by Natalie Wrye
Anything to make me feel like I have control.
I still haven’t told Sevin about Charlie’s actual dad, Finley. And I’m not sure how to do it.
Violet was wrong. Swimming in chaos is bullshit. I’m drowning in it.
I mutter to myself. “How did Sylvester the Cat handle this? I don’t remember Garfield ever getting sick. And do they really have hairballs? Maybe that’s why Felix can’t hold anything down… A bunch of hair in my throat would make me gag, too.”
Sevin leans over, giving me a whiff of his smoky scent, his voice low.
“Tell me you’re not doing this,” he warns.
“Doing what?”
“Freaking out while we’re on our way to the vet.” His green eyes are dim, muted under the Chicago sunset’s light. His tone is serious and I feel like a scolded school child. I lift my chin.
“And if I am?”
“I don’t think talking about cartoon cat’s possible sick symptoms are going to help us.”
“Got a better idea?”
Sevin scoffs, his stubbled face breaking into a curious smile. His dark hair splays across his forehead beneath his usual Chicago Cougars baseball cap and I resist the urge to touch it, to feel its texture. His deep voice lowers. “I told you already. But maybe you’ve forgotten: I’ve never taken care of a living thing in my life, either.”
“That’s not true.” I comment, whispering in his ear.
“It’s not?”
“Of course not. From what I’ve heard from my ceiling, you’ve taken care of plenty of living things. The women you entertained while in town were very lively, I might add.”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course they were. They had to be lively enough to scramble out of my penthouse after the cops came knocking…” He stares. “Thanks to you.”
“Just trying to do my duty to serve my neighborhood.”
“Is that true? Well, if you’d really like to serve your neighborhood, how about turning that God-awful Lillith Fair music ten notches down? I hear any more music from Jewel, and I’m sure I’m going to grow breasts.”
“I bet you’d grow a lovely pair.”
“Show me yours and we can compare. I’d like to give you a run for your money.”
He smiles, and the feeling of tossing my cookies flies away, melted under his charm.
It feels inexplicably good. Seeing the same Sevin I first met in that elevator.
But before I can thank him for the welcome distraction, the truck stops in front of the veterinarian office, and for once in my life, I’m incapable of taking over.
Luckily, Sevin does.
He holds the frightened cat in his arms, Charlie at his side. Paying the hired driver a hundred extra bucks to wait outside for us, he motions our three man/one cat crew inside the vet’s brightly lit office, leading the pack.
Rattling off symptoms to a desk clerk who’s clearly smitten, he handles my anxiety, Felix’s sickness and Charlie’s fear like a pro, petting the sickly feline with such care, such caution, that I feel my face grow green from the jealousy.
It’s only minutes before they admit Felix in, and my body sags from pure relief.
In the waiting room, the three non-animals take our seats on ugly cushioned chairs when I notice Charlie, worn down from the day, growing sleepy beside us. Her sandy head of hair spills over Sevin’s shoulder as she leans into him to rest, and I hand her my phone, noticing the light in her green eyes brighten as she takes it.
Her voice is small, dragging down from fatigue. She peers up at me.
“What’s this?” She grumbles groggily.
“This? It’s my phone. With all my favorite cartoons for you to watch it. And it’s yours. For now.”
Her grin is small, slight and watery.
I beckon the drowsy eight-year old to a cushioned bench on the closest side of the room and together, we watch my favorite nineties cartoons, sitting silently as we wait for the pet doctor to decide Felix’s fate.
Thirty minutes later, when the Chicago sun sets, taking all the warmth with it, Charlie’s eyes finally close, her sandy head falling comatose in my lap.
I almost fall asleep myself. But before my eyes can close all the way, I notice two strong legs stop in front of my seat.
I glance up finding Sevin’s face—handsome and smiling—glancing down at me. He lifts one eyebrow beneath his cap.
“Comfortable?”
“Sure.” I yawn, covering my mouth. “Charlie’s only as heavy as…an anvil.” I peer down at the adorable eight-year old, happy to see her so peaceful after such a long day. “But I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” He presses, leaning in. “Looks like you could use a bit of help.”
“Mm,” I mutter, rolling the fatigue from my shoulders. I meet his eye. “And you’ve been pretty good with the help today so far.”
He tips his baseball cap, his grin sly. “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”
“You did more than your duty. You handled a sick Felix and a worried Charlie like an absolute pro.” I pause. “And you handled me”
He takes the seat beside me, and the entire bench groans, shifting slightly under his weight.
He’s so damn big.
Big and strong and muscular. A walking statue.
The receptionist isn’t the only one who can’t keep her eyes off Sevin, and even the professional parts of me know, understand with everything in me, that this man is a walking fantasy—a dream come true.
And if you had asked me to say this a week ago, I would have called him a nightmare.
But there’s something disturbingly sweet beneath that baseball cap. Something almost innocent.
He’s a man holding secrets, silent suffering, inside those green eyes, and I’ve been dying to get to the bottom of it. To reach into that hidden pain and peel those layers back.
Layers that I know lead to whatever happened with Sevin in college. To what happened with Charlie’s dad, Finley. To what happened with the woman who left him, Kimmy. And to what happened to the Sevin who could have been.
There was a prince hiding inside the playboy and I stare at him now, needing answers. Wanting to ask for them. And terrified to do so.
I bite my tongue.
Sevin stares at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Just tired.”
“You’ve been staring at me for the last few seconds completely silent. Now, either I’m that interesting to look at—newsflash: I’m not. Or you’re not saying something.” He raises his hand. “Do I have airplane peanuts in my teeth? Crumbs in the hair on my stubble?”
I laugh. “Nothing like that. I was just wondering something…”
He blinks, motioning with his hand. “Well, wonder away. I won’t stop you.”
I exhale, shoulders slumping. My skirt suit feels hotter than ever on my frame. “I was wondering… I was wondering how you got like this. It doesn’t seem to be an accident.”
“Got like what? Devastatingly handsome? Or something else? Damn, maybe those airplane peanuts weren’t a good idea. Knew I shouldn’t have eaten those.”
I place a hand on his arm, and the air sparks, growing hot when we touch. It’s as if a current runs between us, and I try to ignore it.
“I mean, like this. Like you.” I inhale deeply, needing the oxygen. “One week ago, you brought enough women to your penthouse suite to fill a Victoria’s Secret.”
He inclines closer. “And?”
“Seven days later, you’re like a different guy. I talked to your teammate Sawyer. I’ve seen what he’s like. And I guess I thought that would be you. Swimming in women. Taking another groupie to bed with you every night but that’s not the case.” I inhale shakily, trying to steady myself on the bench. I fail, wetting the edge of my lip. “Yes, I’ve heard your late-night show enough times to count. I just…expected more of the same here on the road. Expected to see you surrounding yourself with women. The ones waiting in the wings after every game. But late
ly, you just seem to not be interested.”
His green eyes glow, and I know I’ve hit a nerve somewhere deep. And I can’t lie: I like it. His deep voice is warm when he responds. “That’s because I’m not. Interested, that is.” His words are molten honey over my skin, simmering in a way that has me tingling all over. His eyes find mine, searching their depths.
“I’m never been interested in most of those women. Not enough to see any of them for more than a night. But with you here? And Charlie? It’s different. I know where my priorities belong these days. And they belong right here.” He points. “With the two of you. Or the three of you if we count that damn cat.”
I smile. “You know there’s a nineties movie with Christina Ricci called ‘That Darn Cat’?”
He scoffs, his soft voice a snort—sexy as all hell. “Trust you to know a nineties movie with another cat.”
“Hey, you were the one who called me a freak.”
“Yeah, I guess I’d just hoped it would be in other ways…” His voice trails off. “I can’t confirm anything, but I suspect that there’s a lot of things ‘freaky’ about you, Miss Armand. If given half a chance, of course…”
“Are you asking for one? A chance?”
“Please.” He touches the edge of his cap, his smile sliding off his face. His eyes go serious. “I haven’t been asking for a chance, Emily. I’ve practically been begging for one. Since the moment I saw you in that elevator, I knew I needed you alone. And trust me: The second I get the chance, I won’t waste it. Not now. Not ever.”
And for once in my life, I actually care.
Care that a man does care.
I’d spent so much time trying to avoid that feeling for fear that it would make me look like the fool I’d become with Jason, that I’d been missing out on what was beyond the fear.
And that was Sevin.
From the moment I’d found out that the unbelievably gorgeous baseball player was my client, I knew I couldn’t trust myself to be in the same room with a man who made People’s Man of the Year candidates look like amateurs, a man who smelled of sugar, spice and everything sinful.
A man who makes me feel the way no other man has made me feel in more than two years.
My tongue twists as that same man stares at me, as if incapable of doing anything else. I start to open my mouth to say something—anything. But a man in blue scrubs steps forward, breaking our eye contact.
Sevin stands, as I continue sitting with Charlie’s head in my lap. My heart freezes in my chest as blue-scrub boy crosses his hands in front of me, a furrow decorating his low brow.
His eyes remain on Sevin before turning to me. He takes a deep breath.
“Are you the owners of Felix?”
“Yes.” Sevin answers before I get a word. “Yes, we are.” The ‘we’ makes me weak in the knees, but he keeps going. “Is something wrong? Do we need to come back there or something?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” The man in scrubs waves, a shy shrug pulling at his sloped shoulders. He places his hands on his hips. “We just need you to monitor Felix’s progress tonight. Make sure it doesn’t get any worse. We think he has a stomach bug, really. But in case it’s not. We need someone to ensure that he gets his meds, that his condition doesn’t take a turn for the worse. Now,” he glances between us, but his stare lingers on Sevin, his head tilting as he sizes him up.
Scrub-man’s eyes widen to three times their size. “I’m sorry, but…you’re… Are you…?”
“Sevin Smith.” Sevin points at the clipboard in the guy’s hand. “Seeing as how that’s how I signed my name in earlier, than yeah, that’s me.
“Holy hell.” Scrub-dude’s practically wetting his pants. He licks his lips, his eyes practically bulging out of his head, his grip tight. “Bro, I’m, like, a huge fan.”
Sevin smirks. “Could have fooled me.”
“I’ve seen every game you’ve played in, every single inning from when you played with the Fever. I cried. Cried real tears when they traded you to Chicago. Dumbest move a management team has ever made.”
Sevin’s stare goes to the floor, an actual flush flashing across his chiseled face. It’s adorable.
And the veterinarian fan takes advantage, stepping in closer to his idol.
“I heard you requested the change from New York to Chicago.”
Sevin nods, a begrudging look in his shaded eyes. “Sometimes a man just needs a change of scenery.”
“From what? New York women? I’ve only been there a handful of times, but man.” He whistles. “That city is crawling with supermodels and gorgeous women from top to bottom.” He snaps his fingers, some realization ringing in his saucer-like eyes. He points at Sevin. “Like that Kimmy Wallace they say you were dating… Christ on a cracker, that woman was easy on the eyes.”
Sevin’s jaw starts to tick. That familiar facial spasm giving away his discomfort. He shifts on his feet, his hands leading to his pockets. His chin raises. “Damn, you really are a fan, aren’t you?”
“The biggest.” Scrub-guy doesn’t seem to understand sarcasm well. He keeps talking. “If I had a woman like that, dude…”
“But you don’t.”
The words are like a whip, snapping through the air. And the room falls silent, tension tearing my insides to shred. I can do nothing but watch in horror.
Señor Scrubs deflates, the air going out of his enthusiasm. He backs off the line he’s crossed.
“Oh, of course. My bad, bro. I just… I assumed…” He glances over at me, seemingly aware of me for the first time. He takes a step closer, offering his hand.
“I’m Dr. Owen’s veterinarian assistant.” He smiles. “Dean.”
I nod back, taking his palm. “It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I mean, I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there at first. I should have. I mean, enough about Kimmy Wallace. It’s more of an honor to meet the woman who’s landed Sevin Smith now. Wow.” He glances at Charlie asleep in my lap before staring back at Sevin. “That’s awesome. And the kid… Whoa, she looks just like you.” He pauses. “Can I just…” He grabs for his phone, raising it to take a pic. “No one will ever believe you came in here.”
But Sevin snatches the phone.
His hulking figure looms taller than ever as he steps into the over-eager assistant who peers up at him in fear first. And then defiance.
“You’re right.” Sevin growls between clenched teeth. “No one will ever know. Because you’re not going to take a picture without our permission.”
“Sevin,” I warn. But I get the feeling that he doesn’t hear me.
He moves to face Mr. Scrubs. “I’ll always appreciate a fan. But this isn’t fandom. This is being invasive. And I’m going to ask that you stop trying to take pics immediately.”
Dean reaches for his phone, his face beet-red. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“A person.” Sevin glares. “And I’d appreciate it, if you treat me like one.”
The assistant raises the phone again, taunting Sevin with the black square, the camera pointed in his face.
“Who do you think made you who you are? Huh? You wouldn’t have this career if it weren’t for the fans.”
“Okay,” I pipe in from the bench, Charlie still comatose on my lap. “Let’s calm it down before…”
“Before what?” Dean pushes. “Before what? Before Sevin Smith proves himself to be a prick?”
“Now, wait a minute…” I interject.
But then Dean makes the biggest mistake, swinging the phone towards Charlie.
Sevin turns into the Hulk, snatching the phone and sending it flying across the room, the screen shattered in pieces. It lands with a crash that echoes in the empty lobby.
And in seconds I realize that we’ve broken career rule number two…
Don’t keep a digital record of bad behavior.
Because if Dean’s indicator on his phone was any sign, then that little interaction just went live.
The entire case of Sevin’s paternity is supposed to be wrapped in secrecy and we just unveiled it. Maybe to the world.
And now Sevin’s career (and mine) are definitely on the line.
Chapter 21
SEVIN
Saturday night
Leaving the vet is harder than arriving there.
With Felix, Charlie and Emily in tow, I herd the crew into my local driver’s Navigator truck and from less than four feet away, I can feel Emily’s anger.
Felix was released into our care with instructions to keep a careful eye. But the veterinarian assistant was already long gone.
At the end of his shift, he’d taken the phone he used to record me, Charlie and Emily, disappearing into the Chicago night with me threatening to wring his neck.
The only person who stopped me from doing it?
Emily.
The look of disappointment in her hazel eyes was enough to keep me from committing murder. And less than a half an hour later, those eyes are still filled with irritation, a cold chill that I can feel from the front seat.
I glance in the rearview mirror beside my driver Julio, finding her, sitting prim and proper in that same prim and proper skirt suit, her dark locks pulled off her face, Charlie’s head in her lap.
The hour is late, nearing midnight.
And I imagine how different things were just a week ago. How, even just a year ago, on a night like tonight, I’d be seconds away from slipping the nearest blonde into my sheets, trying desperately to forget all my faults.
Instead I’m here. Bound. Tied. Torn up by the three other creatures in the car with me.
None more than complex than the petite lawyer sitting two feet away.
But she doesn’t stare back.
When Julio pulls up and parks outside of the Millennium Gardens apartment building where we live, I’m the first out of the car.
A surprisingly calm Felix tucked inside my elbow, I open the back seat door, motioning to Emily to hand me Charlie, and even with a subdued fire in her stare, she obeys.
We swap sleeping beasts. Furry Felix for the spirited eight-year old.