“No one needs to know who you are,” I blurted out without thinking.
As soon as the words left my mouth, her entire demeanor deflated. “Oh, okay.” She nodded, and I noticed unshed tears shining in her eyes. I didn’t think these were the happy kind that had been there when Bella had hugged her.
I hadn’t meant to come across as harsh. I tried to soften my statement by explaining, “I just meant that I wouldn’t be introducing you on stage or anything. No one would bother you. You could just go and enjoy yourself.”
I could see there was something behind her eyes—an uncertainty. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”
“I only want you to go if you want to go. If you don’t want to go, don’t go.” I guess all the years I’d spent in therapy hadn’t resolved my rejection issues. They were clearly right under the surface.
“It’s not that.” Her eyes dropped to her hands, which were resting on her lap. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
Fuck. Of course, she didn’t have anything to wear. Why was I being such a self-absorbed asshole? “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of that. I’d really like you to be there,” I said sincerely. I wasn’t just saying that because I wanted Skye to come.
She smiled. “I’d be honored to go.”
I nodded and turned to leave.
“Nick,” her voice sounded so weak and so quiet. I turned back.
“What?”
“Thank you.” Her voice was shaky with emotion.
“It’s just a dinner.”
“No, I mean for everything.”
“It’s no problem,” I responded the same way I had all the other hundred times she’d thanked me.
“No, itisa problem. You didn’t have to do this. Any of this. You could have left me to die in there. No one would have blamed you.”
“Iwould have blamed me.” With that, I turned and walked out of the room.
On the way down the hall, I passed Gary as he was going back in to be with Naomi. Fuck. I wished that Skye was on her shift. I wanted to see her. Badly. But maybe it was good that she wasn’t there. If she had been, I probably would have pulled her into my arms. And if I did that, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let go. Which would most likely end up in a lawsuit or possibly criminal action.
My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out. It was a message from Mitch Green saying he was in town for the night. He was an independent true-crime podcaster that I’d been trying to sign with Locke Media.
Maybe this was just what I needed. Drinks and getting a contract signed. If work and women couldn’t distract me from Skye, maybe closing a multimillion-dollar deal would.
