you like that. I swear, it won’t happen again.”
“You think that’s why I’m upset? Because you ‘grabbed’ me?” She put the elevator back
in service, then hit the button for the lobby. Ryder didn’t move even as the doors
started to close.
“Say you’ll come tonight,” he said as they rode down the twenty-three floors to the
lobby.
She ignored him. It wasn’t easy—rock stars didn’t get to be rock stars because it
was easy to overlook them—but she managed it. At least until the elevator doors slid
open and she started to exit.
He blocked her, standing in the middle and spreading his arms so there was no way
out. For a second she was pressed up against all that hot, hard, male flesh. Her knees
went weak despite her best intentions, but that only made her angrier—and more determined
to get away from him. It was like she was an addict—the longer she was in his presence,
the more she was willing to do to stay there. Her only hope of escape was to go cold
turkey.
Desperate to get away before she started to cry, or gave in, she stepped on his foot.
Hard. Then took advantage of his momentary distraction to twist away from him and
dart from the elevator.
“Jamison!” He trailed her through the busy lobby. “I’ll leave tickets at will call—”
She kept walking. “I already told you I had plans.”
“Break them.” His voice rang through the lobby. She glanced around, realized they
were attracting attention, but for once she didn’t care.
“For whom?” she demanded, whirling on him. “For you?”
He froze, an uncertain look on his face. In that moment, she knew she was—finally—looking
at the real Ryder and not the rock god. The knowledge further weakened her resolve.
Or it would have, if she had let it.
Silence hung in the air between them for one beat, two, as she waited for Ryder to
say something. Anything. But he didn’t—of course he didn’t—so she had to. “I didn’t
think so. Good-bye, Ryder.”
She turned and walked away.
“Jamison!” he called after her.
She wanted desperately to turn around, wanted desperately to run back to him and beg
him to forget about Jared and his past and everything else that he thought was standing
between them. But her days of begging him to notice her, to be with her, were long
gone.
So she kept walking right out the spinning glass doors. And she never looked back.
Chapter Nine
Hours later, Jamison limped into her apartment building with blisters the size of
silver dollars on her heels. She’d spent the day pounding the pavement, looking for
a job—any kind of job—to fill the gaps until she could find work as a dessert chef.
Unfortunately, all the colleges had just gotten out for summer and jobs were scarce
as the students had already snapped up most of them.
Which meant she was in trouble, no doubt about it. Unless she got really lucky—something
she sincerely doubted would happen—she was completely screwed. Once she got upstairs,
she’d log on to the state database and file for unemployment. Then run a job search
in the San Diego area—the third such search she’d run in as many days—and see if anything
new popped up.
Depressed, pissed off, and more than a little scared—though she hated to admit it,
even to herself—Jamison shuffled her way over to the mailboxes, trying not to lift
her feet as she moved. She wasn’t sure the blisters could take it. Already, she could
feel blood oozing around her heels. It was a testament to just how crappy her neighborhood,
and apartment building, were that she hadn’t taken off the damn shoes the second she’d
stepped off the bus. But God only knew what there was lying around to step in.
She had just opened her mailbox and reached for the letters inside of it—all bills,
she was certain—when Jared’s voice sounded behind her. “Where the hell have you been?”
Spooked at the loud, angry sound, she
“You think that’s why I’m upset? Because you ‘grabbed’ me?” She put the elevator back
in service, then hit the button for the lobby. Ryder didn’t move even as the doors
started to close.
“Say you’ll come tonight,” he said as they rode down the twenty-three floors to the
lobby.
She ignored him. It wasn’t easy—rock stars didn’t get to be rock stars because it
was easy to overlook them—but she managed it. At least until the elevator doors slid
open and she started to exit.
He blocked her, standing in the middle and spreading his arms so there was no way
out. For a second she was pressed up against all that hot, hard, male flesh. Her knees
went weak despite her best intentions, but that only made her angrier—and more determined
to get away from him. It was like she was an addict—the longer she was in his presence,
the more she was willing to do to stay there. Her only hope of escape was to go cold
turkey.
Desperate to get away before she started to cry, or gave in, she stepped on his foot.
Hard. Then took advantage of his momentary distraction to twist away from him and
dart from the elevator.
“Jamison!” He trailed her through the busy lobby. “I’ll leave tickets at will call—”
She kept walking. “I already told you I had plans.”
“Break them.” His voice rang through the lobby. She glanced around, realized they
were attracting attention, but for once she didn’t care.
“For whom?” she demanded, whirling on him. “For you?”
He froze, an uncertain look on his face. In that moment, she knew she was—finally—looking
at the real Ryder and not the rock god. The knowledge further weakened her resolve.
Or it would have, if she had let it.
Silence hung in the air between them for one beat, two, as she waited for Ryder to
say something. Anything. But he didn’t—of course he didn’t—so she had to. “I didn’t
think so. Good-bye, Ryder.”
She turned and walked away.
“Jamison!” he called after her.
She wanted desperately to turn around, wanted desperately to run back to him and beg
him to forget about Jared and his past and everything else that he thought was standing
between them. But her days of begging him to notice her, to be with her, were long
gone.
So she kept walking right out the spinning glass doors. And she never looked back.
Chapter Nine
Hours later, Jamison limped into her apartment building with blisters the size of
silver dollars on her heels. She’d spent the day pounding the pavement, looking for
a job—any kind of job—to fill the gaps until she could find work as a dessert chef.
Unfortunately, all the colleges had just gotten out for summer and jobs were scarce
as the students had already snapped up most of them.
Which meant she was in trouble, no doubt about it. Unless she got really lucky—something
she sincerely doubted would happen—she was completely screwed. Once she got upstairs,
she’d log on to the state database and file for unemployment. Then run a job search
in the San Diego area—the third such search she’d run in as many days—and see if anything
new popped up.
Depressed, pissed off, and more than a little scared—though she hated to admit it,
even to herself—Jamison shuffled her way over to the mailboxes, trying not to lift
her feet as she moved. She wasn’t sure the blisters could take it. Already, she could
feel blood oozing around her heels. It was a testament to just how crappy her neighborhood,
and apartment building, were that she hadn’t taken off the damn shoes the second she’d
stepped off the bus. But God only knew what there was lying around to step in.
She had just opened her mailbox and reached for the letters inside of it—all bills,
she was certain—when Jared’s voice sounded behind her. “Where the hell have you been?”
Spooked at the loud, angry sound, she
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