Roman told himself he was going to clear the air.
That was the exact phrase he used in his own head as he watched Sera excuse herself from the chief of surgery and move toward the far end of the room. Clear the air. Practical. Reasonable. They were going to be in the same professional circles, and it was better to establish normal terms now, before it became a pattern of elaborate avoidance. That was the only reason he was crossing the room.
He told himself this clearly and followed her anyway.
She stepped through the glass doors onto the terrace. He gave it twenty seconds and went after her.
The terrace was narrow and lit from behind by the ballroom. She was at the railing with her champagne glass, and she heard him come through the door because she turned before he spoke.
She waited
