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I whisper the last question, “Any final thoughts on what The Strata means to you?”

Ethan pauses, his hand reaching up toward me—the same halted motion I’ve seen from him before, and the same withdraw, his fingers curling into his palm before he places his fist back on his lap.

His reply is soft. A gentle caress ladened with heaviness. Whoever thought the icy king of numbers is cold has never been more wrong.

“Some places stay with you. Forever. Even when you forget them.”

My eyes burn and a sharp ache spears my chest.

An image of a hummingbird with a red chest floats to my mind. The stained glass window at Ravenswood. My laugh. My lucky earrings.

My vision refocuses, and I find his gray eyes clouded in a sheen of moisture, and the pain sharpens in my heart.

What’s going on?

Chapter 39

Sandra claps. “And that’sa wrap. That’s great, guys. We have a lot of footage to work with.”

The spell breaks and we jolt apart.

Ethan swipes his eyes with his fingers before unleashing one of his strained smiles into the crowd. I clear my throat and heave out a few deep breaths before I stand and do the same.

My pulse gallops in my ears. I can barely hear myself think.

My heart feels like it’ll give up on me at any second.

Judging from the flush creeping up his neck and how his fingers fidget with his cuff links, I’d guess he feels the same.

But nothing happened. It was just a basic interview—professional questions.

It felt like much more. Like he flipped open the pages of my book and read the passages aloud. Or perhaps he already had my pages memorized.

I feel naked.

What on earth?Nothing makes sense. I don’t know him that well, and yet, the way I feel with him—this searing intensity and palpable connection. Idoknow him. Deeply. Why does it feel like I’m staring at a riddle and the answer is on the tip of my tongue?

I glance up, finding Rex scanning us with sharp eyes, confirming what I thought before. The playboy persona is a front. He gives me a sad smile and claps like everyone else, who obviously hasn’t noticed anything amiss.

Ethan strides away, his fingers raking over his perfectly arranged hair, rendering it a disheveled mess.

An image of me scribbling in my journal appears in my mind. But I can’t make out the words.

The snippet disappears almost instantly, followed by the same flash of piercing headache.

Closing my eyes, I count to ten until my pulse settles, and when I reopen them, the room is in a flurry of activity with folks packing up their things, straightening the apartment. I see John helping people with their coats and scarves.

Unable to keep still, I walk to the glass wall lined with framed photos. I recognize a few of them from the office, but these photos are in color, not black and white. This time, I can make out the details—the tropical beach, the colorful sunset in the background bouncing rays of light against the jeweled colored pebbled sand, and the desert sand dunes with dark waters on the horizon.

He’s in each of them, once again standing off-centered, the same bittersweet smile on his face.

My heart tugs, an inexplicable yearning gripping me.

With my mind still racing from the nonevents a few moments ago, I lean in closer, examining what he’s holding in his hand—a leather-bound book, like a journal.

I move on to the other photos.

Him standing in front of a restaurant—Bhut Kitchen—his face haggard with an unkempt beard.