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tomorrow night during the event. . . . You’re welcome.”
    “I’m sorry, Drew,” she began when he hung up. “Ms. Purdue isn’t at her desk, so I thought I’d take the chance.”
    “It’s all right.” The foolish words scraped at his throat. “Just another reporter.”
    “The event is generating a lot of positive press.”
    “We need it.”
    “It’s been a difficult couple of months.” He didn’t rise as she thought he would, so she stepped into the room and faced him with his desk between them. “I thought it would be best, easier for both of us, if we had a few minutes. I wouldn’t have come, but Elizabeth insisted. And I have to admit, I would have hated to miss all of this.”
    He couldn’t take his eyes off her, no matter how it burned his heart. “We wanted all the key staff members here.”
    “You’re still so angry with me.”
    “I don’t know what I am.”
    “You look tired.”
    “Putting this thing together hasn’t left a lot of time for R and R.”
    “I know this is awkward.” She reached out a hand, then drew it back again, as if realizing it wouldn’t be welcomed. “The last time we saw each other was—”
    “In a lawyer’s office,” he finished.
    “Yes.” Her gaze dropped. “I wish it could have been handled differently. We were both so hurt and angry, Drew. I was hoping by now we could at least be . . .”
    “Friends?” He let out a bitter laugh that didn’t hurt nearly as much as the innocuous word he’d forced through it.
    “No, not friends.” Those fabulous eyes of hers went soft and damp with emotion. “Just something less than enemies.”
    It wasn’t what she’d expected, this hard-eyed, cynical look. She’d expected regret, unhappiness, even a spurt of anger. She’d been prepared for any and all of that. But not for this tough shield that bounced all her efforts back at her.
    He’d loved her. She knew he’d loved her, and had held on to that even as she signed her name on the divorce papers.
    “We don’t have to be enemies, Elise. We don’t have to be anything anymore.”
    “All right, this was a mistake.” She blinked, once, twice, and the tears were gone. “I didn’t want any difficulties to spoil tomorrow’s success. If you were upset and started drinking—”
    “I’ve quit drinking.”
    “Really.” Her voice was cool again, and the grim amusement in it sliced bloodlessly. It was a talent of hers he’d forgotten. “Where have I heard that before?”
    “The difference is it has nothing to do with you now, and everything to do with me. I emptied plenty of bottles over you, Elise, and I’m done with it. Maybe that disappoints you. Maybe you’re insulted that I’m not crawling, not devastated to see you standing there. You’re not the center of my life anymore.”
    “I never was.” Her control cracked enough to let the words snap through. “If I had been, you’d still have me.”
    She spun around and rushed out. By the time she got to the elevator, tears were stinging her eyes. She punched the button with her fist.
    He waited until the rapid click of her heels had echoed away before lowering his head to the desk. His stomach was in ragged knots and screaming for a drink, just one drink to smooth it all away.
    She was so beautiful. How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? She’d belonged to him once and he’d failed to hold her, to hold their marriage, to be the man she needed.
    He’d lost her because he hadn’t known how to give enough, to love enough, to be enough.
    He had to get out. Get air. He needed to walk, to run, to get the scent of her perfume out of his system. He used the stairs, avoiding the wing with all the bustle of work, slipped through the thin, early-evening visitors in the public areas and walked straight out.
    He left his car in the lot and walked, walked until the worst of the burning in his gut had eased. Walked until he no longer had to concentrate to draw and release each breath evenly. He told himself he was thinking clearly now, perfectly clearly.
    And when he stopped in front of the liquor store, when he stared at the bottles promising relief, enjoyment, escape, he told himself he could handle a couple of drinks.
    Not only could he handle them, he deserved them. He’d earned them for surviving that face-to-face contact with the woman he’d promised to love, honor, and cherish. Who’d promised him the same. Until death.
    He stepped inside, stared at the walls with bottles