Million Dollar Devil

by Evans, Katy

  “Okay. Let’s not keep your ride waiting, kiddo.” I use his shoulders to steer him outside.

  “Later!” We give one another high fives, and he’s on his way a minute later.

  As soon as the door slams, Lizzy says, “Charlie seems like a great kid.”

  “He is . . .” The kitchen timer goes off. “And I guess dinner will be ready in five?”

  I frown because it’s too damn late for Charlie to eat some, and Lizzy laughs.

  “I’m sure he’ll get some food in. Boys that age always do,” she says, as if reading my thoughts. She follows me to the kitchen. “Need some help?”

  I suck in a breath and turn to find Lizzy standing at the table.

  The French chef is suddenly gone. I feel damn young and awkward, like I’m younger than Charlie and have never had a girl I liked look at me quite like Lizzy is looking at me now. “I’ve got this.” I fake confidence. Fake it till you make it, right?

  “If this is too much, too soon—you know, after our embarrassing . . . morning . . . I can go home?”

  I shoot her a look that tells her I think she’s insane.

  And hot.

  And insane.

  She’s noticed her effect on me. Chill, Jimmy. I mean James. Yeah, James. James is chill. James has got this. “Go home? Are you kidding? While I enjoy one of the best boxed recipes ever created on my own?”

  “Well, when you put it like that . . .”

  I sit down and wait for her to do the same. Damn. Where are my manners? I scramble to stand again and hold out her chair. “Have a seat.”

  She flushes, as if embarrassed about my blunder.

  My hand brushes against her neck, and she jerks. I see the goose bumps scatter across her neck, and I want to kiss her there, kiss her and whisper sweet things that I know will get her going, set her off. Maybe I could start by telling her that I’ll never fuck up and be ill prepared again, tell her that I’m now good on the condoms, lube, whatever the hell she wants.

  Too much, man. Chill.

  She primly unfolds her paper napkin and glances around the kitchen. “You have a lovely place.”

  “It’s home.” I sit opposite her. “Hope bottled water is okay. I didn’t take you for a beer drinker.”

  She eyes my water and shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

  Damn her for removing her jacket.

  “You are very fine and so much more.” I’m grinning, loving the blush that keeps reddening her cheeks.

  “I’m impressed you cook.”

  I affix my napkin to the collar of my shirt and love it when she looks appalled. “We make do on this side of the tracks,” I tell her.

  “Don’t do that.” She studies her fork before using it. After a moment of silence, she says, “Never be ashamed of who you are or where you come from.”

  “Says the woman who’s trying to change me.”

  “Change you? No. I’m working for gradual upgrades. That’s all.”

  “I’m not an automobile.”

  “That wasn’t an insult.”

  I laugh. “‘An upgraded model’ insinuates that only a tweak or two will be needed to achieve perfection.”

  Silence.

  “How long before I’m perfect?”

  “You almost are already,” she says.

  “Okay,” I say, laughing. “Tease me now, and see how far that gets you later.”

  “I’m scared,” she says, shuddering.

  “You should be.” I’ve walked around with blue balls while imagining what that tight little pussy might feel like clenching around my cock.

  I pretend to be interested in my food but can’t seem to eat when all I want is to take this girl to my room.

  She.

  Rocks.

  My.

  World.

  “Why didn’t you let me come over Saturday?”

  “Maybe because . . .” She looks at me. “You scare me.”

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “I know you deliberately wouldn’t. But this is messy. My dad hardly ever approves of any man I bring home, and bringing you—”

  I wait for her to say it. That people on this side of the tracks will never be good enough. She doesn’t, though. She just freezes, as if she has no idea how to continue.

  “Do you always jump when your dad says?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “Do you jump for anyone else?” I ask.

  “No,” she says quietly.

  I’d like to change that. I will change that. “Would you jump for me, Elizabeth?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I think you would,” I whisper, smiling to myself when she has no response.

  She’s silent.

  We eat our meal with polite conversation, a bit of business, and a lot of flirting.

  While we’re doing the dishes together—which is kind of cool—she talks about a few shows that we’ll be attending, the first one at the end of the week in Los Angeles, then asks if I have a passport.

  “I always hoped to do some overseas stuff with my YouTube channel, so I have one. I just haven’t used it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Are you making fun of me now, Lizzy?”

  “No. Really! I’m interested. Like what?”

  “Like . . . jumping off the Eiffel Tower?”

  We laugh.

  “What’s your dad think about you traveling with me?” I ask.

  “He won’t question it. It’s business.”

  “I’m not the kind of guy a wealthy businessman hopes to find at his daughter’s side, much less in her bed.”

  “You’re not in my bed.”

  “Maybe not yet, but that’s what I’m aiming for, and I always hit my mark.” I put away the dishes and turn to face her. Butting my hips against the kitchen counter, I cross my arms and say, “When we stopped in the back seat of your car . . . I’m surprised we could both do it. But I’m not up for either of us stopping again.”

  She waves her hand in front of her face, blushing.

  I know Elizabeth’s type. It took a long time to get her to a place where she trusted me enough to touch her, see her. It could take twice as long to get there again.

  Either way. No matter how long it takes. We’re still a done deal.

  My hand is in hers, and I’m leading her away from the kitchen before I realize that our hands are still adjoined, our fingers laced together.

  “I guess I’ll go.” She thumbs the air over her shoulder. “Walk me to my car?”

  No. I’d like to see her sprawled out on my bed, waiting for me, watching me as I fuck her. But that’s not going to happen. Not yet. “We could hang out here.”

  “I can’t stay with you.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I didn’t ask you to stay. I suggested that we hang out awhile. I can mix up an appletini. Isn’t that classy enough for you? Maria keeps a bottle here somewhere.”

  “I think . . .” She glances around at our small living room, the one with a lone sofa and beanbag. “Maybe we could do it another time?”

  “Because we have work to do?”

  “Yes. The photo shoot starts early tomorrow, and we need to be ready for LA.”

  “Yeah.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and wait a minute, in case she changes her mind.

  She doesn’t.

  “Okay then, I’ll walk you out.”

  “James?”

  “Hmm?” I turn too quickly, maybe hoping that she’s changed her mind.

  “I’d love to stay if we didn’t have so much work to do. Maybe another time?”

  I approach her slowly, then tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll ask again, then.”

  “So are you going to show me around?”

  “No. Not today.” I don’t want her to see my clothes piled in the corner, my unmade bed. “But if you’re free for a few hours tomorrow after the shoot, I’d like to take you somewhere.” I lean forward and look at her.

  She glances past my shoulders at my roo
m.

  For a minute, just one glorious sixty-second set, I watch her as she looks around at my meager belongings. My shelves are lined with sports trophies and other youth memorabilia, a few favorite Harry Potter books—not that I was a fan, but I read a few—and family photos.

  I like that she’s here. I could get used to this.

  Don’t know that it’s smart of me to get too used to the idea of seeing her here.

  But I’m a fool who thinks he can cheat death every single time he does a stunt.

  So there you have it.

  And when she finally consents to my request, I’m like a man who’s just hit it big.

  PHOTO SESSION

  Elizabeth

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, LB,” I say into the phone as I pace the hallway.

  “I don’t understand why you’ve been so busy that you couldn’t just bring him by the office,” LB says.

  “I just ran out of time. I had a lot to do,” I explain, peeking into the studio, where James is with the photographer. “If you really want to see him, come down to the studio.”

  “I can’t. I have far too much to prepare for the New York show.”

  I knew that. “Well, that’s too bad. But trust me. It’s under control. Everyone will be dazzled at the New York show, including those who can’t seem to believe I’ve got what it takes for this show to be GOLDEN,” I say, hinting to him that I know he’s betting on me to lose. What an asshole.

  I end the call and push open the door.

  “One more, Mr. Rowan,” the photographer calls.

  We’re having the photo shoot for the ad campaign for the line, and James looks amazing. Sexy as hell. I’m nearly drooling. I already know these photos are going to slay. I can just imagine the traffic jam they’ll cause when he’s on the side of a building in Times Square.

  But we’ve been doing this for hours. James looks exasperated, pulling at his tie as if giving up and striding over to where I stand to the side.

  “I’m not Mr. Rowan,” he growls at me. “I’m losing my mind here.”

  Desperate to get out of here, too, after the long day, I grab him by the back of the shoulders and steer him to the mirror, peering from behind his large frame to meet his gaze in the reflection. “Look at this man. Is he not Mr. James Rowan? Jimmy to his friends? James . . . to Elizabeth?”

  His smirk appears. He slowly starts to turn, his blue eyes seizing mine. “And to Lizzy?”

  He’s challenging me.

  Boy, does this man like to challenge me.

  I peck his lips, quickly, then fall back and smile calmly as if I peck all my models on the lips. Right.

  “You’re my manbabe,” I whisper cheekily, “but nobody needs to know that.”

  Grinning ever so slowly, he says, “That makes you my babe,” and heads back to the stage, making the photographer literally squeal in joy as James Rowan faces him with a devil’s smile.

  And then I whirl and see Jeanine standing in the doorway, grinning at me.

  Jeanine is blonde and curvaceous to my dark and slender, but we’ve been like two peas all our lives. She and I used to joke about being two rich and spoiled bitches. If there’s anyone who knows how to flaunt her wealth, it’s Jeanine.

  “My, my, my.” She’s grinning like the cat who ate the canary at James while she comes in and gives me a quick hug. “Oh my goodness. You did it. He’s hot as hell.”

  I nod, smiling at him, wondering if she saw the kiss as we watch him posing for the camera.

  “So I guess considering how cozy you two look . . . you took him to bed?”

  I shake my head. “No. We’re not.”

  “God, Lizzy, are you crazy? Just for a little playtime? How can you work with him day in and day out and not want to tap that?”

  She’s looking at him as he poses and gnawing on her lip like she wants to take a bite of him.

  “I’m not,” I tell her. “Like I said, this is business. I need to get the launch right. I can’t think about that.”

  “Hell, that’d be all I could think about, next to him. You think you can introduce us?”

  “But you’ve already met . . . ,” I start, my head suddenly filling with sheer terror. Jeanine was the type of best friend who usually always got the guy, while I was the cute and single wingwoman. She consumes men, and easily.

  What am I, jealous?

  I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice until James has sauntered up behind me and Jeanine extends her hand. “Oh, hi, James! So nice to finally meet you in person!” she gushes.

  “So this is the best friend with the killer contract,” he says with a low, assured voice. And he takes her hand gently and bows like a regular gentleman.

  “James. Meet my best friend, Jeanine,” I say, trying not to be bitter.

  I can just about see Jeanine swoon. Because he might as well have been James Bond.

  And that is my first hint.

  My first hint that I’m in too deep. And I’ve created a goddamn monster.

  After enduring my best friend throwing all her flirting ammunition full bore at James, we head down the elevators toward a conference room to go over the details.

  “We’ve got flights leaving out of Atlanta tomorrow,” I say to him, my voice clipped. “The aim is to get every single store buyer to stock us.”

  “Something wrong?” he asks me.

  “No,” I say. There shouldn’t be anything wrong. Jeanine stopped short of flashing him her boobs, and he remained friendly, but he didn’t flirt back. Well, not really. With a man with such a penetrating gaze and raw sensuality, even innocent chatting feels like a flirt.

  I shouldn’t be feeling like this.

  Like I’m about to lose something close to me. Something I can’t bear to part with.

  “Don’t worry, Lizzy.” He sounds confident. Almost more confident than I am. “We’ve got this.”

  I’m amazed how easily he can step in and out of my world. He already looks like he was born in this one. “Oh. I know. You do.”

  “We do,” he repeats with that lopsided grin, making my heart melt a little. “So that was your best friend, huh?”

  My stomach drops. “Yeah. We’ve been best friends forever,” I say. I take a breath, knowing I should address the elephant in the room. “She really thinks you’re something.”

  “That so?” Either he doesn’t believe it, or he doesn’t care. And there are few men who don’t care where Jeanine is concerned.

  “Yes.”

  I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

  After we take a table in the empty conference room, we spend some time reviewing possible interview questions and how I’d like him to answer them. Then I hand him a tiny wrapped box. “This is for you.”

  He looks at it before pulling off the ribbon. He opens it to find a brand-new cell phone. “What’s wrong with the one I have?” he asks.

  “You can’t have that anymore. A person’s phone is a reflection of him.”

  He lifts up his old dirty phone with the cracked screen. “So the old me was broken and dirty?”

  I shake my head. “That one is Jimmy’s. You need James’s phone. Be sure it’s ready for LA.”

  He opens it and looks at it. It’s sleek, shiny, sophisticated. Everything James should be. He nods and turns it on, then starts to play with it. “Thanks.”

  We wrap up the discussion when Charlie calls on his old phone to tell James about his school day. James looks proud, and I’m too curious to ignore the pang in my stomach.

  I don’t know why, but I feel thirsty for him. For more. To know every little thing about him. “Good news to share?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Nah. It’s nothing.”

  “Didn’t sound like nothing. Tell me.”

  He shrugs. “Our minds should be on other things.”

  I face him. “We can talk about things other than work.”

  “All right. He just did well on an honors math test today.” He shoots
me a naughty grin. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  I think for a moment, trying to come up with something nonwork related. But sadly, I have nothing. Everything in my life has been attached to Banks LTD, ever since I was a little kid. I have so much riding on this even James can’t possibly fathom. “I’ve always dreamt of being the company CEO.”

  “After tomorrow, maybe that will happen.”

  “Dad isn’t a man who’ll hand over the company reins unless I deserve to hold them.”

  He searches my eyes. “This launch is really that important to you?”

  “Nothing else matters. If I don’t make the line wildly successful, then it’s a failed effort, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You or your dad?”

  “Both, really. He’ll want to see the numbers, and I want them to exceed whatever expectations he has.”

  “That explains why you’ve set your goals so high.”

  “They can always be higher,” I say.

  “Trust me, sugar—they’re high enough.”

  I freeze. “Sugar.” I swallow. “No. Just no.”

  “What’s wrong with sugar?” He laughs. “Would you prefer honey?”

  “I’m not a staple food.” I point to the door. “And let’s step aside to look at some of our trip details before we go.”

  He pops a kiss on my lips. “If it’s really my choice, then I choose sexy, and you damn sure better answer when I call.”

  THE HILL

  Elizabeth

  It’s the night before LA.

  The night before I unleash my creation upon the world.

  My heart skips as I see his large form step out of his house. He jogs over to my Audi and opens the driver’s side door, motioning me toward the passenger side. “Scooch.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Scooch?”

  “Yeah. Like, get your ass over to the other side. I’m driving.”

  I frown at the gearshift and console in the center of my car. It’d be much easier to just get out of the car and run to the other side. I’m wearing a short skirt, after all.

  But what the hell.

  I lift my legs out from under the steering wheel and, not very gracefully, “scooch.” He watches my legs the whole time, licking his lips as if he’s hoping to get a peek. Then he slides into the driver’s seat and pulls out of his driveway like a bat out of hell.