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rule being that he didn’t do it. Ever. A few hours, then a quick cab home and it was done. No awkward good-byes or empty promises to call.
    Though it seemed Talia made those things unnecessary.
    She had no illusions. She’d said as much. It was a dream come true for a man like him. Especially since the expected engagement to Courteney lingered over his head like the sword of Damocles.
    He grabbed his clothes, pulling them on with more violence than necessary. Why did it bother him? Marriage was nothing but a business transaction, and his upcoming engagement would include a billion-dollar merger. It couldn’t get more worthwhile than that.
    Talia was just another fuck, albeit the only fuck who had ever left him high and dry in the morning. And for some ridiculous reason, that really bothered him.
    He grabbed his cell and keys from her bedside table before locking the apartment door behind him and stepping out. No matter how convenient it was for him, he wasn’t letting Talia leave things between them like this.
    * * *
    Talia stared blankly at the piece of music on the stand before her. Ten minutes had passed without her playing one note. Warm sunlight filled the conservatory, bathing the polished black finish of the Steinway grand a few feet away. Setting her violin bow aside, she stood and walked absently toward the piano.
    She hadn’t a clue how she’d managed to make it through her morning classes. But with ten private lessons looming before her and the financial necessity of finding another paying gig for that evening, it was time to get a grip.
    “Erik Aasen was a one-night stand.” She ran her fingers along the Steinway’s closed lid.
    Okay, he was supposed to be a one-night stand. The problem came from being unable to treat him like one. She’d thought she was over it. The monumental effort of getting up, showering, and leaving him naked and alone in her bed had been what she considered a huge step in the moving-on process. But it was now past lunchtime. She should’ve been reminiscing fondly about the incredibly mind-blowing sex, not waxing poetic over the shade of his brilliant green eyes or the sound of his laughter. You weren’t supposed to care if your rebound had a great sense of humor or not.
    Leslie poked her head into the room. “You still in here?”
    She glanced up, making a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat.
    “Are you teaching in here this afternoon? I thought they moved you to the north wing after construction wrapped up.”
    “I hate those tiny little studio rooms,” Talia grumbled. “They’re claustrophobic.”
    Leslie stepped all the way inside the conservatory and gave her a critical once-over before cocking her head to one side and folding her arms across her chest. “C’mon, Tallie; spill it. What happened last night?”
    She turned back to the piano, sitting on the bench and opening the lid. Her fingers settled idly on the keys, drawing out a soft melody that could’ve been anything.
    “Don’t make me come over there and beat it out of you. What happened?”
    “We left the reception and went to some bar in Back Bay.”
    “Back Bay?” The dubious tone in Leslie’s voice made Talia chuckle.
    “The owner is a friend of his.”
    “Okay. Then what?”
    She shrugged one narrow shoulder, trying to act nonchalant. “We went back to my place.”
    “Oh. My. God. Tallie, what were you thinking?”
    “That the sex was going to be spectacular.”
    “And?”
    “It was better than that.”
    “You hardly knew him! You can’t think to make a habit of this kind of behavior.”
    “Oh c’mon; why not? I’ll find a different fuck for every night of the week until I’ve met my quota of rebounds.”
    “Rebounds?”
    “Sure. Aren’t you entitled to a certain number of rebounds based on the length of the relationship you’re mourning?”
    Leslie rolled her eyes. “You can’t possibly be mourning the loss of Dylan.”
    “Maybe not.”
    “So even if that ludicrous