Laura heard the phone click. She waited for the dial tone to return, and then the annoying noise that tells you that your phone is off the hook followed. After another minute or two passed, she put the receiver back into its cradle.

He had not asked her to go with him.

Sleep became an infrequent visitor for Laura that Friday night. Why hadn’t David invited her to the fundraiser? Didn’t he need to see her, too? Or was she rushing this whole thing too fast? After all, they had only been seeing each other for two months. Maybe he was not ready to make any commitments. Maybe he did not feel the same way she did.

Laura showered and dressed early Saturday morning. Needing something to take her mind off David, she headed into the office and started to wade through the previous month’s financial statements. Earnings were up almost ten percent from the previous year, which was a full four percent better than Laura had anticipated. Content with that, she sat back and grabbed the Boston Globe. When she hit the society page, she found a photograph of David at the fund-raiser.

With another woman.

Laura felt a hand reach into her chest and grab her heart. The mystery woman was a stunning, older blonde whom the Globe identified as Jennifer Van Delft. Ms. Van Delft had her arm locked around a tuxedo-clad David, who was smiling like a lottery winner and was described by the paper as Jennifer’s “escort.”

Escort. That son of a bitch.

Tears began to work their way into her eyes. She continued to stare at the picture. Why was she crying? What the hell was she getting so upset about? Had she really been stupid enough to think that there was something special between them, that David cared for her more than his other girlfriends?

There was a knock on the door. Laura moved quickly. She folded the newspaper, wiped away her tears, smoothed her Svengali business suit, and regained her composure. “Come in.”

David came through the door with a smile, not unlike that in the photograph, smeared across his handsome face. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Hello,” she said coldly.

David crossed the room to kiss her but she turned away, leaving him only room to buss her cheek. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. I’m just busy that’s all. You should have called first.”

“I thought maybe we could grab some lunch together.”

Laura shook her head. “Too much work.”

Puzzled, David watched her go back to work as though he weren’t there. “You sure nothing is wrong?”

“Positive.”

As he shrugged, David noticed the Boston Globe sitting on her desk. A knowing smile came to him. “Does that upset you?” he asked, pointing at the newspaper.

She looked up at the headline. “What? The fire in South Boston?”

“I’m talking about the picture of me inside.”

“Why on earth would that upset me?” she asked. “I don’t own you. You’re free to do as you please.”

He chuckled lightly. “I see.”

“But I do think we should mellow out for a while,” she continued.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask why?”

“This relationship is getting way out of hand.”

David sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “So you want something a little more relaxed—one of those flexible relationships.”

“Flexible relationships?”

“Right. We make no commitments. We see other people—all that kind of stuff.”

Laura’s leg would not stop shaking. “Yes.”

“I see,” he continued. “So you’re not upset that I was at the fund-raiser with another woman?”

“Me?” she replied. “Not at all.”

“But, Laura, suppose I don’t like your flexiblerelationship idea. Suppose I don’t want to see other women. Suppose,” David went on, “I told you that for the first time in my life I am in love.”

Her heart soared and fell at the same time. She swallowed and looked away from his piercing gaze. “Then I would probably say that you’re not ready for that type of relationship.”

“Witness last night?” he asked.

She nodded, her wet eyes still afraid to move toward his.

“Laura?”

She said nothing.

“Look at me, Laura.”

With a struggle, her head rose, her eyes meeting his.

“The woman in the picture was Jennifer Van Delft. Her husband is Mr. Nelson Van Delft. Does that name ring a bell to you?”

It did, but Laura could not place it. She shook her head.

“He is the principal owner of the Celtics. Every year, his wife asks me to help her with the muscular-dystrophy fund-raiser. Her husband was out of town. He asked me to escort her. That was all.”

Laura said nothing.

“But let me go on so I can remove any doubt,” he continued. “Let me say something I’ve never said to another woman. I love you. I love you more than anything in the world.”

Surges of emotion ricocheted through her, but she still could not get her mouth to open.

“No response, Laura? Don’t you understand what I’m saying? I love you, Laura. I don’t want to be away from you.”

Her leg was going like a jackhammer. It can’t be true. It has to be a trick. “I . . . I’m really busy right now, David. Can’t we discuss this later?”

David shook his head. “I still can’t get through to you, can I? I thought I had. I really thought I had. But you’re still that fat little girl who can’t handle being the awesome beauty. You’re still that fat kid who’s afraid to lose control of a situation, afraid to let someone else in because maybe you’ll get hurt again. But what about now, Laura? Are you still in control?”

She tried to answer. She really wanted to answer. . . .

His face reddened, his tone getting louder. “Nobody can truly love you—isn’t that right, Laura? You think your beauty blinds me to the real you, that someone can only love the outside image of you, but that’s bullshit. Are you really that insecure, Laura? Do you really think that I don’t know what that’s all about, that I haven’t met a hundred beautiful women who just wanted me because I could stuff a ball through a hoop?”

He stopped. His breathing came in quick spurts. He shook his head, anger seething through him, and headed for the door.

“David?”

His hand moved away from the knob but he did not face her. “What?”