The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,92

for the offer.”

“This kind of sucks,” Mackenzie said quietly.

“It’s one night.”

She made a dissatisfied noise.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he said.

“Okay. Give Strudel a pat for me.”

“Done.”

He hung up and walked to the sink. The yard outside was pitch-black and all he could see was his own reflection in the glass. Not wanting to look into his own eyes, he returned to the living room and took up his book. Twenty minutes later he heard the low rumble of the Ferrari starting up. It seemed to take a long time for it to return—more than the drive into town and back to pick up food.

Pull your head in. What are you, a stalker now?

He abandoned the book and picked up his guitar. He started fiddling with the song he’d composed but knew straightaway that he wasn’t in the right frame of mind. Everything felt wrong—the bridge, the chorus, the lyrics. He played a few classic Rolling Stones songs, then found himself fingering Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car.”

Yeah.

He started watching the clock at nine, calculating how long it would take for Mackenzie to eat some Chinese food and then read a script. He had no idea how many pages the average movie screenplay ran to, but he figured that it couldn’t take longer to read a movie than it took to watch one. Which meant she should be well and truly done by now.

Can you hear yourself? You don’t own her. If she wants to stay up all night doing a bloody live read-through of the thing it’s none of your business. Calm the hell down.

He was way too wound up to be able to let it go, though. He kept thinking about the way Patrick had sprawled across Mackenzie’s couch, as though he was utterly at home. And maybe he was. Oliver had no idea how long Mackenzie had owned the beach house. Perhaps it had once been shared marital property. Perhaps Mackenzie and Langtry had once enjoyed long weekends and summers together beneath its roof.

He shot to his feet, sick of his thoughts, wishing he could take a break from his own head. Somehow he found himself at the window, looking out at Mackenzie’s place. He could see shadows moving behind the curtains. Mackenzie walking into the kitchen, maybe. Langtry following her...?

“What are you doing?” He said it out loud, because he needed to hear the words.

What was he doing, standing here at the window, projecting half-a-dozen ugly possibilities onto a perfectly ordinary situation?

Two people having dinner and discussing a work matter. Nothing could be more innocuous, even if they had once been married. And even if that marriage had extended into a postdivorce affair.

Sometimes, even when you know someone is wrong for you, you get sucked into old patterns and behaviors.

“Jesus.”

He stalked away from the window, glancing around the room, desperately seeking distraction. His gaze fell on Strudel, asleep by the fire.

A walk. He’d take her for a walk. Great idea. Get some fresh air, blow this craziness out of his head.

He strode to the bedroom and pulled on his coat, then wrapped his scarf around his neck. Strudel blinked at him blearily when she heard the clink of her lead, then shook herself to alertness as she understood a walk was in the offing. She waited patiently while he clipped her lead on and followed him out the door.

His breath steamed in the night air as he walked past Mackenzie’s house. The Ferrari was covered with a fine sheen of condensation and he had to resist the urge to write something profane and childish on the misty paintwork. Go home, wanker, or something to that effect.

He turned his back on the house and the car and walked, willing the cold and the dark and the rhythm of his stride to loosen the knot in his gut.

He wasn’t a jealous person. Never had been. For him jealousy had always signaled weakness, fear. A lack of belief in yourself. That wasn’t the way he saw himself. He had his own business, was on the way to owning his home—at least, he had been before the divorce. Now, he and Edie would either have to sell, or he could buy her out.

Or maybe she and Nick would buy him out.

Acid burned in his gut. He didn’t want to think about Edie and Nick while he was trying to keep thoughts of Mackenzie and Langtry at bay. Mackenzie was not Edie. Mackenzie was straight up and fierce and direct. She called a