Plans
I should’ve never fallen in love with Winston.
I should’ve hardened my heart and not allowed myself to dream.
To enjoy him so much. I couldn’t explain how it happened.
He was twenty years older than me. He was someone I’d targeted, not someone I’d felt chemistry with .
. . at least, not until that day at the solar-energy conference.
And still, here I was losing my head over him.
I’d achieved part of my plan, making him fall for me, but I didn’t trust myself to move forward without screwing things up badly. Not when it broke my heart, thinking of what would happen in the end.
My obsessive thoughts went to Claire. What would it be like to have someone like Winston for myself? How would my life be if he were mine? Someone so powerful and rich and so in love with me? But he was married to Claire still, not to me.
Jealousy suffocated me, sucking the breath out of my lungs, and coursed through my blood like pure green poison. Burning me from the inside out.
And yet it was my father’s name I cursed more often than Claire’s. He was the one who’d made my future with Winston impossible. With anyone, for that matter.
But then, I remembered Winston was cheating on Claire. Or about to.
Maybe, if I said yes, he’d rush to me, leave everything behind—his family, his marriage, his wife. Maybe he’d even be willing to lose a fortune in the divorce.
But could I really believe that? He had strayed before, only to return to Claire. What made this time different? What made me different?
And yet, in those moments, with the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d wanted me, it was so easy to believe that he would. Claire didn’t matter. She’d stopped mattering the moment my flight from Seattle had touched down at Harry Reid International. The moment I’d set my sights on him.
Now I had to close the deal.
I didn’t worry for a moment about the marriage I was about to destroy. Or the damage I was about to do. Claire had had enough in this life, and I’d had nothing. She could afford to lose a little. Thankfully, there were no children to screw things up.
For two days, I didn’t reply to Winston’s messages and didn’t take any of his calls.
Seeing his insistence only made my feelings raw, with the yearning and the desire for him mixed with the fear of what that could lead to.
Every time he tried to reach me, I was so tempted to pick up or respond, but then I fought with myself to the brink of insanity.
To keep my distance and my head straight, I vilified him, reminding myself he was nothing but a cheater and a liar, shamelessly chasing a twenty-seven-year-old who looked good and fed his ego.
All he wanted was what all men wanted, right?
Just a roll in the hay, sowing some more oats. He was like the rest of them.
And I would tell myself anything, just so I could stick with the original plan.
Before doing anything else, I shopped around for a private investigator.
It was time. After a couple of video calls, I ended up hiring the least sleazy of them, a guy named Brad Pendergraft.
He billed himself as a former police detective, experienced at investigations and evidence handling.
I doubted that, but he seemed to know what he was doing.
His former association with the Las Vegas Police Department, if real, made me a bit anxious, but not enough to make me choose the runner-up, a guy so oily that I thought I needed to wipe my computer’s screen after our Zoom call had ended.
Whenever I tried to eat something, though, I couldn’t keep anything down.
I hadn’t been able to since late Friday, when Winston and I had raced horses in the Mojave.
Fear clenched my gut with a merciless fist every time I remembered there was a man out there stalking me, threatening my life or perhaps only warning me.
Soon, I’d find out who Jack was and what he really wanted.
I both couldn’t wait and dreaded it at the same time.
It was late Sunday afternoon when I dared get out of the house, scowling at the bane of my existence, the ever-present Jack, as I drove off past him in my red Beemer, not giving a shit if he followed me or not.
I was too tired and too emotionally drained to care.
I just wanted to stand by the edge of the Bellagio fountains, looking at the water and letting it heal my soul and wash off my loneliness.
Tomorrow, I was going to reply to Winston’s messages, just when he’d be desperate, but not angry and feeling rejected yet. Timing was everything.
I parked across the street at the Paris and put on my light sunglasses, even if it was almost dark outside. I didn’t want anyone to recognize me or speak with me. I just wanted to breathe again without my chest feeling as if it was about to split open.
I crossed the Strip and navigated through the dense crowd of tourists, letting their excited chatter and laughter wash over me, hoping some of it would rub off like a contagion of sorts, like catching a case of good mood.
I stood by the edge of the fountains, leaning against the stone railing and waiting for the next water show to start.
When it did, Celine Dion played, and the brightly lit, white fountain jets danced with her melodious voice, surging toward the sky way above the crowds.
I put my sunglasses on my head and looked up, a fine spray moistening my hair and hiding my tears.
Without moving, I welcomed the cold droplets of water on my face with every wind gust, while my mind traveled on the sounds of her voice.
Her heart would go on . . . I didn’t know how I could keep mine from doing the same.
The song and the show were almost over when I felt a touch on my arm. It startled me badly, and I flinched.
“Olivia,” Winston said, gazing at me intently, his dark pupils smoldering. It took everything I had to not crush myself against him, to not lose myself in his arms.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked, my shattered voice giving my emotions away.
His eyes searched mine, dark with worry. “I’m sorry. I was losing my mind, not knowing if you were all right. I had my people track down your phone. It’s an invasion, I know. But you weren’t picking up, and it drove me insane.”
I bit my lip . . . frustrated, and yet so willing to forgive everything he did.
“I didn’t know what to say, Winston. There’s no future for us.
You know that.” The show came to an end, music and lights ending abruptly.
The last three words I’d said were spoken too loudly in the absence of the loud music, resounding eerily with so many strangers around us.
No one paid attention to us, and cameras flashed everywhere.
He shook his head, rejecting everything I’d said. “Just say you’ll have me,” he whispered. His lips, close to my ear, kindled my desire to touch his face, to wrap my arms around his neck and lose myself in his kiss.
I pulled away instead.
“We can’t. All we have is the desert. We’ll always have that,” I added with a shy smile. “You have too much to lose if anyone sees us. I know how badly this could go for you, and I won’t have it. I’d rather you missed me a little than live to regret the day we met.”
“I don’t care anymore, Olivia.” He took my hand impatiently. “Have dinner with me. Tonight. Right here, on the Strip, where anyone can see us. I’m not hiding from anyone.”
From Claire.
The name he didn’t say filled my mind.
I bit my lip, considering the offer for a moment. Then I looked at the other side of the street, where every restaurant patio was packed with customers. Smiling weakly, I gestured toward the patios overlooking the fountains. “It will take us a while.”
“Leave that to me,” he said enthusiastically, pulling out his phone and texting something quickly. “Rose will take care of it.” His smile was infectious.
I let him guide me through the crowds to one of the restaurants across the street.
He talked about us, lively, and about his miserable day spent missing me, worrying about me, and what tomorrow could bring, always holding my hand tightly as if he was afraid I’d slip away.
Occasionally, people recognized him—probably locals, not tourists—and called him by name or just commented between themselves, saying things like, “Hey, did you see that guy? That’s Winston Donovan.
For real!” But he just nodded at them and kept on talking with me, unbothered by all the attention.
It was a matter of very little time until Claire would find out about us.
Someone would see a picture taken by one of the many tourists swarming around us and posted online, and bring it upon themselves to let her know.
Or perhaps she’d see it herself while scrolling through her socials, killing time while waiting for her husband to come home.
She’d see his boyish smile, the way his fingers intertwined with mine, his exuberance.
And she’d instantly know. She’d scream, or cry, or call her lawyer, but most of all, she’d think of how to get rid of me.
“I think they’re ready for us,” Winston said calmly, looking at Alexxa’s restaurant patio facing the fountains. Several staff were clearing out a section of the patio, pushing other tables away from a single one they’d set up beautifully, next to the railing.
The hostess recognized Winston and smiled, putting sweet little dimples in her perfect nineteen-year-old cheeks and checking him out head to toe.
I instantly hated her. She seated us at the table just in time for the next fountain show.
It played “Time to Say Goodbye” by Andrea Bocelli in soul-stirring duet with Sarah Brightman.
I shivered while listening to the lyrics, fearing it was a bad omen of sorts, with my mind drifting into familiar darkness instead of enjoying the moment.
Through the palm trees lining the Strip, I watched the water jets bursting toward the sky in sync with the beautiful music.
There was no fountain mist to hide my tears; we were too far off.
“Olivia,” Winston said, pushing aside the wineglasses and reaching for my hand. His fingers were warm, his touch reassuring. “Tell me, what can I do?” There was an intensity in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. It went beyond simple desire, giving me a glimpse into his soul.
“Just . . . take it slow with me, Winston. Please.” I squeezed his fingers gently. “I . . . need to find my bearings.”
“Anything,” he whispered, and knew not to add anything else. We watched the fountains and listened to the song together. It seemed to resonate with us both.
After the show ended, the silence between us lingered until I brought my eyes to him. “Thank you.”
He pulled my hand to his lips. Then looked at me with a slight head tilt and a bit of mischief in his eyes. “Just so you know, the waiters won’t dare approach us until we call them.”
“Yeah, I know. Are you hungry?”
“With you? Always!” We both laughed. “That came out wrong,” he rushed to add, giving the menu a disinterested glance. “Before we order, let me ask you this: If you could go anywhere, and do anything whatsoever, what would that be?”
I hadn’t been expecting that. It swelled my heart. After a split moment’s hesitation, I smiled shyly.
“I’ve always wanted to check out one of those fancy dance clubs. Can you believe I’ve never been inside one? The music, the lights . . . I’d love to dance with you.”