That took care of one problem in his life but left a bigger one. How in the hell was he going to fix this with Shelby?

He had no fucking clue.

…

Shelby’s whole life was about to change. This morning she’d woken up, called Bill, and told him that if the offer was still open, she’d love to come to New Orleans.

Love.

If she’d been an idiot to fall in love with a man who not only didn’t feel the same but actually thought she was some kind of media double agent, then maybe she could transfer all of that to her work. Hockey had saved her before; it could save her again. It had to.

Now she had to give the hardest goodbye.

Dressed all in black, Shelby fit right in with the crowd at The Black Hearts art gallery for Roger’s latest show—well, except for the deep-pockets part. These people weren’t just suburban rich, they were straight-up own-a-good-chunk-of-the-city rich, like the Beckett cousins who were trying to outbid each other on Roger’s models, no doubt just to say they’d won if the tabloid stories about them were right.

Tonight was the first time she’d been out of her house except for work since the fight with Ian. It wasn’t like she was sitting at home with a pint of ice cream and sad songs cued up on Spotify. Okay, the melodramatic-ballad part was totally true. She was spending her time checking out restaurants in New Orleans. Bill hadn’t been lying. There were a ton of places she’d love to try out. In some ways that made her decision easier—at least that’s what she was telling herself.

She was standing in front of a gorgeous painting of a nude model in the back of the gallery when Roger found her. He handed her a glass of ginger ale with a slice of lime in it.

“How’s your motor running?” he asked.

She pursed her mouth to keep her emotions at bay. Damn. She was going to miss these little chats. “Not well.”

He took her arm and led her to a quiet corner near a Hudson painting and used his most Leave It to Beaver voice. “Tell Roger everything.”

It was just what she needed to make her chuckle. “You know it’s weird when you talk about yourself in the third person.”

“These rich people eat it up.” He looked over at the people walking around the gallery checking out his models. “They think it makes me sound more artistic and they pay higher prices for it.”

“I’m going to miss you so badly.” Understatement of the century.

He tilted his head to the side. “Where am I going?”