The dead dial tone hung in the silent penthouse like a death sentence.
Edmund stared at his black screen for three long, heart-stopping seconds.
Then he slammed his thumb down on his assistant's number.
"Find Tessa. Every address, every contact, every job. Dig through everything. I want a full report on my desk in 3 hours."
3 hours later, a thick file landed on his desk.
I wasn't broke. I wasn't miserable. I wasn't crawling back to him.
I'd been taken on as a principal dancer at the most prestigious contemporary dance company in the country.
And tonight was opening night of my comeback tour.
By 7:30 that evening, Edmund was sitting in the front row VIP seat of the downtown theater.
Some stupid, stubborn part of him had expected to find me a shadow of my former self—soft, out of sh
