Grant would be slicing and adding segments together right now. Then when he arrived and sat next to him—in the dull, quiet, unsexy studio—he needed to finalise the last piece of music and also double, triple check the end credits. If they missed someone out there’d be hell to pay.

He sucked in a breath then blew it out, water spraying from his mouth. That was it, he was okay. Control had returned.

He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Grabbed another and scrubbed it over his hair. He added a slick of deodorant, brushed his teeth then pulled on a pair of sweats that had been hanging over the bath—they would do for now, save reaching into his wardrobe and risk disturbing Megan.

He tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding two that he knew creaked, and went into the kitchen. After flicking on the oven to heat the croissants, he filled the kettle.

The weather was glorious and he flung open the back door to the warm morning. Stepping out to pick a flower, James found himself humming—not something he was prone to doing—and he smiled as he selected a perfect rose. Megan would like this one, it was also the colour of her gorgeous lipstick and those glittery shoes she’d worn last night.

Soon he had a tray set with croissants, a small pot of jam, tea, juice, the flower and even a neatly folded napkin.

He went up the stairs, not avoiding the creaking ones and hoping the tea wouldn’t slosh over the side of the cup. He pushed open the bedroom door with his foot and stepped inside. “Good morning, sleepy head.”

He stopped. Froze. Stared at the empty bed.

She wasn’t there. He frowned and looked over his shoulder. Perhaps she was in the bathroom.

No. The door was wide open, the way he’d left it ten minutes ago.

He set the tray on the dressing table and glanced around. Her shoes were gone, as was her dress and the underwear he’d had to step over to get out of the room for his shower.

“Fuck it.” He scowled.

Surely she wouldn’t have? Who did that? Who the hell spent a fantastic bloody night with someone then just vanished into thin air the next morning?

He stared at the dent in the bed, the shape their joined bodies had made and the hollow in the pillow from her head.

She wouldn’t have.

She was probably in the lounge and he just hadn’t seen her as he’d walked past so intent on the tea not spilling.

“Megan?” James picked up the tray again. “Megan, I’ve made you breakfast.”

He retraced his steps and headed back into the lounge, hoping to see her sitting on the sofa, tapping on her phone or applying lipstick.

But no.

The room was empty.