easing her worry. He’d never been an anxious sort. Joe wasn’t the type to call over and over again or shoot a bunch of texts her way when he couldn’t get in touch with her. He was easy, calm.
Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe he’d just missed her, and something had gotten into his head the moment he called and wouldn’t let him loose. But by the time Gia changed into her yoga pants and floppy UCLA oversized sweatshirt, her cell rang again, and that same 212 number moved across her screen.
The cell vibrated against her desk as she let it ring. The curved surface knocked against the edge of her laptop, sliding nearly off the white marble surface until she stopped it. After the sixth ring, the voicemail engaged, and Gia waited, gaze narrowing on the screen until it flashed with a small, blinking envelope.
She debated listening to the message. What good would it do? There’d been no promises between them when he left her place that cold February morning. There’d only been the sweet ache in her muscles from how he’d touched her and the prediction he’d made that someone, somewhere would one day leave her in a mess she’d never want to be out of.
Joe was dramatic. A sweet, romantic good time who told her he wanted to settle but knew that wasn’t in her game plan. So why was he pestering her now?
“Oh, hell,” she told the empty room, selecting the message button, then the speaker option. When she heard his voice, something flipped in her stomach—some old, wild sensation that started with a great swell of excitement but almost immediately died as soon as it began.
“Kia Ora, Gia, I know you’re busy, but I’m going to need a bit of time. There’s something…ah…bugger. Just…can you phone me? I hate leaving messages…especially for something like…well, it’s important, eh? Phone me, as soon as you’re able. Great. Chur, love.”
“Damn, Joe.” There were scenarios running through Gia’s head. Millions did anytime she thought she sensed drama looming. Sometimes, the men she found didn’t like to walk away. Sometimes, they lingered. Gia thought she was one of a growing, but still small group of women her age that wasn’t looking for someone who wanted to stick around.
But she didn’t. She’d had that once. At least, she’d had the potential of that and losing it had nearly destroyed her.
Luka had loved her like no one.
Luka had held her.
Touched her.
Promised her that what they had was a forever love.
But Gia knew that kind of love is a promise spoken with no power. It’s the whisper in the dark with no hope of ever seeing the light.
She glanced down at her phone, at Joe’s number staring back at her like a threat and promise all in one, and decided she wanted neither. Deleting the message and blocking the number, she moved from her office, tugging off her lounging garb and shuffling into her running gear, needing the reprieve that came to her from the open river breeze and the exertion she earned with every pounding slap of her running feet against the trail that ran along the Mississippi behind her building.
Out there, there were no promises, no threats, no reminders of what would never be hers again.
HER BODY SOAKED to the bone, her sleeveless top drenched, Gia walked through the lobby, nodding to the security guard who opened the door that led to the elevators and stopped herself from tugging out the earbuds she’d used to keep the city and the stream of constant tourists from distracting her as she concentrated on her run.
Lydia and Lionel, or Dr. and Mrs. Becknell from 5D, the floor above her, were moving into the car just ahead of Gia, both their attention on her, but she assumed for different reasons.
Lydia, like every other time Gia had exchanged glances with her, glared at Gia, the woman’s examining gaze penetrating, judgmental as she seemed to take in everything from the way Gia wore her hair pinned back in a high ponytail, to the minimal make-up and tight workout gear she sported. She was used to this kind of appraisal. Women, particularly those entangled with players or owners, coaches and fellow managers in every organization she’d ever worked in, had served Gia with this particular brand of suspicious scrutiny. It had not changed in twenty years. Gia doubted it ever would.
Lydia, however, was a particularly nasty sort, muttering, low, catty comments anytime she and Gia found themselves at the