“I, um…is Mr. Gunner here?” I say through the glass.
“Who’s asking?”
“Evie. Evie Taylor.” I won’t pull the wife card again.
“Well, Evie-Evie Taylor, you are out of luck. Mr. Gunner isn’t here.”
Fuck. Fuckity fuck!
Fine, I’ll just ring him and find out where he is.
I turn to leave, then, I realize that I don’t have my cell with me. It’s in my bag, which I left at home.
Triple fuck!
Fine, I’ll just go to the hotel, and if he’s not there, then I’ll go home and get my cell—
Hang on.
I turn back to the glass door and rap on it again, louder this time.
Huge guy had almost made it back to the reception desk.
He stops and lets out what looks like a massive sigh. Then, he turns back to me and marches over again.
“What?” he says loudly.
“You said Mr. Gunner isn’t here.”
“He isn’t.” His expression practically growls at me.
“But that’s his car right there.” I point to the black Range Rover Sport, which took me to Malibu yesterday. I recognize the license plate.
His eyes narrow on me. “Look, girlie, I get that you think that you’re something special and that Mr. Gunner will take one look at you and cast you as the lead in his next movie. Maybe he will. Who knows? But that day will not be today. I am under strict instructions to not bother him, and you, girlie, are not worth my job.”
“But that’s just it, I’m not an actress. I’m not here to see him about a movie. I’m actually…well, I’m a friend of his.”
He lets out a laugh that sounds like he’s heard this a thousand times before. “If you were his friend, then you would be standing on this side of the door, and not out there, wouldn’t you?” He gives me a knowing look, folding his arms over his huge chest.
I let out an awkward sounding laugh. “Well, that’s the thing you see…Adam—Mr. Gunner, he doesn’t like me very much right now and with good reason. So, that’s why I’m out here, and not in there. And that’s why I need to see him. So, I can explain.”
“No can do, girlie.”
Ahh!
“Please.” I press my palms to the window. “All I’m asking is, you call him and let him know I’m here. I’d call myself, but I left my cell at home.”
He stares at me for a long moment. So, I put my best pleading face on.
All I seem to do is plead with Adam’s staff to let me through to see him.
“Fine!” he huffs, reaching for his cell. He dials and puts it to his ear.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I have an Evie Taylor here—um-hum. Okay.” He hangs his cell up, putting it back into his pocket. “He doesn’t want to see you.”
“He said that?”
“Those exact words.”
Jesus. If he had smacked me in the face it would have hurt less, than Adam’s blatant rejection.
I watch as his expression changes to one of pity. I’m guessing it’s because of the look on mine.
I’m really close to bursting into tears.
Come on, Evie, pull yourself together.
I suck in a breath, blinking the tears away. “Well…thank you for trying. I really appreciate it.”
I turn from the door and stand there, not sure what to do.
Then, from nowhere, I feel a sudden rush of anger.
Well, fine, Adam doesn’t want to see me, but I want to see him.
He asked me last night for the truth, and that’s what I’m here to give him.
I’ve come this far, and I’m not going anywhere until I see it through to the end.
With determination in my stride, I march over to the bench across the street, facing the studio, and I sit down on it.
Okay, it might not be a massive declaration. And I’m actually starting to feel a little deflated, and stupid, now my ass is on this bench.
But this is all I’ve got. So, I’m staying put.
I mean, if I wanted to go all out, I could have tried to ninja kick open the door to the building—not that I know ninja, or how that would have even worked out—and if I had by some miracle made it through the door and made a dash for Adam’s office, I’m pretty sure huge guy in there would have taken me down in seconds and then called the cops. And I really don’t feel like spending the night in a prison cell.
So, I’m waiting here until Adam leaves the building.
Then, I’ll make him talk to me. Well, I don’t need him to talk. I just need him to listen.
Bench seats are not made for long periods of sitting. Both my ass cheeks are numb, and my back hurts.
Two hours is a really long time to sit. I mean, one hour is a long time, but two? This second hour feels longer than the first. I never realized how long an hour was until I had to sit here for two of them with absolutely nothing to do but stare across the street at Adam’s building. And God knows how much longer I’m going to be here.
But I’m not moving. I’ll sit here all night if I have to.
I know I look like a complete dick, but I don’t care.
I came here to tell Adam the truth, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to wait here until he leaves his building, and then I’m going to force him to hear me out.
I can’t remember the last time I sat for this long. Sure, I sit and watch TV for long periods of time, but I’m watching TV.
The last time I just sat like this and did nothing…was ten years ago—with Adam. We would sit up on my rock or just on the beach, and I would sketch for a while. Then, when I was done sketching, we’d just watch the sun fade into the ocean together, just being together.
Now, I’m sitting here alone, outside his building, and he doesn’t want to see me.
I tilt my head back and stare up at the sky. The clouds are slowly drifting over.
I let myself remember good times, happier times.
There was a time when I wouldn’t allow myself to remember the good times because it hurt too much to do so.
It hurts now, but it’s a pain I’m familiar with.
A shadow falls over me. I drop my gaze, and my eyes meet with Adam’s.
My breath catches. My heart stills.
“You suck at stakeouts,” he says in a low voice that sends chills over my skin. “I could have left the building and walked straight past you, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”
He sits down beside me on the bench. My eyes follow him. My mouth is open.
He’s here.
“Wh-why didn’t you?”
“Well, after two hours of waiting, I figured you must really want to talk to me.”
He was watching me from his building. I don’t know what to make of that. I want to think he hasn’t given up on me completely. But he might after I tell him what I’m here to say.
“I did—do. I do want to talk to you.” I swallow nervously, my mouth as dry as the desert. “And I would have waited for as long as necessary to make that happen.” I need him to know that.
“Well, I’m here now, so talk.”
I take a calming breath, trying to gather my thoughts. I’ve got so many things to say to him, and I want to make sure I get this out right and say everything I need to.
I blow that breath out and start talking, “I lied to you.” I look at him and hold his stare. “That first day in your bungalow at the hotel, you asked me if Ava had anything to do with my leaving, and I said no. That was a lie.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I see the anger flickering to life in his eyes.
He doesn’t say anything. He just continues to steadily stare back at me.
I look ahead, my hands pressed together in my lap, as I keep talking, “That night of your bachelor party, after you left, Ava turned up at the beach house. I didn’t let her in at first. I told her that you’d gone out. She said she wasn’t there to see you. She was there to see me. She told me that she had a proposition for me. I told her that whatever it was she had to say, I definitely wasn’t interested.”