Page 34 of The Sun & Her Burn (Impossible Universe Trilogy #2)

LINNEA

I hadn’t seen Adam or Sebastian in five days.

Not too long, in the grand scheme of things, especially considering that before a month ago, I hadn’t seen either of them in a decade.

But five days felt like a lifetime, now.

Sebastian had practically disappeared. Only a single text two days ago informed me that he had been in his writing cave.

I tried not to take it personally that, in the wake of our kiss, he was essentially ghosting me, but it was hard not to.

Especially when I couldn’t exactly talk to anyone about it.

What would I say?

The man I’ve loved from afar for years finally kissed me, but I’m contractually obligated to date his ex-lover?

Yeah. No.

To add even more confusion to the mix, I also missed Adam.

After our date in Malibu had been cut short, we returned to his place on Carbon Beach for a debrief with his entire team: Chaucer, Rachel Hoffman, Mi Cha Lee, and his lawyer, Boone Decker.

They decided that ignoring “the outrageous claims of a disgruntled employee” was still the best overall tactic, though an “anonymous source” close to Adam would offer a reputable publication a quote along those lines.

They decided, too, that enough was enough.

Dating wasn’t doing the trick anymore.

“Marriage,” Mi Cha pushed. “It’s the best option.”

“We don’t want them to elope to Vegas after this has hit the newsstands,” Chaucer argued. “It reeks of guilt.”

“True,” Boone agreed.

“If my opinion has any bearing at all,” I spoke up, unwilling to be swept away on a tide of professionals deciding my future, however well-meaning. “I don’t think it makes any sense to get married in such a rush. It will only hurt us both.”

My feelings on a marriage of convenience were also understandably complicated.

Fake dating was one thing, but to enter into holy matrimony on a pretense?

I wasn’t religious or even very spiritual, but I was a closet romantic, and I wasn’t sure I could stomach the idea of exchanging vows with a man I was only just coming to know and trust.

“Perhaps an increased presence with the paps?” Boone suggested.

“We’ve been photographed around town countless times in the past few weeks,” Adam pointed out. There was such a weariness in his tone even though he maintained a ramrod straight posture and cool gaze, as if sitting at attention would mean that nothing else could take him by surprise.

“You haven’t been to a proper Hollywood event yet,” Rachel said. “The Critics Choice Awards are in two weeks. It’s an excellent opportunity to attend a red carpet event together. Do some interviews, be photographed for all the publications and social media outlets together.”

“It was already on the schedule,” Adam said, and feeling his gaze on me, I looked over to see he had a raised brow as if to ask me whether it was still okay.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” I assured him.

His other brow joined the first high on his forehead. “I assume you don’t mean literally. I know you are a fashion designer, so frankly, I wouldn’t put that past you.”

He startled a bright burst of laughter from me, and I was rewarded with an answering, slightly smug, smile.

“No bells,” I promised. “But you don’t mind if I wear something I’ve made myself?”

“Why would I?” he countered. “I assume you’ve made most of the clothing I’ve seen you in, including this.

” His free hand rose to trail a thumb down the thin strap of my leopard-print dress to the edge of the bodice.

His pad was rough enough to make me shiver as he paused and then followed the curve of the fabric to the middle of my breasts.

He then used that same thumb to tip my chin back up so I was forced to meet his gaze.

“You have been utterly bewitching in all of it.”

“Mr. Meyers, it would be better for exposure to have her wear a known designer—” Mi Cha started to explain, but one cutting glance from Adam quelled her.

“Linnea will wear what she likes,” he declared, once again impervious and completely in control of his domain.

“I’ll bring in a team to do her hair and makeup,” Chaucer offered, giving me a little wink of solidarity.

I beamed at her.

“Good. Meanwhile, someone call Fitzgibbons and see why the hell he hasn’t been able to locate Oscar. It seems to me that if he is sending emails, we should be able to trace him.”

“There are legal means and nonlegal means to track someone,” Boone said carefully.

Adam delivered a cool look that clearly stated he expected both to be valid options.

Boone nodded. “I’m on it.”

I smothered a yawn behind my hand. The antique clock on the desk said it was nearing ten at night, which was my bedtime, given I was usually up before dawn.

Adam had noticed immediately, insisting on walking me to my car, clicking his tongue in disapproval of my ancient Jeep even as he helped me up into the driver’s seat.

“It’s been a long day,” he told me as he stood in the open door, hesitating even though his team waited inside and I was buckled in and ready to head home.

The golden lights mounted on the exterior of the garage cast his face into bright rectangles of brightness and shadow.

It was hard to read his expression, but even so, I couldn't look away from the intensity in his eyes.

“But I had a good time despite the drama. Because of you.”

I swallowed thickly, feeling suddenly shy, every one of my twelve years younger and less experienced than him.

The air between us was thick with heat even in the cool February night.

I wanted desperately to kiss his weary face, hold him while he tried to sleep tonight, and offer him both comfort and seduction.

But that wasn’t my place.

At the most, we could be friends, and I hoped today was a bigger step toward that.

So I leaned forward to brush a kiss along the sharp edge of his square jaw and whispered, “I think it has been a very long time since you were seen instead of just looked at, Mr. Meyers. You’ve been alone in the dark for too long, and I’m happy to be the one standing beside you now.”

“For the next three years, at least,” he said. It was meant to be a joke, but it landed unevenly, broken, and ugly.

“For as long as you’ll have me,” I corrected softly, our noses brushing.

I watched his long, tangled lashes sweep down to cover his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard as he swallowed before he nodded tersely and stepped back to close my door. He turned to walk away, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared as if for battle.

I realized that in the past few weeks, a tenuous anchor had hooked through my heart and linked my soul to his. It tugged as I watched him walk away, urging me to go back inside with him.

Without giving myself time to think, I undid my seat belt, wrenched open the door, and jumped from the car before running to him carefully on my high-heeled sandals. He turned before I reached him, catching me with a surprised oof as I threw myself into his arms.

A startled huff of laughter stirred my hair even as his arms went around me in a tight squeeze. “What’s this about?”

“You looked like you could use a hug,” I whispered thickly, clutching him close and burrowing my nose in his neck where his rich, clean scent filled my lungs.

After a moment’s hesitation, he relaxed slightly against me and sighed deeply.

We stood like that for long minutes, pressed together as if sewn tight at the hips, thighs, and chest. When he finally pulled away, there was a phantom sensation of ripping, as if we weren’t meant to be parted.

He cupped my cheeks, staring somberly into my face. “What a gift you are,” he murmured. “A single sunbeam in my lonely dark.”

“Not so lonely anymore,” I reminded him.

“No,” he agreed softly, thumb sweeping over my cheek before he abruptly dropped his hands and offered me a tiny smile. “Go home, Sunbeam. Text me when you get in safely.”

I nodded, my voice lost somewhere in the sensations battling inside my chest.

When he started walking away again, he did it backward, hands in his pockets once more, that little, private smile constructed just for me pinned between his cheeks.

I walked backward toward my car, giggling when I tripped over my feet and had to catch myself on the spare wheel attached to the trunk.

When I looked back up at him, I caught the flash of his wide grin before the door to the house closed on his face.

Now, five days later, Adam was on his way back from New York City, and I would finally get to see him again. He had a surprise for me, one he’d teased me about during his absence in a surprisingly boyish way that made me kick my feet whenever I received a text.

I was seeing out my last shift at Affaire, working from opening at eleven until seven.

My schedule was too busy to maintain my job at the restaurant now that I was dating Adam and, as a result, finally booking scads of auditions.

Mali had told me just that morning I had five lined up for minor roles in some serious blockbusters just next week.

The paparazzi, who were always frequent visitors outside the star-lauded restaurant, were also aware that I worked there, and they hounded me whenever I came and went.

It had reached the point where my manager had politely suggested I had outgrown my stint with them.

It was sad, in a way. Serving at the exclusive French restaurant was my first job in Los Angeles, and it led me to meet Rozhin, my first and only best friend in town.

So it didn’t surprise me when tears sprang to my eyes as I entered the server hub just before my shift was about to end to find Ro huddled with several other servers around a little citrus mousse cake.

“Congrats!” they called out in a muted shout so they didn’t disturb the diners.

I laughed as they swarmed me, huddling me toward the cake so I could blow out the single candle and read what the pastry chef had written in dark chocolate on the top.

To the future Mrs. Adam Meyers .