There came some argument from the older woman. Apparently, Dawn was the only other person on shift until they closed.

“I’m really so, so sorry. You know I wouldn’t leave you in a lurch if I didn’t have to….” Dawn answered.

Eventually, the argument ended with Marge shaking her head and Dawn walking back to him. He savored her miserable expression, even as he greedily took in all the changes to her appearance.

She had taken out the braids she’d worn in college, but her hair still wasn’t the same as it had been in Japan. She’d manipulated it somehow, and it fell long and silky straight to just past her breasts.

She’d also lost weight. She was trim now, verging on willowy. Victor wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d found her compelling at any size. So why had she gone out of her way to shed so many pounds?

Perhaps it was to impress someone. Another guy?

It doesn’t matter, he told himself, tamping down the unwanted spurt of jealousy as they walked out of the bright orange building together. Even if she was attracted to someone else, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Any guy she so much as touched would be dealt with in such a way that she wouldn’t dare to cross him again. In truth, it might be better if she had feelings for another man.

He wanted her to hurt, wanted her to suffer, wanted her to yearn uselessly. Just like him.

When he had pulled in earlier, he noticed the fleet Audi all his men drove wasn’t in the parking lot. And now that he was outside, he could see that his Audi was still the only luxury car on the entire block.

“Where is your driver?” he asked Dawn.

She regarded him a considering second, then to his surprise, she gave him a huge smile. “You know what, I’ve been working a lot on reframing and mindset lately, and I’m thinking things don’t have to be so difficult between us. So, hi Victor. How are you?”

He frowned at her aggressively cheerful question. He was terrible. He had tried and failed to resist coming down here for their anniversary. That was how he was.

“Where is your driver?” he repeated, giving his signs an even harder emphasis.

“I wasn’t due to get off work for another hour, and he’s not due home for another two. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, my bike’s right over there….”

She nodded toward a bicycle rack. There was only one bike attached to the rusty structure. But even if there had been ten, Victor would’ve known which one was Dawn’s. Her bike was painted a deep purple with neon yellow wheels. Also, the front basket was filled with a bushel of fresh flowers.