But that particular notion quickly fell away when Candace grabbed his hand possessively. “Aren’t you glad I surprised you with concert tickets?” she whispered during a concerto, leaning into him and batting her pretty lashes. The signature, floral scent of her perfume created sickening waves in his gut. “Yeah,” he muttered. He pasted a smile on his face and tried to appear completely taken in by the swelling tempos and complex harmonies, yet all they produced in him was an unnervingly restless spirit. Lord God, I’ve got to tell her, he privately confessed somewhere midway through the third or fourth movement of some classical, seriously boring, unbelievably long opus. After the concert, they drove back to his office, where Candace had left her car. From there, he followed her to her apartment, all the while praying for direction, hoping that somehow during the course of the evening, a door would open and present him with an opportunity to end their long-standing relationship—without a mountain of harsh words spoken between them or a flood of hurt feelings.
