ground. My knees aching as I kneel on the hard marble floor. As I reach for the shards. As I trace the ragged pottery deeper and deeper along the path the rose cut.

As I finally—finally—cling to the pain and let it pull me away from thoughts of my mother. From my fears. From all of the anxiety that swirls around inside of me.

My mother.

I don’t want her in my head. I don’t want to see her.