Текст книги "About That Night"

Автор книги: Julie James

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At least for five minutes.

“Look,” she said to Kyle. “I appreciate you walking me home. Really. But just so we’re on the same page, that’s all this is. A walk.”

The light turned green, and they crossed the street in tandem.

“No offense, but you seem a bit uptight about the rules here,” Kyle said. “Don’t you ever just go with the flow?”

“I’d say I’m more of a planner than a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type.”

He groaned. “I bet you’re one of those people with a five-year plan.”

“Mine’s six.” Rylann caught his look. “What? That’s how long it will take to get where I want to be,” she said with a touch of defensiveness. “Not all of us have the luxury of ambling our way through our twenties until we decide it’s time to grow up, Kyle Rhodes.”

Kyle spun around and stopped in front of her, so abruptly that she nearly barreled into him. “Listen, I’m going to fast-forward through the whole give-the-rich-guy-his-comeuppance speech. I’ve been dealing with that routine since high school.” He pointed emphatically. “And I don’t amble my way through anything. As a matter of fact, the reason I was out celebrating tonight is because I just took my qualifying exam to become a PhD candidate.”

She stood corrected. “Impressive. In the future, you might want to open with that line instead of the lame guess-my-major routine.” She smiled charmingly. “Just a suggestion.”

Kyle threw up his hands. “I swear, never again. This is what I get for approaching a strange girl in a bar. I pick the sarcastic one.” He stalked away in frustration.

Rylann let him go for a few feet before calling out, “You’re headed in the wrong direction.” When he turned around, she pointed innocently. “My apartment’s that way.”

He switched directions and coolly breezed past her.

Rylann watched with amusement as he walked by. She kind of liked this cranky side of Kyle Rhodes. It felt much more real than the Smug Dimples pseudo-charm routine. “I don’t think it counts as walking me home if you’re a half block ahead of me,” she called out to him. “I’m pretty sure there’s a five-foot rule or something.”

Kyle stopped but didn’t turn around. He waited in silence for her to catch up.

When she did, she paused before him, standing a little closer than before. “I suppose congratulations are in order. Tell me more about your PhD exam.”

“Oh, now you want to be nice,” he said.

“I’m considering it.”

They continued walking in the direction of her apartment. “I’m in the computer sciences grad program,” Kyle said. “My focus is on systems and networking research, specifically security. Protections against DoS attacks.”

“That sounds very…technical.”

Seeing her cluelessness, he explained. “DoS means “denial of service.” In basic terms, a type of computer hacking. Companies view them mostly as nuisances, but my prediction is that these types of attacks will continue to grow more advanced over the next few years. Mark my words, one day somebody is going to cause a lot of panic and mayhem if websites don’t start taking these threats seriously.”

“Your father must be very proud that you’re going into the family business,” Rylann said.

He grimaced. “Actually, that’s a bit of a sore subject. I’m not planning to work for him. I’d like to teach instead.” He caught Rylann’s look of surprise and shrugged casually. “Can’t beat a gig that lets you have summers off, right?”

“Why do you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Put out this whole laid-back, don’t-take-me-too-seriously vibe. I assume that’s the reason for the work boots and flannel getup.”

“No, I wear work boots and flannels because they’re comfortable. In case you haven’t noticed, we go to school in the middle of a cornfield. Black tie isn’t exactly required around here.” He cocked his head. “Besides, why do you care what kind of vibe I put out?”

“Because I suspect there’s more to the illustrious Kyle Rhodes than meets the eye.”

They paused at a street corner, only two blocks from Rylann’s apartment. A cool breeze served as a quick reminder that she was wearing a damp shirt. With a slight shiver, she folded her arms over her chest and rubbed them to stay warm.

“Nope. I’m still the same jerk you thought I was with the lame pickup line.” Without discussion, Kyle pulled off his flannel shirt and handed it to Rylann. Underneath, he wore a gray fitted T-shirt that hugged the toned muscles of his chest, abs, and biceps.

Rylann waved off the shirt, trying not to stare at his body. And failing miserably. “Oh, no thanks. We’re only two blocks from my apartment. I’ll be okay.”

“Just take it. If my mother knew I let a woman walk home shivering in a wet shirt, she’d kill me.”

Rylann took the shirt from him and slid her arms into it. It was warm from his body. “Twenty-three years old and still listening to Mom. That’s cute.”

Kyle stepped closer and adjusted the collar of the shirt, which was caught underneath the neckline. “Twenty-four. And my mom’s pretty kick-ass—you’d listen to her, too.” He nodded, satisfied with the collar. “There.”

When his hand brushed against Rylann’s neck, her stomach did a little flip-flop.

Major sparks.

Dammit.

“Thank you,” she said. Not this one, she firmly reminded herself. This guy had no place in her six-year plan. Hell, he had no place in her six-day plan.

Kyle gazed down at her. “I lied when I said I followed you to the bar because you’re hot.” He touched her cheek. “I saw you laughing with your friends, and your smile sucked me right in.”

Oh…man. Rylann’s heart did this strange skipping thing. She debated for a moment as she peered up into those incredible blue eyes of his, then decided, what the hell? After the year she’d been through, she had earned a little treat.

She stood up on her toes, lifted her lips to his, and kissed him.

The kiss was teasing and gentle at first, and he cupped her cheek as he slowly, seductively, claimed her mouth with his. She slid one hand up his chest, momentarily forgetting—or not caring—that they were standing on a street corner where anyone could pass by. She pressed up against him, and the kiss deepened as his tongue swirled around hers, hot enough to make her body feel like it was melting.

It felt like an eternity before she managed to slowly pull her lips away.

His hand was still on her cheek as their mouths hovered inches from each other. His eyes were a deep, burning blue. “What made you do that?”

“I thought I’d fly by the seat of my pants for a change,” she said, a little out of breath.

He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Exhilarating. Rylann smiled to herself, having a sneaking suspicion that Kyle Rhodes had already heard enough compliments about his kissing to last a lifetime. So she shrugged noncommittally. “Not bad.”

Kyle scoffed. “Not bad? Counselor, there are two things I’ve got mad skills at. And computer science is the other one.”

All righty, then. Rylann rolled her eyes. “Seriously, where do you come up with these lines?” She turned away and began walking the remaining two blocks to her apartment, figuring there wasn’t enough room for her, Kyle Rhodes, and his ego on the sidewalk.

She’d gone a few feet when she heard him calling after her.

“It doesn’t count as a walk home if you’re half a block ahead of me,” he said, teasingly echoing her earlier words.

“I’m releasing you of all your obligations,” she shouted without looking back. She could hear his laughter, warm and rich, following behind her.

When she reached her building, she cut through the courtyard and walked straight to the weather-faded wooden stairwell that would take her to the second-floor apartment she shared with Rae.

“Rylann.”

She turned around and saw Kyle standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“I was wondering if you’re sticking around this cornfield for the summer?” he said.

“Not that it matters, but yes.” She sniffed. “I’ve got an internship with the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

Kyle climbed up the steps to meet her midway on the staircase. “In that case, have dinner with me tomorrow.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He tugged the collar of the shirt she was wearing. “You’re just going to take my shirt and run?”

She’d completely forgotten about that. She began to slide the shirt off. “Sorry. I—”

Kyle put his hand over hers. “Keep it. I like the way it looks on you.”

Darn sparks shot right down to her toes. She gave him her best no-nonsense stare. “This was supposed to be just a walk.”

“It’s only one date, counselor. We’ll get chicken wings and beer and bitch about how bored we’re going to be living here this summer.”

Actually, that didn’t sound half-bad. “And what if I’d said that I wasn’t sticking around for the summer?” Rylann asked. “What if you’d been right, and tomorrow I was leaving for Chicago to move into my quaint and overpriced two-bedroom apartment in Wrigleyville?”

He grinned, a smile that could melt the polar ice cap. “Then I guess I’d be driving two hours to pick you up for those chicken wings. See you tomorrow, counselor. Eight o’clock.” With that, he turned and strode back down the staircase.

A few minutes later, safely ensconced inside her apartment, Rylann leaned her head against the front door, musing over the evening’s turn of events. She closed her eyes, a smile curling at the edges of her lips despite all her attempts to fight it off.

Wow.

AS FATE WOULD have it, however, the good feeling didn’t last.

Rylann waited until ten o’clock, two hours after the time Kyle had said he’d be at her apartment. Then she finally gave up and slid out of her jeans and heels.

He’d stood her up.

This was okay, she assured herself. Her internship, which she’d been looking forward to for months, started in a week, and she didn’t need to be distracted by first dates with a sometimes-charming sexy billionaire computer geek and the whole will-he-call rigmarole.

Poor Rae would be crushed, she thought. Before leaving for the summer, she’d left Rylann her black Manolos specifically for the occasion.

“I can’t have you running around in flip-flops for your date with a billionaire,” Rae had lectured, playing it cool and trying not to appear too sentimental as she’d handed over the shoe box to Rylann before getting into her car.

Rylann had hugged her friend. “You and the rest of your shoes need to get back here soon.”

“Call me tomorrow and let me know how the date goes,” Rae had said. “Maybe he’ll fly you to Italy for pizza or rent out a restaurant for your first date.”

Or maybe he’ll just forget the whole thing.

Resolved to ignore the disappointment she felt, Rylann changed into a camisole and drawstring pajama pants. No sense in being dressed up if she had no place to go.

She got comfortable on the couch and absentmindedly flipped through the television channels. It struck her how quiet her apartment was, and in the next moment, she realized how dangerously close she was to wallowing in self-pity.

No way, she told herself, refusing to go down that road. It wasn’t as though Kyle Rhodes was that great. For starters, he was cocky and too confident, and he dressed as if he’d just fallen off a tractor. And the whole computer thing? That was a snooze-fest of a conversation topic if she’d ever heard one.

Honestly, she hadn’t even liked the guy much.

Really.

THE NEXT MORNING, Rylann came out of her bedroom dressed and ready to go for a run. With all the studying she’d done over the last few months, she’d barely worked out and felt the need to rectify that situation. She suspected this enthusiasm would last for about fifteen minutes, until she collapsed in a gasping heap somewhere in the middle of mile two.

She was in high spirits for a woman who’d been stood up the night before. Most of this stemmed from the fact that she intended to toss Kyle Rhodes’s flannel shirt in the Dumpster on her way out, and also from the fact that she had this great one-liner planned in the event she ever did run into him again, about how she hadn’t gotten the chance to put his shirt where she’d really wanted to, so she’d stuck it in the other place the sun didn’t shine.

When she stepped outside her apartment—MP3 player in one hand and the soon-to-be-forgotten flannel shirt in the other—she saw the newspaper lying in front of her door. As she picked it up, the early morning sun made her blink, and somewhere in the back of her mind she was thinking about how it was going to be a warm, gorgeous May day. A perfect day for the pool, she thought. Maybe I’ll—

It took a moment for the newspaper’s headline to register. At first it seemed like any another tragic headline, the kind that makes a person pause at the brief sadness one feels when hearing such things. Then it dawned on her.

WIFE OF BILLIONAIRE ALUMNUS

KILLED IN CAR ACCIDENT

Marilyn Rhodes.

Kyle’s mother.

Without looking up from the newspaper, Rylann shut her front door, sat down at her kitchen table, and began to read.

Three

Nine years later

THE CHILLY MARCH wind cut across Lake Michigan, an icy sting that could easily bring tears to one’s eyes. But Kyle barely noticed. When he was running, he was in the zone.

It was dark outside, after seven p.m., and the temperature hovered right around forty degrees. Every day for the past two weeks, he’d hit the jogging trail that ran along the lake and run a twelve-mile circuit from his apartment and back. His doorman, Miles, had commented yesterday on the routine, and for simplicity’s sake, Kyle had said he was training for a marathon.

In truth, he just liked the quiet solitude of running. Not to mention, he reveled in the freedom he’d come to appreciate while running. Ah…such glorious freedom. The knowledge that he could keep going, with nothing but physical exhaustion to stop him.

And, of course, a team of armed U.S. marshals if he went more than ten miles from home.

A minor technicality.

Kyle had quickly realized there was one drawback to his running routine, something he’d figured out around mile three the first morning: the electronic monitoring device strapped to his ankle chafed like a bitch while jogging. He’d tried sprinkling some talcum powder on it, but all that had gotten him was a white mess that left him smelling like a baby. And if there was anything a committed bachelor in his thirties did not need to smell like, it was babies. A woman got one whiff of that and suddenly all sorts of biological clocks came out of snooze mode and started ringing with a vengeance.

But, as Kyle knew full well, a man could have worse problems than chafing and baby powder. A man could get arrested, say, and be indicted on multiple federal charges and end up in prison. Or a man could find out that his stubborn, pain-in-the-ass twin sister had nearly gotten herself killed while working with the FBI as part of an agreement to secure his early release from said prison.

He still wanted to throttle Jordan for that one.

Kyle checked his watch and picked up the pace for the last half mile of his run. According to the terms of his home detention, he was allowed ninety minutes per day for “personal errands,” as long as he stayed within a ten-mile radius of his home. Technically, he was supposed to use those ninety minutes for food shopping and laundry, but he’d figured out how to game the system: he ordered his groceries online and had them delivered to his front door, and he utilized the dry cleaner located in the lobby of the high-rise building in which he lived. That gave him ninety minutes a day outside his penthouse, ninety minutes when life seemed almost normal.

On this evening, he made it back to his building with eight minutes to spare. He may have been gaming the system, but he wasn’t about to test it. God forbid he got delayed with a leg cramp and an alarm was triggered from his ankle monitor. All he needed was a SWAT team storming the beach and slapping him in handcuffs just because he hadn’t stretched properly.

The rush of warm air that hit Kyle as he entered the building felt stifling. Or perhaps it was just the knowledge that his return through those doors meant he would be trapped in his apartment for the next twenty-two hours and thirty-two minutes.

Only three more days to go, he reminded himself.

In little more than seventy-two hours—he’d started thinking in terms of hours ever since his prison days—he would officially be a free man. Assuming, that is, that the U.S. Attorney’s Office upheld their end of the bargain, which was a big assumption. It was safe to say that he and the U.S. Attorney’s Office were not on the best of terms these days, despite whatever deals they’d made with his sister regarding his early release from Metropolitan Correctional Center, the federal prison where he’d served four months of an eighteen months’ sentence. They had, after all, called him a “terrorist” both in open court and directly to the media, and in Kyle’s book, that got people a one-way ticket onto his shit list. Because a “terrorist,” as any moron with a dictionary knew, was a person who engaged in violence, terror, and intimidation to achieve a result.

He, on the other hand, had just engaged in stupidity.

Miles the doorman checked his watch as Kyle passed by the front lobby desk.

“Can’t even give yourself a break on a Saturday night?”

“No rest for the wicked,” Kyle said with an easy grin.

He caught an elevator and pushed the button for the thirty-fourth floor, the penthouse. Just before the doors shut, a man in his late twenties wearing jeans and a ski pullover scrambled in. He blinked in recognition when he saw Kyle but said nothing as he pushed the button to the twenty-third floor.

They rode the elevator in silence, but Kyle knew it wouldn’t last. Eventually, the other guy would say something. Some people cussed him out, others high-fived him, but they always said something.

When the elevator arrived at the twenty-third floor, the guy glanced over before stepping out. “For what it’s worth, I thought the whole thing was pretty funny.”

One of the high-fivers. “Too bad you weren’t on the grand jury,” Kyle said.

He rode the elevator to the top floor, space he shared with two other penthouse apartments. He let himself into his apartment, peeled off the sweaty nylon jacket he wore, and tossed it over the back of one of the bar stools in front of his kitchen counter. Per his instructions, his place had been designed with an open floor plan, with all of the living space except the bedrooms flowing together for an airy feel that complemented the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran along two walls. He had a spectacular view of the lake, although on most days everything outside looked gray and dull. Par for the course for Chicago in March.

“If you ever have to work a deal for me to serve home detention again,” he’d joked to his sister, Jordan, when she and their father had been visiting the week before, “make sure the Feds include a provision that says I get to spend the cold months on a beach in Malibu.”

Their father, apparently unamused, had walked out of the room to take a phone call.

“Too soon,” Jordan had said, shaking her head.

“You have no problem making prison jokes,” Kyle pointed out defensively. In fact, his sister had developed quite an annoying knack for them lately.

Jordan had waved around a Mrs. Fields cookie she’d pilfered from a tin in his pantry. “Yeah, but I’ve known since we were three that you’re a moron. Strangely, it took Dad this long to figure it out.” She’d smiled sweetly as she took another bite.

“Thanks. Hey, genius—that cookie’s five months old.” Kyle had chuckled as his sister scrambled for a paper towel.

Later, on her way out the door, Jordan had revisited the issue, more seriously this time. “Don’t worry about Dad. He’ll get there eventually.”

Kyle hoped Jordan was right. For the most part, their father had handled Kyle’s very public arrest and conviction as well as could be expected. Like Jordan, Grey had been at all of Kyle’s court appearances and had visited him in prison every week. Still, things were a little awkward with his dad these days, and there was no doubt that a man-to-man conversation was in order.

Eventually.

Pushing that issue temporarily aside, Kyle stripped out of his running clothes and took a quick shower. He checked his watch and saw that he had a good half hour before his visitors arrived, so he settled in at the desk in his office to read the evening news on his thirty-inch flat-screen monitor.

After perusing the national news, he skimmed the Tech section of the Wall Street Journal. He exhaled in annoyance when he saw that his upcoming court appearance was the second story on the page.

At least he hadn’t been one of the headlines, although he had no doubt that his picture would once again be plastered all over the papers come Tuesday, when the judge ruled on the government’s motion. It was ridiculous, really, that one screwup—yes, he’d screwed up, he fully admitted that—had gotten this much attention. People broke the law every day. Okay, several federal laws in his case, but still.

Kyle ignored the Wall Street Journal story, not needing to go over the lurid details. He knew full well what he’d done—hell, half the free world knew what he’d done. In legal terms, he’d been convicted of multiple counts of electronic transmission of malicious codes to cause damage to protected computers. In tech terms—language he preferred over all that lawyer-speak—five months ago he’d orchestrated a distributed denial of service attack against a global communications network through the use of a “botnet,” a network of computers infected via malware without their owners’ knowledge or consent.

Or, in the common vernacular, he’d hacked into Twitter and crashed the site for two days in what was undoubtedly the most boneheaded move of his life.

And the whole thing had started over a woman.

He’d met Daniela, a Victoria’s Secret model who lived in New York, at a friend’s art show in SoHo, and they’d hit it off instantly. She was beautiful, she had a genuine appreciation for art and photography and could talk passionately about the subject for hours, and she didn’t take herself too seriously. They’d spent the entire weekend together in New York, a whirlwind of sex, restaurants, bars, and fun—which was all that Kyle had been looking for at the time.

They had begun casually dating long distance after that, with Kyle flying out to New York a few times over the next several months to see Daniela, and the tabloids had begun to gossip about their relationship. The supermodel and the billionaire heir.

“Imagine that. My brother’s dating another model,” Jordan had called to say after seeing him and Daniela mentioned in the Scene and Heard column of the Tribune. “Ever think about diversifying your portfolio?” she’d asked dryly.

“Why?” he’d said matter-of-factly. “I like dating models.”

“Not enough to introduce any of them to me or Dad,” she’d shot back.

His sister always did have the most annoying way of pointing out things like that.

It was true, he’d never been in a long-term relationship, and there was one simple reason for that: he liked being single. As well he should. Over the course of the last nine years, he’d settled into his life at Rhodes Corporation, climbing up the corporate ladder all the way to executive vice president of network security. He worked hard, but he also liked to play hard, and he saw no reason to tie himself down to one woman. He always kept things light and easy, never promising anything more than a good time for however long things lasted.

Still, Jordan’s comment nagged at him. The bachelor scene had begun to feel a little…old at times. Sure, a man in his position generally never had problems meeting women, but he was starting to wonder whether casual dating and hot hookups were enough. He’d always assumed he’d settle down at some point—he’d grown up in a happy, loving family and knew that was something he wanted for himself eventually—so he figured, perhaps, it was time he started taking some steps toward that.

With that in mind, he’d begun to spend more weekends with Daniela, either flying out to New York to visit her or paying for her to come to Chicago. He wasn’t naive enough to think their relationship was perfect, but in the nine years he’d played the field, he’d yet to find this so-called “perfect fit” with any woman. So he ignored those concerns—after all, a man could do a lot worse than having a Victoria’s Secret model in his bed on a regular basis.

But about six months into their relationship, when Daniela asked about meeting his family, Kyle hesitated. Because he’d never introduced them to a woman before, it seemed like a huge step. Gigantic. For years, it had been just the three of them: him, his dad, and Jordan. Together they’d navigated the often-surreal spotlight they’d been thrust into because of his father’s wealth and, miraculously, had come out mostly normal on the other side. So despite the fact that he’d been dating Daniela longer than anyone else, and had even twice used the word girlfriend when describing her, he’d hemmed and hawed and changed the subject without giving her a direct answer.

Perhaps that had been the first sign of trouble.

The following week, Daniela had called him, speaking so fast that he could barely understand her with her Brazilian accent. She told him that she’d been cast in a music video—something she was very excited about, since she wanted to transition into acting. On her way to Los Angeles, she’d surprised Kyle by stopping in Chicago for a night to celebrate. A sweet thought, but unfortunately, he had a work conflict that evening.

“You should’ve called me first—I’m having dinner tonight with my entire management team,” he’d told her apologetically. As executive vice president of network security, he liked to meet at least twice a year with his managers in a nonwork environment. “We’re discussing intrusion prevention, network access control, and threat response products.” He’d winked. “Very sexy stuff.”

Daniela showed zero interest in the subject, which was not unusual. Actually, Kyle had yet to find a girl who showed any genuine interest in his job—although many of them were plenty captivated by the penthouse and Mercedes SLS AMG it afforded him.

“But if I’d told you, it wouldn’t have been a surprise.” Daniela pouted. “Can’t you skip it? What will your father do? Ground you for not going to some boring meeting with a bunch of computer nerds?”

Not surprisingly, that comment hadn’t gone over so well with Kyle.

Perhaps their conversations were getting lost in translation, or maybe she truly didn’t care. But Daniela had never seemed to grasp that his job at Rhodes Corporation was a real position. Not to toot his own horn, but he was a shining star at the company—and it wasn’t because he was the boss’s son. He was, simply, just that good at what he did.

Nine years ago, Kyle had had his reasons—very private, personal reasons—for dropping out of his PhD program and joining Rhodes Corporation, but the reason he’d stayed at the company for so long was because of the work experience. In his industry, there was no better man to learn from than Grey Rhodes—the billion-dollar empire he’d built from the ground up was concrete proof of that.

That being said, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. His father may have been CEO of the company, but Kyle was in charge of network security and insisted on autonomy: he ran his department the way he wanted. True, every now and then he and his father butted heads and stepped on each other’s toes…well, actually, that happened a lot. But they were professionals, and they worked through it the same way any other CEO and executive VP would work through their issues. His father respected his opinions and had come to see Kyle as his right-hand man.

The problem was, Kyle didn’t want to be the right-hand man anymore. He was good, he was ready, and he was driven. But at Rhodes Corporation, there could only be one man at the top. And that spot was taken.

He had ideas. Plans for the future that likely did not match up with those of his father. And the time to put those plans into motion was quickly coming.

That evening, he and Daniela had argued over her comment for almost an hour. In the end, however, Kyle had tried to make amends. She had flown into Chicago to surprise him, after all. He didn’t want to spend the entire night fighting, especially since they wouldn’t see each other for a couple weeks.

“I’ll tell you what,” he’d said, putting his arms around her and pulling her closer. “I’ll pick up a bottle of champagne on my way home from dinner. We can have a private celebration when I get back.”

“Aw, babe, you tempt me,” she’d said, kissing his cheek affectionately. “But I feel like…what’s the expression? Living it up tonight. I think I’ll give Janelle a call. She’s in Chicago for a shoot with Macy’s. You remember Janelle, don’t you? You met in New York that night we had drinks at the Boom Boom Room…” her voice trailed off as she strolled into his bathroom, toting her enormous makeup bag.

That night, Daniela didn’t get back to Kyle’s place until five a.m., only a half hour before he normally woke up to go for his daily run. She let herself into his place with the key he’d given her and passed out cold on his bed, on top of the sheets and snoring, with her Christian Louboutins still on. Kyle didn’t bother to wake her, and she was gone, having left for L.A., by the time he came home from work.

That was probably the second sign of trouble.

He didn’t hear from Daniela for the next four days. At first, he assumed she was busy with the music video shoot, but when she didn’t return any of his calls or text messages, he began to get worried. He knew she sometimes partied hard with her friends, and he’d begun to have nightmare visions of her becoming one of those tragic tales reported on Access Hollywood, the supermodel who drank too much and died when she slipped in a hotel bathroom and dropped her five-ton makeup case on her head.

On the fourth night of her trip, he finally got a response.

Via Twitter.

@KyleRhodes Sorry not going 2 work out 4 us. Going 2 chill in LA with someone I met. I think U R sweet but U talk too much about computers.