Page 68

He turned toward her, amid gasps and chatter. Joanie’s voice was the loudest as she said, “I suggest you fire that rat bastard before he takes you down with him.”

Marcus was going to have to buy Joanie flowers for that one. He’d thank her later—right now his focus was on Lily.

“Marcus, why did you do that? What if—” Her eyes were wild. Worried.

His girl.

He didn’t let her finish. He grabbed her up and kissed her. She resisted at first, then gave in. He loved the way she went pliant beneath him. Loved the way she shut her eyes and curled her hands around the lapels of his jacket.

Just loved her, period.

He ended the kiss and opened his mouth to tell her exactly how he felt. But her soft smile vanished in a blink of her blue eyes.

Behind him, Emmett was running his mouth, promising to press charges for assault or some shit. If he wasn’t careful, those charges might escalate to murder. Then, the bastard swore to Joanie and Clive that they would lose their firm if he had anything to do with it.

Lily’s face went red, but her accusation was aimed at Marcus. “What did you do?”

He pointed at Emmett. “He isn’t allowed to talk about you. Not to me. Not to anyone. Dammit, Lily. You should have told me this asshole was the reason you left L&B. The reason you didn’t let yourself say yes to me.”

Emmett, who was covered in blood from his busted nose, curled his upper lip. Next to him, Reginald was cradling his left arm, his wife at his side. Joanie and Clive tended to the Londons.

“Should have expected you to sic your guard dog on me, Lily of the Valley,” Emmett shouted. “You’ll pay for that. Both of you.”

Marcus turned and grabbed a fistful of shirt and suit and hauled Emmett to his tiptoes. “Then I may as well get my money’s worth.”

“And she’s off,” Emmett said, tipping his head toward the exit.

That was when Marcus realized that Lily was running out of the building. He had no choice but to let her ex go and follow after her.

So that’s what he did.

He spent the next hour looking for Lily. Calling her. Texting her.

He’d checked the balcony, the ladies’ room, and each darkened ballroom on the property. He’d checked the parking lot, and even his own car.

He’d driven to her house, and then, desperately, to his own.

She was nowhere.

Tonight had been a disaster, but a fixable one. Clive had texted him and let him know not to worry about London or Emmett. Evidently, after Lily and Marcus left, London had fired Emmett on the spot, and told him if he pressed charges, London himself would see to it that Emmett never worked for another design firm again.

Justice had been served.

Marcus wanted to feel happy about that comeuppance, but until he found Lily—whose car had not been parked in front of her house—he couldn’t feel good about much of anything.

As he was driving through the cozy town of Fantom, on the lookout for a cherry-red car with a redhead at the wheel, it occurred to him that there was one place he hadn’t checked yet. An unlikely spot, where it all began for them.

At the top of Willow Street, he spotted Lily’s car.

He parked on the crumbling driveway behind her compact, sidestepped the downed shutter, and picked up a discarded hockey mask. He smiled to himself as he stepped over a plastic ax.

The door was cracked, warm light coming from the direction of the front room.

Inside, she sat on a deflated air mattress, hugging a pillow with both arms. She was lit by the lantern on the ground near her feet. Her hair was down, her mascara was running. She was the most beautiful woman in the world.

“It’s me,” he said.

“I heard your car.” She sniffled.