Page 14 of Sapphire Storm

Roman nodded.

Scott was staring back at him with a blank, wide-eyedexpression.

Diana headed for the table.

Confident she couldn’t see him, Roman shot him the bird,then drew one finger across his throat, and shot him the bird again. When the pricksmirked in response, Roman mouthed the wordsfuckyouand started for the exit, desperately thinking of ways he could keepRachel from being turned into his mom.

Rachel was probably out with the cast enjoying acelebratory dinner close to the theater. After tomorrow’s Sunday matinee, she’dget her second break from her Tony-winning run inThe Burning Days.

A break that would last three whole days before she returnedto begin her final run of performances. After which, she’d have a week to getready for her biggest performance of all—her wedding.

She probably wouldn’t answer a call, but a text she’drespond to within minutes, he was sure. And then maybe he could ask her totalk.

If he didn’t throw up first.

Six months ago, on the day that had changed his lifeforever, he’d been in the middle of a training session with Rachel at Apex WestHollywood when he noticed his manager heading toward them across the crowdedworkout floor, wearing a pinched and solemn expression. When she saw hissupervisor’s slow approach, Rachel had made a soft but startled sound andasked, “Are you getting fired, babe?”

But the news was far worse. His mother had been killed onthe way home from the grocery store. An eighteen-wheeler had blown through ared light, and in an instant, she was gone.

Once the words were out, his knees turned to jelly. ThenRachel’s arms were around him, steering him through the dense crowd of trustfund babies and famous actors and Beverly Hills housewives who always peopledthe gym floors at Apex, as he said “What?What?”overand over again, like someone trying to hear a call through a cracklingconnection. Then they were outside in a blast furnace of Southern Californiasun, Rachel holding him as he sobbed, ushering him into her car, having her driverchauffeur them all the way out to the Victorville police station—over two hoursthrough soupy LA traffic, and with the two of them still in their sweaty gymclothes, no less—and then the morgue.

It was the worst day of his life, but it was also the dayhis most famous client became his closest friend. Shouldn’t he return the favorby delivering this awful news about her fiancé in person? Then he could put hisarms around her if she lost her footing.

After an hour of pacing his room and typing and deletingmessages he couldn’t bring himself to send, Roman finally curled into a ball onhis bed.

His room was a recent addition on the Castle’s middle floor,down a narrow hall from the home gym Diana had installed a few years before.There was no ocean view, but a door in his side wall opened onto a landing in ahidden service staircase that ran from the beach below to a side gate next tothe motor court one story above. The stairs were steep and concrete. There wastoo little space between the Castle and its northern neighbor to admit muchsunlight by day, but if he opened the door, as he’d done right after gettingback to the house, he could fill his room with the sounds of whispering surfand a few strong ocean breezes, something that had always soothed him.

Until now.

Tonight, nothing soothed him.

He was too terrified to leave his room. If Scott and Dianareturned home and the man tried to play the whole thing off—or God forbid, liedabout it—Roman would lose hisshit. He was that closeto the edge. And he had been for a while. Ever since…

Ever since…

He saw the morgue’s white walls. Felt Rachel’s arm holdinghim up and heard the police officers muttering their inadequate condolences,one of them even telling him how much he’d relied on his mom during tax seasonevery year.

Can’t. Stop. Not now, later.

Was subjecting him to a brazen, creepy, unwanted come-onjust moments after what he’d done to Ethan Blake the universe’s idea ofjustice?

These thoughts ran crazed circles in his head until he heardthe familiar vibrations of the Escalade pulling into the motor court overhead.He braced himself for the barking sound of Scott’s voice echoing down theservice stairs. But there was only silence before several car doors closed,followed by a sound that allowed him to breathe deeply again—the gentle growlof Scott’s Range Rover starting up and turning onto PCH. Headed north up thecoast.

Back to LA, please God.

A few seconds later, there was a soft knock against hisdoor.

When he opened it, Diana entered, bearing a sparkling glassof his favorite beverage—Dr Pepper, his not-so-secret indulgence. His mom usedto let him have a can on Sundays if he could prove he’d done all his homeworkby three o’clock. From the moment he’d told Diana the story, she’d started storingpallets of it in the pantry.

“Can I come in, honey?”

“Sure.”

She studied the room as if she thought he might havecompany, which was odd, because he never did.

“We need to get some of your stuff out of storage so you canpersonalize this place a bit more.”

“Yeah, sure.”

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