Thank you all of my reviewers! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Disclaimer: I take full credit for what me and my mind come up with – things such as characters, bits of exploding scenery, etc. – the rest I give due credit to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and Susan Kay.

Thoughts

I slammed my fists against the lid of the piano and growled in frustration.

It had been weeks since I had last seen her and she had been on my mind every moment – waking or not. She had disappeared yet again.

Coming back to the office after a heated conversation with the head in London, I noticed the open door and dashed in, a feeling of dread weighing heavily in the bottom of my stomach. Lunging at the office phone on the desk, I frantically dialed the security officer in the parking lot to see if she was outside. When there was no answer I rushed out and proceeded to search the building myself, but she was gone.

Taking my frustration out on the keys in front of me, I replayed what had happened over and over in my head. I had kissed her again. I don't know what had possessed me, but in that first moment when our lips met, I realized that I had changed.

I had spent no more than a total of three hours with the girl yet she had suppressed one of my most basic and necessary instincts – the need to protect my face at all times.

After countless hours of solitude and deliberation in my room, it finally hit me – the first time, outside of the maze, I had kissed her to stop her inquiries about my mask. True, I was intoxicated by her presence, but I still put my face above her. I controlled her, embraced her, safely pinning her arms to her body.

Kneeling on the office's rough carpet in front of her trembling body, I forgot about everything but her. I didn't give a damn about how close I was to her or how easily she could have knocked off my mask, either accidentally or deliberately.

Leaning back on the bench, I closed my eyes but continued to play. Barking out a bitter laugh, I thought of the complete irony of my situation as I asked myself the question I had pondered so many months ago in this very room,

Why?

It couldn't be only her physical appearance into my life that had affected me. Could it be the countless hours I had spent thinking of her? Was I building someone up in my mind that really didn't exist? I recalled the words of a song that seemed to mirror my confusion exactly,

Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you?

Suddenly a gust of wind whistled against the side of the house and one of the French doors was flung open with a bang. I stopped playing, startled out of my musings, and irritably crossed the room. Sticking my head out into the frigid, turbulent air, I noticed billowing black clouds on the horizon.

Frowning, I turned and shut the door securely behind me then, for good measure, checked the rest. Throwing myself heavily onto the piano bench again, I sighed and resumed my abuse of the keys.

Even if I was becoming dangerously obsessed with her, I just couldn't resist. I wanted her. As callous as that statement seemed, it was true.

Also, the thing that was troubling me the most was…why had she left?

Again, I wracked my brain for details.

Did I scare her off somehow? Or did she purposely leave? I hissed at the thought and missed a chord. She didn't seem like the type to deliberately leave just to tease or tantalize. She actually tried to explain herself for her abrupt disappearance at the party.

I snorted and raised an eyebrow. That one statement was the only clue I had as to her whereabouts. A few days after the Christmas party I called Jonathan, the office manager that had interrupted us, at his house. Simmering in anger at the memory, I demanded that he give me a list of all the women named Meg, Margaret, or Megan employed at that branch.

Twenty minutes later it was sliding out of the fax machine in my home office and into my hands.

It was short – only five people total. Calling Jonathan back, I told him to contact all of them and inquire about a young lady named Christine.

Christine…

Even now, I couldn't suppress the excited shudder that ran through my body as I whispered it in my mind.

Another gust of wind rattled the panes of glass in the doors and mournfully howled through the crack between the wood and the floor.

It was a dead end. Jonathan called back a day later and apologetically informed me that none of them had a friend named Christine.

Although disappointing, I knew that this was only a minor annoyance. She was at the Christmas party and the masquerade. That meant she had some ties to the company. Eventually I would find her or she would turn up in front of me like a few weeks ago.

For now I could wait.

In fact, it might do me some good to take a small break. If I removed myself from this place, which was driving me insane since I knew she was so near, yet so utterly disconnected from my grasp, it might give me time to sort out my feelings for her.

I called for Jacobs, my butler, and asked,

"Are my travel arrangements prepared for the opening of the new office?"

He nodded courteously and replied in a curt, British accent,

"Yes, sir. Your flat in Paris had been aired and re staffed. Also, I took the liberty of ordering two of your cars out of storage."

"Which ones?"

"The Phantom, sir. And the Lotus."

I raised an eyebrow at his first choice, but remained silent.

"You are leaving on Saturday, am I correct?" The wizened old butler pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and perched a pair of glasses on top of his nose.

"Yes." I rose from my spot by the piano and glided past him. Opening the door, I said,

"Is there anything else, Jacobs?"

"No, sir." Came the immediate reply.

"Good," I stepped out into the hall and left the door open behind me, shouting back over my shoulder, "Oh, and Jacobs, I have recently changed my plans. I will be staying longer than expected."