By the twentieth time, I knew the video by heart – every move, every word, and every expression on her face. The woman on the screen was like two different people – first a slick P.R. pro and then a hardened survivor pulling a grab-and-go.
Neither woman was the TessaIknew.
Regardless of the version, the person on the screen was a stranger. And if my instincts hadn't gone inexplicably quiet, she would've remained a stranger, which would've been a hell of a lot easier now.
For her.
For me.
And my sanity, too.
88
Not About the Book
Tessa
This wasn't about the book.
Sure, the need to retrieve it had propelled me down Main Street, heading for Ryder's hotel. But now that I was here, with my hand poised to knock, I realized something important.
What I really wanted was certainty. If Ryder was done with me, I wanted him to say it.And if he wasn't?Well, let's just say he had some serious explaining to do – even if itwasbarely past dawn.
In the quiet hallway, I began silently counting to three.One, two…and before I could finish, I knocked anyway – already bracing myself to knock again, just to get him out of bed.
But it wasn't necessary.
He answered right away, pulling open the door, only to say nothing at all. There was no smile, no teasing, and certainly no charm. There was just Ryder himself – fully awake, fully dressed, and apparently, fully closed off.
He looked at me as if to say,Go on. Get it over with.
Silently, I looked right back, thinking,Seriously?
The silence stretched out until something inside me broke, and I blurted out, "This isn't about the book."
His eyebrows lifted. "So youdon'twant it back?"
Smartass."Of course I want it back. It's not even mine."
"So whose is it?"
"Do you care?"
"Not particularly."
I sighed. "Then why'd you ask?"
"I dunno. Curiosity?"
Through gritted teeth, I said, "It's Maisie's.Obviously."
"Right."
Oh, terrific. His new favorite word.I crossed my arms. "So you want to do this out here in the hall?"
"Technically, only one of us is in the hall."
"Is that a joke?"
