say, or even what she wanted to say. He’d moved out without warning, they hadn’t talked about it once and now he was in an extended-stay hotel. Shouldn’t there be at least one thing for them to talk about?
Worse, she had no idea how she felt. She usually alternated between confused, scared and furious, but seeing him left her feeling only hollow and numb.
“I told Ben to let Coach know if he starts to not feel well,” she added. “It’s only been a few days since he was sick. Oh, and there are a couple of bottles of water in the backpack. He needs to stay hydrated.”
Jordan shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Anything else?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then I’ll see you later.”
The obvious dismissal cracked the wall she’d built around her emotions and they all came flooding out. Mad seemed to be winning but terror was right there behind. Didn’t he miss her? Didn’t their life matter to him?
“Jordan,” she began, only to stop when he shook his head.
“Not now,” he said quietly, a pleading tone in his voice. “Can we please not do this now?”
“Then when?”
“Soon.”
He turned and headed for the bleachers. Krissa waved to him and pointed to the empty seat beside her. Jordan joined her and gave her a hug, then they both turned to watch the game. Daisy walked toward her car.
Once inside, she stared unseeingly out the windshield. Her stomach was a mess and her head hurt and she had no idea how to fix whatever was wrong in her marriage. Even more unsettling, she couldn’t even begin to define the problems, which should probably be the first step. Was it her? Was it him? Had they accidentally created something toxic? How did anyone get through such a rough patch in a relationship?
She only had questions and absolutely no answers. More frightening than that was a nagging sense that she might be the only one searching for a solution and if that was true, could there even be a way back?
four
Sage supposed describing the Beverly Hills boutique where she worked as “upscale” was being redundant. In this part of town, money was required. Designers ruled, and in her store, it was all Italian, all the time.
When she’d decided to return to the States—although the word “decided” was a loose interpretation of what had happened—she’d known retail was her best bet. She’d worked in exclusive boutiques in Paris, Milan and Rome. She was used to dealing with incredibly wealthy women who not only expected deference and good service, but wanted someone who understood the pain of being them.
Despite being the new girl in the store, she was doing all right. There were enough walk-ins to keep her busy and the more established sales professionals had taken to passing off difficult clients to her. When that happened, Sage did her best to meet the challenge with style and cunning. Demanding bitches might not be fun, but they often had tons of money and if you tamed one, you had a loyal client for life.
Her theory was currently being tested by a thirtysomething who had come in looking for a dress for a cocktail party. So far Inocencia had rejected eight dresses. Just as thrilling, her ridiculous teacup Yorkie had peed on the rug and wouldn’t stop barking.
The black-haired, blue-eyed beauty (Inocencia, not the dog) glared at her.
“You’re not helping,” she said, her voice rising in volume with every word. “I need something special. Why can’t you get that through your thick head? Can you handle this or do I need to get someone with half a brain?”
The loathing in the words was mitigated by the fact that Inocencia was wearing nothing but a thong. She had an amazing body, including perfect breasts, the product of excellent plastic surgery.
Sage considered her options. She was running out of size zero dresses for her client, but really didn’t want to lose the sale. It was time to put on a show.
“It must be difficult to find something extraordinary when you already have so many lovely clothes,” Sage said in English, before deliberately switching to Italian. “Sono assolutalmente d’accordo.”
Inocencia stared at her suspiciously. “What did you say?”
Sage blinked innocently, before slapping her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no!” She dropped her arm to her side. “I apologize. I’m still speaking in Italian, I mean. English is obviously my first language, but I’ve only been back a few weeks.” She smiled winningly. “I said I absolutely agree with