by Evans, Katy
I reach for my coffee, but it’s gone cold. “I don’t get it. You’re beautiful. You don’t need to do this, Kim. Why would you . . .”
Her nose wrinkles. She rolls her eyes. “I know I don’t need to. But you don’t get it, do you?” She crosses her arms. “Lizzy Banks is a total bitch.”
I pull on my collar, anger roiling in my guts. “I’m sorry. What? She’s done nothing to you!”
She snorts. “Not personally, but her existence bothers me. Her perfection bothers me. All my life, I’ve had to work for what I get, and Lizzy has been given everything on a silver platter. She wants something, and she just gets it. She’s always lived in her little ivory palace with her daddy giving her the world. Well. This time, Quill and I will be the ones laughing in the end. And I’ll be the one that gets what the whole world is gushing about.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Jesus, if you’re so jealous of Banks and their success, why involve me? Why not just spill the beans and get it over with?”
She gives me a mischievous smile. “Because this way, I get something that I want too.”
She bites her lower lip and eyes me hungrily.
Goddammit.
This shit with Quill is not even about the thirty million anymore—this is about Lizzy now, and me choosing between ruining her career or sucking it up to help her save face.
I’m not even doing it for the money anymore. I don’t want to hurt her. I’d rather hurt myself first.
But I still don’t have to relish it.
“I’m fucking sorry I ever met you.”
She leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Baby, you won’t be sorry in New York. I promise you.”
She packs up her briefcase and starts to leave.
“I’ll give you a call, James. And like I said, if you don’t want me to tell all of New York what a worthless piece of shit you really are, you’d better answer.”
I step back into my place and stare at my phone—fucking James’s phone—for three seconds before I call Jeanine and tell her I’m signing.
“What do you mean? What happened to change your mind?” She sounds shocked. And disappointed.
“Nothing,” I brusquely reply. “I’m just done with Banks Limited, and Lizzy and I are never going to happen. I better get real here.” I mean, have this bitch sabotage what Lizzy has worked so hard for? And knowing I’m the fucking idiot who spilled the beans while drunk and having her hand on my cock, coaxing me to take her while I kept insisting I couldn’t because she and I . . . because I had feelings for Lizzy?
I hang up and glare at the phone as if I could make the thing explode.
Fuck. Me.
I’ve never hated myself—or what I’ve become—so much.
NEW YORK COUTURE
Lizzy
I’m here. New York City, the world’s fashion center, for the start of Fashion Week. I peek into the main hallway, where people are already gathering—the lobby is buzzing with the industry’s most fashion forward. I check my phone. Ten minutes until we make our grand entrance. Then, he’ll do a little schmoozing for about an hour before I get up to the podium and formally introduce him.
Where is he?
I search down the back hall, but he’s not here. I texted him and told him to meet me fifteen minutes before, wearing the Banks Intrigue tuxedo—our most expensive and elite piece.
I clasp my hands in front of me, but that doesn’t help. Then I reach into my bag and pull out my index cards for the speech I’m going to deliver. It’s very simple:
Welcome, everyone, to Fashion Week, and Banks Limited’s launch event for our most exciting line yet. I’m Elizabeth Banks, and when my father started the line over thirty years ago, he wanted Banks to be synonymous with style, elegance, and sophistication. The face of our newest line, James Rowan, embodies all that. A successful businessman himself, James is a man’s man, but he also exudes class and appreciates upscale luxury. He is the true twenty-first-century man, one who is at home on the links, at the theater, or at an elegant dinner affair. He enjoys the finer things in life, and that’s why he wears Banks, the finest men’s couture in all the world. We are so happy to introduce James Rowan!
I know it by heart, but my, that doesn’t stop my heart from seemingly wanting to escape out of my chest wall and go running out the door. I fan my face. It’s so hot.
I open the door and am looking outside, thinking I might faint, when I feel a presence behind me.
I whirl.
James.
Oh god. Why does he take my breath away, every time? I’ve never seen him look more elegant, more built for this role.
I reach over and straighten his already-straight tie. “You’re amazing,” I breathe, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.
He sees them, brings a hand to my cheek, gently blots them away with the pad of his thumb. “You’re beautiful.”
I smile at him. His gaze is as penetrating and moving as always, but there’s something sad in the way he looks at me. Maybe because our contract is near its completion. We can talk about extending it, of course. My father will want me to, because sales have been so good. But I guess there’s all this uncertainty there. We don’t know what will happen next.
All I know is I want “next” to include him.
However it can.
I open my mouth to say that to him as LB squeezes through the doors. He looks at James, brushes his sleeve. “You two ready?”
I nod.
LB smiles. “Well, it’s certainly been a whirlwind. I have to say I had my doubts. But James, you came through in high style. I’ve never been so happy to be proven wrong.”
I’m a little shocked to realize LB sounds genuine.
Cool as a cucumber, James nods and winks at him. “You can make that check for two hundred thou out to James Rowan,” he says, lifting his chin.
LB’s eyes grow as wide as platters.
James ignores him, extending his crooked arm to me. “Shall we?”
I smile. “We shall.”
Then he opens the door for me, and we make our way to the ballroom.
The room is packed—everyone who is anyone in the city is here. All the movers and shakers. The most influential reporters, bloggers, you name it. I grip his arm tighter as he leads me into the ballroom of the five-star hotel we rented out for the launch. I suppose I’m more nervous than he is. I glance up to my left and see his chiseled profile, and my stomach clutches. He has a face that—until now—only existed in my dreams. Hard jaw, sculpted to perfection. Firm, plush, kissable lips. Sharp, pristine blue eyes that feel like lasers zeroing in on me. He catches my gaze, and the devil’s smile suddenly playing on his lips is worth a million bucks.
That’s exactly how much it cost me. What this guy cost me. I would’ve paid so much more.
It’s like he’s the only man in the room. Like he belongs here. Confidence oozes out of his every pore. Masculinity envelops him as perfectly as his custom black suit. He walks like he owns the place. My heart beats harder and harder for him.
I can’t believe I got him to agree.
Women are vying for his attention. His moves are smooth. Sophisticated. Elegant.
“An autograph?” a young woman asks shyly.
He takes the notepad and pen she extends and scribbles his name, his voice low and rough. “There you go.” Beneath all that polish is his raw masculine energy. The determination that brought him here.
“James . . .” I halt him before we go any farther. “Whatever happens . . .”
He looks at me. A thousand words lingering in his look. “I know.”
But does he? I’ve fallen in love with my own creation. I polished a diamond, and now it’s flawless. Perfect. But it’s not mine to keep.
He is not mine to keep.
“I’m feeling a little woozy,” I tell him as we descend the staircase. “I think I’ll just go to my table for a moment.”
He nods and takes me to the table, pulls out my chair, and helps me
into it like he’s been doing it all his life. His breath is warm on my cheek as he leans over. “You going to be okay?”
I’m not sure. I don’t think I will ever recover if things go badly tonight. That’s what it feels like. Like this night won’t just make or break Banks. It’ll make or break my entire life. Like if I walk out of here without him, I’ll be losing the best thing that ever happened to me.
And I’m scared to death.
“A lot of people want to speak with you. You should make the rounds,” I tell him. “And then, at eight, I’ll make the official announcement. Sound good?”
He nods, stroking my bare shoulder with his finger, and then he’s off.
I watch him go, thinking of that old saying If you love something, set it free.
I love him. I love James. I love Jimmy. Both of them. I love every little part of him, no matter who he is. Rich, poor. It doesn’t matter.
And after this contract ends tonight, he is free.
Whether he comes back to me is up to him. But if he doesn’t, I know one thing for certain: I will never meet another man who makes me feel the way he does.
I’m watching him make his way around the room, drinking water as if it’s going out of style, when Jeanine sits next to me. She’s wearing a gold gown and has her shiny hair piled atop her head like a blonde goddess. “He’s something,” she breathes.
“I know.” Clearly I’m not the only one who thinks so. I’d be hard pressed to find another woman who isn’t taken by him.
“And you created him. How does it feel?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t create anything. He was already amazing on his own.”
She looks at me, eyebrow raised. “Aw, girl, don’t tell me you fell for him.”
I look over at her, realizing my palms are sweaty. I wipe them on the front of my gown. “No.”
You can’t fall for a star when it’s in the heavens and you’re on the ground, can you?
“Well, that’s good to hear. I know how soft that little heart of yours is. I’d hate to see it damaged. Because he’s moving on, hon.”
I look at her. “What?”
“That was why we were meeting. He signed a huge contract the other day with Quill Couture. He’s going to be their face, starting next season.”
I frown. “Wait, how did . . . you’re not serious? I thought we had him . . .”
“No, you had him for this season only. I didn’t think we needed to put in a clause that we got the right of first refusal on subsequent seasons. Who knew that he’d become so sought after?” She seems worried and apologetic, but that is nothing compared to how I suddenly feel.
My body goes numb as the words sink in. He’s moving on. James is moving on. Without me.
So that was what he was working on? Screwing me over and leaving me panting in his wake? I watch him across the room, smiling, shaking hands, being adored by everyone, and all the while something hot and dangerous is building inside me. “How can he do that? How can he move on without even asking us? I’m sure my father would’ve matched the offer!”
She sighs. “I know. I told him that. But he seemed adamant; I think Kim . . .”
I stare around the room and find Kim.
I stare, horrified, as it dawns on me that she’s beautiful, perfect, and simply . . . not me. Not the girl who always wanted to change him. Someone who sees only the new him. Someone who will pay him anything he wants and more.
Someone who . . . is actually, maybe, truly perfect—unlike me.
I swallow, and Jeanine follows my gaze. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I was sure he’d pick you. I told him to talk to you, to reconsider, but he simply came back and went with them. I was so disappointed. He might look like a Prince Charming, but he’s really just a toad. A really, really hot, lickable toad, but a toad nonetheless.” She tosses her bag on her plate. “You want me to get you some champagne?”
Champagne?
Jeanine squeezes my shoulder to catch my gaze, but I can’t even breathe, much less drink. The room is spinning. My vision is bending. So I gave him everything, transformed his life, and how does he repay me? He fucks me and then ditches me?
Sounds perfect.
Just another wildly successful addition to my massive collection of loser men.
I can just see my father saying I told you so. But this is even worse. He wasn’t an Ivy League grad or a successful businessman; he was a nobody. I took him out of the garbage and made him who he was. And in return, he used me and tossed me in the garbage.
Maybe I’m the nobody, and he knows it.
Was I a joke to him? Was he planning to ditch me all this time? Was he just laughing at me, waiting to get back at me for thinking I was better than him?
I feel the tears coming. I can’t cry here, in this room, with James. “I have to go. I need some air,” I mumble, climbing to my feet.
But I don’t think air can help me now.
As I go past the bar station that’s making fruity, exotic blue drinks, I see my answer.
When the bartender’s back is turned, I grab a nearly full bottle of Patrón and push out of the ballroom doors.
James
By the time I get back to the table, it’s a quarter of eight. Almost showtime.
But Lizzy is nowhere in sight.
As I scan the ballroom for her, fielding a few people asking for my autograph, I see her approaching. The Black Widow herself, Kim.
“Not fucking tonight,” I murmur to her, not looking at her. “I told you. Any time but tonight. You’re not fucking this launch up for her.”
She shrugs. “We’ll have our time soon. I wasn’t coming to talk to you about that, James. I thought you might want to know where Lizzy was. You looked a little concerned.”
I frown. “Where is she?”
“Well. About fifteen minutes ago, she went out that door. With a bottle of tequila.”
A bottle of tequila? Shit. I’ve had about enough of Kim’s fucking with me. Speaking of Kim fucking with people, when I was making my rounds, I looked over and saw Jeanine and Lizzy talking, and Lizzy was looking at Kim. “What did you say to her?” I grind out. Remembering the look of horror in Lizzy’s eyes when she spotted Kim here.
She bats her eyelashes innocently. “Nothing! We’ve never crossed words!”
I grab her shoulders. “What the fuck—” I stop when I see heads swinging toward me. I let her go. She’s smiling up at me, as if she knows she’s gotten the best of me. “If you said anything to her, so help me, I’ll—”
I stop again. What can I do? She’s got me by the balls.
Pushing my chair in, I stride out the doors, glancing up and down the hallways, looking for her. I hurry into the other empty ballrooms, to the outer lobby, down past the check-in desk and the concierge, to the bar, the hotel restaurant . . . No Lizzy.
Fuck. Where is she?
Fisting my hair in my hands, I turn around, wondering where else she could go. Outside?
Kim has followed me. She reaches for my hand. I yank it away.
And I’m done. I’m fucking done with this. With these fake people, who pretend to like you but only care about one-upping each other. If that’s what’s called sophistication and elegance, fuck it. They can keep it all.
She puts her arms around me. “Come on, Jimmy,” she teases with a lilting voice. “I know just how to make you feel better.”
She buries her face in my neck, and before I can think to push her away, I look up as Lizzy walks in from outside, still clutching the bottle of tequila, now half-empty.
She freezes.
And the look she gives me is like the end of the fucking world.
Something I know I will never recover from, so long as I live.
Lizzy
When I went outside with my bottle of Patrón, I thought I couldn’t feel worse.
Then I got corralled by a doorman, who told me I’d better return the bottle to its proper location if I didn’t want him to call the cops. By then, I’d d
runk half of it. At first, it’d burned, but as I stood outside, taking a swig in front of the man, it went down like water. Like a total spoiled bitch, I said to him, “Don’t you know who I am? I’m Elizabeth Banks. That’s my party you’re hosting in there!”
“All right, Miss Banks,” he said condescendingly, holding my elbow. “Why don’t we get you inside, and you can return the bottle?”
I shook him off. “Why don’t you stay out here and fuck off?”
And I took another swig. That was when I started feeling a little chilly. Chilly and warm, actually, at the exact same time.
I went inside, and it turns out I could feel worse.
Because now I’m looking at Kim, my competition, making out with my . . . whatever he is. My nothing? My nothing that feels like everything?
The second he sees me, James tears out of her embrace and stalks toward me. I drop the bottle on the ground with a terrific crash, glass shards spraying everywhere. He opens his mouth to say something, and I run off toward the back of the hotel. Anywhere. I just need to get away.
Somewhere he can’t follow.
The restroom.
I don’t make it that far, though. He catches up to me before I can slip inside. He grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me into his arms. For three seconds, he’s holding me, repeating my name over and over again, like it means something to him.
It hurts too much.
He’s hurt me. SO much.
“Did you fuck her too?” I ask, blubbering now, struggling to free myself from his hold as I try to stop crying.
“No. NO.”
“Well, why not?” I sound hysterical. Still sobbing as I push myself free. “What was stopping you? What’s stopping you from fucking every woman in the place? They all want you, Mr. Sophistication. Mr. PURRRRFECT!”
He grabs my shoulders again, giving me a squeeze to catch my attention, his fierce blue gaze pinning me down in frustration. “No, Lizzy, something is stopping me. Don’t you get it? It’s—”