My God, that woman will be the death of me. “Fine,” I yell, smashing my finger repeatedly on the button to end the call. “Have it your way, Ava,” I mutter, putting my foot down.

I pull up outside her office, double park, and march to the door, trying to wrestle myself into shape. I push my way in, giving no thought to what I will say and how I will handle this. I scan the space, seeing a desk up ahead, the chair empty. But where is she?

“Can I help you, sir?” a lady at the first desk asks.

“Where’s Ava?” I growl, and she blanches, blinking rapidly. She looks brittle, but I’ll be damned if I can get a hold of myself and this burning rage. The woman, I’m assuming the same lady I bellowed at on the phone, stares at me blankly, mute. “Where?” I yell.

“She left a while ago, sir.”

I stalk back out, getting in my car and wheel-spinning down the street, calling Ava repeatedly. And with each one of my calls she ignores, my anger amplifies. She doesn’t get to do this again. I send her a string of messages, and each time I click send, I think of something else to add.

I have been going out of my fucking mind.

Thinking unthinkable things.

I thought something terrible had happened!

But no. You’ve just got cold feet again?

No. You don’t get to do this again. I won’t let you, and you’d better get used to that and start rethinking how you handle what’s happening between us.

Not surprisingly, she doesn’t respond, and also not surprisingly, that only serves to piss me off even more. I screech up outside her flat and dial again as I stalk toward her front door.

“Hello.”

I stop in the middle of the road, caught off guard. She answered? “Ava?”

“Jesse,” she says, sounding rather calm. That’s nice. Here I am, hanging off the edge of a fucking cliff, and she’s all composed. Good for her. For fuck’s sake. “I can’t see you again,” she says nonchalantly.

Oh no. Oh, no, no, no. “No,” I say, trying to cool the burn inside. “Ava, listen to me—”

She hangs up. She fucking hangs up, and it’s infuriating for more than one reason. Because she’s scared. She’s scared to talk to me, to see me, because if she does, she won’t be able to deny our perfection.