“But—”

He continued, “Shouldn’t have fucking said anything, but I told my editor I had the story of the year, if he’d let me run with it. Don’t know how the rest of these vultures heard. Grapevine, I guess.”

“Get the fuck back before I throw you off this dock, boy.” Simon’s voice was harsh, promising violence. It had the intended effect. The redhead scuttled back and hopped the fence before an Orleans employee could grab him.

Outted by an overzealous intern. It was almost as ridiculous as Al Capone going down for tax evasion.

Simon dropped my hand and stared down at me, assessing my every feature with new intensity. Everyone and everything else—the voices, the flashes—fell away. There was nothing but Simon. There was also nothing I could say to fix this.

He was a stranger again. The one who’d met me at the door to his office. His expression was stony, and his hazel eyes gave nothing away as they stripped me bare.

I straightened, trying to prepare myself for what I knew was coming. My heart was already cracking. But I’d brought this on myself. I could have told him weeks ago. Months ago. But I’d chosen not to.

The muscles in his jaw clenched as he reached for a section of my hair. He shook his head and yanked his hand back without touching me.

“Simon … I—”

“Why?” The quiet word rasped over me and scraped me raw. “Why didn’t you just tell me? If you think I would’ve cared, that it would have made a damn bit of difference, you don’t know me at all.”

“Can we not do this here?” I begged.

He ignored my plea and continued.

“I would have protected you, hid you away from the world, if that’s what you wanted. But you didn’t trust me. Not even with something as simple as your goddamn name.” He paused, inhaling a harsh breath. “I thought you coming here tonight meant something. Meant that this was finally real. But it was never real, was it?” His lips quirked up in a mockery of a smile. “Can’t have love without trust, Charlotte.”

His words, punctuated with the use of my real name, were a blade between my ribs. The shaft of pain through my heart stole any response I could muster.

Jefferson Duchesne shoved his way between Simon and me, popping the bubble that had formed around us. He pitched his words low, but they still hit me like an uppercut to the gut. “You can’t be seen with her. You need to put as much distance between you and her as you possibly can. She’ll ruin everything.”

The words ricocheted through my brain.

Ruin everything. Ruin everything. Ruin everything.

And he was right. I owed Simon more than that. Simon turned to his father, and I did what I did best.

I ran.

I flung open the door of Voodoo, eyes searching for the one person I knew I wouldn’t find. But I didn’t know where else to look.

It all happened so damn fast. The press, their questions, the intern. The truth of who she was slamming into me. Charlotte Agoston. Person of interest according to the FBI. Missing former society princess. Daughter of the universally hated Alistair Agoston. All of the questions I’d had for months answered in a single moment. Unfortunately not by Charlie.

Weeks ago I’d point blank asked her if she was in trouble, if she was running from someone. Her answer was something along the lines of ‘not exactly.’

It seemed our definitions of trouble were wildly different. But even that, I didn’t care about. What I cared about was the fact that while I’d been trying to process what the fuck I’d just learned, and placating my father, I’d turned my back for a moment—and she’d run. She’d fucking run. From me.

Maybe my words had been harsh, but Jesus Christ, she needed to cut a guy some slack when he’d just been blindsided by the fact that the woman he was in love with was living under a false identity. But before I could get a grip on the situation and tell her, unequivocally, that we’d deal with this together, she’d run.

And I already knew she was damn good at that. If she didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be.

As soon as I’d shepherded my parents past the swarm of reporters and gotten them into their car, I’d gone on the hunt.

I didn’t give a damn what her name was. Charlie and I weren’t done, and I wasn’t letting her run from me. From us.

I’d come up empty at Harriet’s. No answer to the buzzers I’d pressed at least a hundred times. I vaguely recalled Charlie mentioning Harriet was going to an art festival up north somewhere over the holiday.

I didn’t know where Yve lived, so that left Voodoo and Con. I swallowed my pride as I crossed the black and white checkered floor. I slapped my hands down on the graffiti-covered counter, and both tattoo guns stopped buzzing. Con rose, and a deep bark echoed from the back.

Huck.

My heart lodged in my throat, and I headed for the break room; Con blocked the hallway.

“She’s not here.”

“I don’t believe you. Her dog’s here.”

“He is, but she’s not.”

“Then where the fuck is she?” I barely restrained myself from grabbing him by the neck and shaking him.

“Gone.”

“Where? Just fucking tell me where.” My words sounded like a plea. If I had to humble myself to get answers, I would.

“From what I heard, you weren’t incredibly understanding when it all shook out.”

“And you were?”

“I’m not blind and in love. I knew exactly who she was within a week of laying eyes on her.”

“She told you?” The stab of betrayal was swift.

“No. And she didn’t know I knew until she got herself knifed.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped the back of my neck. The words tasted like ash, but I had to say them. “Please don’t jack me around, Con. I need to find her.”

“Told you man, she’s long gone. Besides, you being with her isn’t exactly a winning campaign strategy.”

“There’s no campaign. I’m not running.” It felt good to say the words aloud. The feeling just reinforced that I’d made the right decision.

“Because of her?”

“No, because of me. It might’ve taken me a while to figure it out, but this is my life. I get one go ‘round, and I’m going to fucking live it how I want. And to do that, I need her.”