He walked past James, heading for the exit. James glanced down at his hands—at the files and the business card. On the card he saw only a name. No contact information.

He turned. “Do you have . . . ?”

He was alone in the parking garage.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Gabriel had to stop by the office. He left the car idling as he ran in. While he was gone, my cell phone rang. It was James.

“We need to talk,” he said when I answered.

“This isn’t a good time,” I said. “I’m—”

“Côte d’Azur.”

“What?”

“Côte d’Azur. The French Riviera. Next weekend. The two of us. To get this damned mess sorted out.”

I almost said that I wasn’t free next weekend. But that implied I’d go otherwise. The door opened and Gabriel slid back into the car.

I motioned I was on the phone and started opening my door to take the call outside, but he put the car in drive, with a flash of his watch, as if to say we had somewhere to be.

“Liv?” James prompted.

“There’s nothing to sort out,” I said. “I’m sorry. It didn’t work. We tried—”

“Tried? Two dates, Olivia. I got two dates and a damned coffee before you were off running around with—” He sucked back the rest and his tone smoothed. “We haven’t tried, and we can’t, not here in Chicago, with everything that’s going on. You’re confused—”

“I’m not confused, James. I’m—” I looked over at Gabriel and lowered my voice again. “It’s my fault, okay? Blame me. But I’ve made up my mind. We—”

“What do you want from me, Liv? Clearly you’re waiting for the right response and I’m not giving it. I’ve tried staying away. I’ve tried not staying away. I want this, Olivia. I want you.”

“And to hell with what I want?”

“I don’t think you know what you want.”

I bit my tongue. Hard. When I could manage it, I said, “I do know, James. And I’m sorry if it doesn’t fit your plans, but that’s my decision. Goodbye.”

I hung up and exhaled.

“You made the right choice,” Gabriel said.

I glanced over, to make sure he was actually talking about my phone conversation. Of course he was. It wouldn’t occur to Gabriel not to eavesdrop—or to pretend he hadn’t.

I made a noise in my throat, one that most people would interpret as “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He ignored it. “I understand it may be difficult to give up the financial and social stability that a marriage to James Morgan would offer. Yet while you may not be living in the style to which you are accustomed, you seem comfortable enough to manage until you receive your trust fund.”

“You think I was marrying James for ‘financial and social stability’?”

He frowned, as if to say, Why else?

I shook my head. “I was marrying him because I loved him, Gabriel.”

He gave a derisive snort.

“Excuse me?” I said.

A look over his shades. “You can’t really expect me to believe you’d tie yourself to a man like Morgan for some silly romantic notion. You’re better than that.”

“I think that’s meant to be a compliment, but given the choice between lowering your opinion of me and letting myself be painted as a gold digger—”

“Gold digging would be marrying a rich seventy-year-old in hopes he’ll die while you can still enjoy his money. You chose a suitable match—in age, social standing, wealth, and looks. A man who would provide a satisfactory and easy life for you. Traditionally, that is the way for a woman to secure her future.”

“Sure. In the nineteenth century.”

“And that doesn’t apply today? In your social circles?”

He had a point, but I wouldn’t concede it. “It wasn’t like that with me. I have my trust fund, as you’ve pointed out. I had a family business that I could have joined. I have a graduate degree. Your low opinion of James is based on the fact you were able to fleece him, and to you that makes him a fool. James Morgan is a good and decent man.”

“Which is why it wouldn’t have worked.”

“Ouch.”

“That’s not an insult, Olivia. James Morgan is completely decent and completely mediocre, and he’d have made you completely miserable. At least if you were marrying him for stability, you’d get something out of it. But love?” His expression conveyed his opinion of the concept. “I’m glad to see you’re done with him. Don’t backslide again.”

“Backslide? Weren’t you the one taking money to help me get back with him?”

His hands tightened on the wheel. There was a moment of silence when I wished I hadn’t said anything. Yes, he’d insulted me, but in his world there was nothing wrong with doing whatever it took to find a stable life.

“I didn’t take money for that,” he said finally, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Morgan insisted on making it part of the deal, so I agreed, but I didn’t accept payment for a service I didn’t provide. I wasn’t planning to accept . . .” He trailed off.

“To accept what?”

He shook his head, gaze forward. “Nothing.”

“Okay, let’s . . . I’d like to move past that. Put it behind us.”

He exhaled. “So would I.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m okay with it,” I said. “Or that I don’t think you’ll do it again.”

“I won’t.” We were stopped at a light. He took off his shades and met my gaze. “I know I made a mistake. I knew I was making a mistake at the time. Even if I didn’t see the harm in it, you felt betrayed. I understand that. It will not happen again.”

It would. Not that he was lying. He meant it. But a time would come when he’d betray my trust again and he’d tell himself it was necessary or that I wouldn’t be upset or that it didn’t count. I had to deal with the possibility. I didn’t need to forgive him if it happened again, but I couldn’t tell myself it wouldn’t. Either way I’d get hurt, but at least if I had my eyes open, it might dull the sting.

I nodded, and it must not have looked convincing enough, because he kept his gaze on me and said, “I mean it, Olivia.”