Million Dollar Devil

by Evans, Katy

  “Why would you wait for tomorrow when you’ve said everything I needed to hear today?”

  Oh. Myyyyy. God.

  I gulp, stare at the phone, and then do what every red-blooded American woman would do. I hit end and wish I could take it back. Not the “end-call” part but the “babbling my truths” part.

  I leap out of bed, and for the next five minutes, I pace. I pace because I don’t know what to do.

  I could call Jeanine, but then I’d feel guilty. She’s about to try one of the biggest cases of her career, and the last thing she needs is me blabbering about James. Then again, I could call her anyway.

  OR—I could call James, tell him that I was in a dead sleep, having the strangest dream EVER, and just guess who was in it?

  Would that be cool?

  Fuck no. No. And no.

  He wouldn’t believe me.

  It’s another ten minutes before he calls back. I reluctantly answer.

  “Hi, you.”

  God, he is SO sexy.

  “Hi,” I answer grudgingly.

  And I’m so not.

  “What’s up?”

  “Not a lot.” Just kind of walking the carpet. “What about you?”

  “Oh, you know, I’m just hanging out, waiting for the call.”

  “What call?”

  “It’s really more of a summons. Seems a woman plans to use me for sex, and I’m not sure what all ‘fucking me out of her system’ entails, but I’ll definitely need to be present for the act itself, so yeah, I’m just waiting here by the phone.”

  OH MY GOD. I’m dying. I’m so, so dying.

  “Look, James, I didn’t . . .”

  “Oh, I think you did.”

  “Well, I mean . . .”

  “You did. And you know what? That cowgirl at the rodeo is sounding pretty damn good right now.”

  Deep breaths. “Yeah, I guess that’s pretty much etched in stone now, huh?”

  “So were we ever gonna discuss this?”

  “You knew. I mean, you know.”

  “I do now.” There’s this guttural edge to his voice. “Lizzy?”

  “Yes, I’m . . . I’m here.”

  “Want me to come over?”

  Of fucking course. “No. No. Not at all. It’s like nine in the morning.”

  “And here is where you tell me that all good little girls like spending their Saturday alone in their beds.”

  “Yes.”

  “After what I heard? Lizzy, you are not a good little girl.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Lizzy.”

  “James.” My mouth dries, and I stare down at my trembling hands. I want this guy. I want him so much that I’m scared to want him. “Not today. Okay? Let me have the day and, um . . .”

  Maybe I’ll practice with my vibrator so I can perform well? What the fuck am I supposed to say now?

  I don’t say anything, and the silence stretches.

  Finally, he says, “I’ll see you Monday. Nine okay?”

  I release an exasperated breath and relax. “Let’s make it about five p.m. I need to head to the office because my dad should be back, and I need to check in on Michael and see if the suits are ready for our travels.”

  “All right then. Monday at five. Sweet dreams tonight, baby.” I breathe out another sigh of relief, thrilled that he doesn’t mention the vibrator.

  “You too, Devil,” I toss out as lightly as I can, ending the call and groaning back into my pillow, partly wanting to suffocate myself with it. I’m going to need to buy extra batteries for my vibrator this weekend.

  Sunday night, after watching YouTube videos almost as much as I was working scheduling meetings with our store buyers, I shower, slip on my robe, and head to bed. That’s when I spot the envelope James gave me when we made the deal. Crinkled all over and folded in half as it lies on my nightstand.

  I pull up my duvet cover and slide under the sheets, giving it another curious look. Trying to ignore it, I prop my pillow up, grab my TV remote, and look at the envelope a third time. Sighing, I set the remote aside.

  Then I take it in my hands and turn it around, wondering what it could be.

  I decide he never told me not to open it.

  In fact, the seal is already open.

  So I decide to take a peek, flipping the flap back and pulling out what seems to be a photograph. It looks old, slightly yellow, and worn at the corners.

  It’s a picture of a family, one with a teenage version of James, a girl who looks just like him, and a little toddler next to a beaming pair of adults. The perfect family.

  Without a doubt, he has a sister, good-looking parents, and a kid brother who clearly admires him.

  Had, I think with a pang as I remember what he told me.

  It was an accident. He LOST this family.

  And this is his most precious belonging . . . their last image together? Maybe the only image of them together that he has.

  I picture him moving on his own, taking care of Charlie, doing anything possible to succeed and get ahead. Then I think of how punctual he now is, how he does everything I ask him even when it’s difficult and driving him crazy. I admire his dedication and how he’s able to keep that sense of humor after all he’s been through.

  I lost my mother. But my mother gave up on me. James’s family hadn’t . . . and he lost them all except Charlie.

  I put the photograph back in the envelope and glance at my phone, tempted to reach out to him.

  And say what, Lizzy? “Did you like the cologne?”

  We went shopping what feels like ages ago. I used my plastic and bought him articles that we, at Banks, don’t have. Designer shoes. My favorite men’s fragrance. The coolest Ray-Ban shades. And a pair of silk pajamas, like all gentlemen should wear.

  James grimaced at the pajamas.

  “I won’t use ’em,” he assured me.

  “You will. They’re silk, and they’re delicious.”

  “Not as delicious as sleeping without a stitch.” He smirked at me playfully, that devil’s gleam in his eye.

  I huffed and turned away to hide my flush, and now I’m wondering if he’s wearing them—or if he’s wearing nothing at all. At least the bottoms?

  About that time, Dad calls. “I hear things are progressing with the new guy.”

  “Yes.”

  “LB sent me the brief you gave him. He looks good, if a little mysterious. What’s his background?”

  “Um, well—”

  “LB says he hasn’t met him in person, though, and you’ve been working from home. Any reason you can’t work at the office?”

  LB.

  UGHHHH.

  Ratting on me to my dad. I know LB wants to be CEO. I know he’s desperate for me to fail at this. But I also know that this project is my baby, and I’m protecting it at all costs.

  “I’ve checked in a few times,” I say defensively.

  “Remember we’re a team at Banks Limited. And whatever reason you are not sharing yet fully with LB . . . I hope it’s not personal. Don’t get too attached with your project or your model, Elizabeth. We form professional relationships. Keep your personal life away from the office.”

  I clear my throat. “Of course, Dad.” I glance at the calendar on my phone. “How’s Minnesota?”

  “Cold.”

  “When will you be home?”

  “I might head over to China to meet with some of our fabric representatives.”

  “Oh.” I’m disappointed but don’t show it. “Okay, so then we’re good to go with the new model?”

  “Introduce him to LB,” he says. “He’ll give you the final say-so.”

  Oh, hell.

  “But—”

  “Lizzy, I don’t want to hear it. If I head to China, I’ll be there over a week. I’m probably going to be cutting it close for West Coast Fashion Week. LB can make the assessment.”

  I frown. No, he can’t. He’s been taking bets as to whether I can pull this off. I could present Prince
Harry to him, and it wouldn’t be good enough. LB simply has to tell my father that he’s a mess, and the plug will be pulled. Game over.

  So the name of the game now? Keep LB out of my way, as much as possible, for as long as possible. It’s not much longer now anyway.

  I decide to change the subject. “And are you taking your meds?”

  “I am. Thank you for taking care of your dad. How are you?”

  “I’m good, too, Dad.”

  “All right then. Take care.”

  The line goes dead, and as soon as I hear the tone, I curl up on the bed and imagine that we’re still talking. He tells me everything that’s going on in Minneapolis, and I tell him . . . ask him. For fatherly advice. Not afraid of being judged. Simply wanting to know what he’d say to his daughter, if he truly loved her and she were falling for a guy so different, so exciting, so wonderful she can’t even resist.

  But of course I can’t ask him that.

  Dad’s already said goodbye, but in my mind, the conversation lives on.

  Like it or not, things haven’t changed much. I’m approaching thirty, and I’m all alone. Living the independent career woman’s dream. And still dreaming of more. And dreaming, not for the first time since he came into my life, of a lone dimple and gorgeous, intense eyes that tempt me to take a risk on something other than business. Something more precious and personal than that.

  I end up calling him less than an hour later. “Have you cashed the check yet?” I ask when he picks up the line.

  “No, but I will. When I’ve made sure I’ve delivered what you want.” His sexy, gruff voice melts me.

  “So I can give you back your envelope.”

  There’s a silence.

  “I peeked at it,” I admit.

  “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Please don’t be mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad. You’re a curious little kitten.” I can hear the smirk in his voice, and my stomach warms.

  “Well . . . it’s a beautiful photo,” I admit. “And I’ve been watching your videos. And . . . you’re a brave guy.”

  “Or stupid. Take your pick.”

  I laugh and chidingly say, “You don’t mean that.”

  I hear a low sigh as if he’s shifted positions. “I’m lucky. Still got Charlie.”

  I nod. “And me,” I add, then realize what I said and clear my throat. “Anyway. Cash the check, James. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Heiress?”

  “Yes?”

  “Dream with me.”

  LUCK: WHEN PREPARATION MEETS OPPORTUNITY

  Jimmy

  At four p.m. on Monday, I’m at the drugstore—getting prepared. I couldn’t sleep, went to bed with a hard-on Saturday AND Sunday. Woke up with a hard-on—TWICE too. This woman is driving me crazy.

  After so much work to get Lizzy all lathered up and wanting me, the last thing I want is to not be prepared.

  But fuck me. Who knew choosing condoms would be worse than choosing a tie? I stand in front of multiple shelves lined with all shapes, brands, and prices. I never really took the time to evaluate all the options. But those ribbed ones they pimp for her pleasure? Well, her pleasure’s a priority. Obviously, I’m tempted.

  I’m definitely on the wrong side of town, I think, watching as a prim and proper lady passes me for the fourth time.

  Seems these people pay for choices. I search for the Hotman brand and grin when I spot it. Of course it’s one of the cheapest, but reliability is important.

  Here comes the lady again.

  I can’t resist the opportunity to tease her. Poor thing looks like she needs to get laid.

  “Can I help you make a selection?”

  She pales as she holds her head higher.

  I shake the Hotman box. “I like these. They’re comfortable, easy to slip on, easy to use. Dependable for those long-lasting rides.” I toss them in her buggy and grab another box. “Trust me. He’ll like ’em.”

  She never says a word. Horrified, she turns on her heel and wheels away. I try not to laugh because she reminds me of Lizzy, and I smile a little.

  I’m checking out when my phone rings. “Maria?”

  “Yeah. It’s me. Jimmy, you need to come home.”

  I’ve never been this pissed off or scared shitless before.

  The cab sped through Midtown and raced for my house, but I still had just enough time to dream up a dozen scenarios.

  As soon as it stops before my place, I shove him a twenty and bound out of the car, up the front steps, and straight into our cottage-style house. “Where is he?”

  Maria points to the bathroom.

  “How bad is it?”

  “He was jumped.”

  My heart sinks, and I fly down the hall but bump into the locked bathroom door. “Charlie?” I knock. “Open up.”

  “I’m fine, Jimmy.”

  He doesn’t sound like it. His sniffles fill the air, and my stomach tightens.

  “What happened?”

  He swings the door open, and I can’t stand the sight of his battered face, split lip. What the fuck? He’s barely a teenager. My blood is boiling now. It’s too much to handle, but I know he fears telling me about it, so I try to make light of the situation. “How’s the other guy look?”

  He scoffs and pushes by me. “I didn’t get the first swing!”

  Oh, and that just pisses me off. I spend another minute or two finding out the details, then march through the house again. Before I leave, I grab a few crumpled bills from a tin in the kitchen cabinet, then look at Maria and say, “If I’m not back in two hours, get him out of here.”

  She nods. “Be careful, Jimmy.”

  I send a text to Lizzy so she’s not expecting me and then head to Tim’s Bar. Thanks to Luke, I already know the gang is there. They’re trash-talking Charlie, a little thirteen-year-old, and don’t even see me enter from behind.

  Luke nods. I throw down some cash to cover the forthcoming damages. Then, I turn to the guys who are old enough to drink and too old to be taking down a boy not yet fourteen.

  “Which one of you pathetic men want your spanking first?”

  HOME

  Jimmy

  Charlie wants to know what I did to those fuckers the moment I walk in.

  Simply tell him, “I gave them a couple spanks. In their damn fool faces.”

  I grin, and Charlie, though he worries he’ll lose me one day, nods and exhales.

  I want him to forget this whole damn day ever happened.

  Need to feed the kid.

  Plump up those scrawny bones so he doesn’t invite assholes to rough him up so easily anymore.

  I’m throwing together a quick box meal when Charlie says, “There’s a badass convertible in our driveway.”

  “Don’t open the door.” Quickly, I sprinkle bread crumbs on top of a chicken mixture before popping it in the oven. “Did you do your homework?”

  “Scouts don’t have homework this weekend.” He holds down the blinds and looks at the driveway again. “If you’re smart, you’ll open the door. That badass car has a badass bitch sitting behind the wheel.”

  “She’s not a . . . what’s with the language, kid?”

  “Uh-huh.” Charlie laughs. “Somebody’s lovesick.”

  “Not lovesick.”

  I clench my jaw at the thought.

  “You’ve been listening to Darren too much,” I scold. Maria’s husband. “Got your stuff together?”

  “Yep.” He grins. “Gonna go out there or make her come in?”

  I peer outside.

  As I watch her leave her car, I have to admit. This is nice. Great, actually.

  I’m glad she’s here.

  As soon as she knocks, I swing the door open and grin down at her. She looks nervous and out of sorts, like she’s not sure if she’s overstepped some imaginary boundaries.

  “You’re a long way from Midtown.”

  “Yes, well, I got your text, and I worried. Is Char
lie okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “And . . . you?” She seems flushed, hesitant as her eyes scan my whole face like a minefield.

  “I’m fine. Perfect. Not a nick.” I aim at my face, winking.

  Her lips curve, and she shakes her head. “I didn’t ask because of that,” she says but seems relieved to see that I’m well.

  I eat her up with my eyes, and it’s intentional as shit.

  If she didn’t look so good in a skirt and blouse, I’d haul her off to my bedroom and insist that she throw on one of my T-shirts and get comfortable. She looks like she doesn’t belong here, and yet she’s so girl next door. Maybe it’s the innocent look that makes me crazy.

  Or maybe it’s just the sexy woman who causes me to lose my mind.

  I move aside. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Sure. I thought you’d never ask,” she teases, stepping inside. “You have a really nice place.” She turns to the kitchen, inhaling like she’s just stepped inside her grandma’s kitchen. “You’re cooking something with panko. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Want to stay for supper?”

  “Supper sounds great,” she says, grinning down the hall at Charlie.

  “You can stay,” Charlie says, reaching around me to shake her hand. “I’m Charlie. I’m this one’s brother.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Elizabeth. My friends call me Lizzy.”

  “Great, Lizzy,” he says, suddenly peering out the window and waving. “Hate to rush, but I’m headed to a campout, and my ride just got here.” He grabs his jacket.

  “Hey, tiger, what about your dinner?” I glower like some pissy French chef who thinks the world revolves around his dishes.

  “I heard about that,” Lizzy tells Charlie about his campout.

  “SWEET.” Charlie shoots her a grin before he turns back to me. “If he’s talking about you to me and me to you, I’d say you’re pretty high on his list of priorities.”