by L.H. Cosway
I held a hand out. “Not until we get to the event.”
He reached for me and clasped my shoulders in his palms. “Why not now?”
I shot him an arch look. “Because if I do we won’t make it to the event.”
“No?”
I stepped by him and moved toward the door, where a town car idled just outside. “No. You’ll get all handsy with my boobsys.”
Dylan let out a bark of a laugh. “God, you’re so weird.”
His tone said God, I adore you, which was why a rosy blush coloured my cheeks. He stepped ahead of me and opened the door to the waiting car. I slid inside, feeling like an imposter but also loving the opulence. I was one of those people who were all, spa days are for spoiled housewives. But then as soon as someone said they’re paying, I was already in a bathrobe, cucumber slices on each eye, while a lady dressed in white gave me a pedicure.
Even in Yvonne’s lucky red dress, I still felt intimidated when we arrived at the hotel where the event was being held. With Dylan’s hand in mine, I looked around, taking it all in. What was it about rich people that somehow made them look glossier than us regular folk?
Money, probably.
“It’s all those face creams with the baby foreskin mixed in,” Dylan replied, because yes, I’d asked the question out loud. I screwed up my mouth in disgust.
“Is that actually a thing?”
He shrugged. “Might be.”
“Ugh. The saying is true that some people have more money than sense.”
He chuckled low. “That they do.”
“I’m a little nervous,” I confessed.
Dylan came and caught my chin between his fingers, then laid a soft kiss on my lips. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Maybe. But you can mention it again if you like.”
“You’re beautiful, Evelyn.”
“Why, thank you,” I said and linked my arm through his. “Now let’s go get some food. I’m starved. They better have good appetizers at this thing.”
“For twenty thousand a table I’m sure they do”
“Twenty K a table? Wow. Some people really do have more money than sense.”
“It’s for charity, Ev.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “You all just like to swish around in fancy getups and feel like you’re making the world a better place.”
He cast me an amused look. “You’re in a sassy mood tonight.” He moved closer, his lips at my ear when he breathed. “Maybe later I’ll fuck it out of you.”
My breath got stuck in my throat, butterflies flitting around in my stomach. I swallowed and mustered a bold expression. “Will you now?”
He didn’t answer, only smiled with confidence, took my hand and led me farther into the event. Pleasurable goose bumps danced along my neck.
A little while later, we were seated at a table. Dylan and I sat with a few other people from his company, including Conor. I was surprised he came without a date, then wondered if he’d asked Yvonne. That wagon better not have turned him down. I knew she wanted him, she just wouldn’t allow herself to have him.
“That dress looks way better on your aunt,” he commented as though reading my mind. I stuck out my tongue.
“Well, of course you’d think that.”
Dylan chuckled and took a swig from his glass. “Don’t listen to him. You look amazing.”
“Hello, Mr O’Dea. Mr Abrahams.”
All three of us turned to see Laura standing by our table. She wore a sparkly black dress that made her red hair appear particularly striking, her lips coated in a dark matte lipstick. The look was very femme fatale, and very geared towards impressing Dylan, I imagined. I couldn’t help the way it made my gut tighten with envy. She looked incredible.
Her eyes wandered from Dylan and then to me, lingering a moment on the way his hand rested on my thigh. There was a brief flash of jealousy in her gaze and then it was gone.
“Laura, you look well,” Conor said.
“Yes, good to see you,” Dylan added stiffly.
After our conversation the other night, he knew I was wary of their past. I felt like he was being careful not to do or say anything that might make me suspect he still liked her. And that made me feel bad, because I didn’t want him walking on eggshells.
“I really like your dress,” I said kindly, hoping Dylan saw it as a sign that I didn’t mind her being here. If they were over, there was no need for any weirdness. This thing between us was so new, there was no point being uptight.
She cast a glance my way. “Thanks. Yours is very . . . red.”
Well, at least she didn’t call it slutty. There wasn’t really any response I could give, so I simply smiled politely and sipped my wine.
Laura took her seat on the other side of the table and chatted with some of her colleagues, but every once in a while, her eyes landed on me. Although she put on a good mask, I could see her displeasure. And I couldn’t even blame her for hating me. If I’d had Dylan as a temporary bedfellow, I’d be dreaming up notions of more just the same as she was.
I made a mental note to talk to her later, clear the air somehow. If she was going to be working at Dylan for the foreseeable future, we needed to at least be civil.
My chance came when she headed for the bathrooms. I excused myself to Dylan and followed after her. She went inside a stall, but didn’t notice me. I dawdled by the sink, and checked my appearance while I waited for her to emerge.
I felt odd waiting there, but this needed to be done. Other than her fondness for Dylan and dislike of me, she seemed like a decent person.
I pretended to wash my hands when she came out. She looked up, halting a moment when she saw me, then continued to the sink.
“Hi, Laura,” I said, trying to sound friendly. “Are you having a good night?”
She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. “Yes, I’m having a lovely night, Evelyn. Thank you for asking.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, her tone was a smidge tetchy.
“Well, I’m glad.”
“And I’m glad that you’re glad,” she snipped, not bothering to hide her displeasure now.
I was above replying with, I’m glad that you’re glad that I’m glad.
But just barely.
“Look, I want to clear the air.”
She put a hand out to stop me. “Don’t bother. I’m sure Dylan’s told you all about us. He’s not the type to hide that sort of thing, but if you think we’re going to be friends you’ve got another think coming. I knew him for months and then you just came along, and poof, he’s taking you out on dates and telling me not to call or text him anymore. Do you know how awful that feels?”
My guy clenched, because I suddenly felt bad for her. I tried to see things from her point of view and knew it must’ve hurt to be rejected like that. My expression was empathetic when I replied, “I’m sorry, you must feel horrible.”
She sniffled and went to grab a tissue “Don’t be nice. I don’t need you turning out to be a kind person on top of all this.”
What she said made me smile a little, because it was exactly what I might’ve said if I were in her position. Maybe Laura wasn’t so bad . . .
“Please don’t tell him I cried in here. I already cried in front of him when I screwed up an order at work the other week. I’m sure he thinks I’m an emotional and weak woman.”
I arched a brow. “If he ever thought that I wouldn’t be with him.”
Wait, was I with him?
Laura groaned and crumpled up her tissue. “God, you are nice.”
I shrugged. “I like to think I’m not a complete bitch. Dylan and I were childhood sweethearts,” I said. “He came back into my life recently, and well, it’s all been a little out our control really.”
“Oh.” She took a deep breath and nodded, and then I saw resolution in her expression.
She went over to the mirror to fix her make-up. “That makes more sense.” I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, b
ut for some reason it made her smile. Did she think it was only because there was history between Dylan and me that he was interested in me now rather than her?
“You don’t have to explain. I’d rather hate you than like you, but I get it.” She gets what?
After she’d touched up her lipstick, she let out a tired sigh. “Listen, I’m not stupid, I can see how Dylan looks at you. I know trying to get him back is pointless, and I love my job too much to jeopardise it that way. Still, I’ve barely known him six months and already I can tell he’s one of the best and most talented men I’ve ever met. I hope you know how lucky you are.”
She dropped her lipstick back in her bag then walked out the door. I didn’t know what to make of her little speech, but it did make me question if I was good enough for Dylan. I still didn’t understand why he had such high opinions of me. At least when we were teenagers, I’d been cheerful and full of life. I had passion. Now I was a directionless bartender who enjoyed watching mindless reality TV, painting her nails, and wasting time laughing at Internet memes in her spare time.
I wasn’t special.
Not like Dylan.
As though my thoughts summoned him, he appeared outside the bathroom when I emerged. He took my hand, eyes bright like he was excited for some unknown reason.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” he said, and I let him pull me down the hallway. We walked through the main function room and out into a smaller atrium. People stood drinking wine and eating canapés, but at the centre of the room was a large and very impressive flower display. It was similar to the one out front, only bigger and more intricate.
“One of the sponsors of the event owns a flower farm in New Jersey called Hillview. They made all of the arrangements.”
“They’re beautiful,” I said, and I meant it. Looking at the display made my heart beat faster, like I could see a life for myself through fractured glass. One I could’ve had if things had been different. One I still could have if I was brave enough to take a chance.
The idea was more powerful now that I was becoming fixated on how ordinary I felt compared to Dylan.
The display was like an artistic expression of a meadow. There were forget-me-nots and pansies, gardens mums and morning glories. It was an explosion of colour to dazzle the eyes, a feast of scents to seduce your nose.
“I know the owner,” Dylan said. “I buy flowers from him on occasion when I’m developing new perfumes.”
“Oh?” I replied, curious.
“Would you like to meet him?”
I narrowed my gaze, both charmed and disgruntled at the same time. “You know I do, you bastard.”
He chuckled. “I said I’d get you gardening again.”
“Yes,” I answered back. “And your determination knows no bounds.”
His smile was everything as he turned and guided me back into the main function room.
Chapter 11
“Mr Harrington,” Dylan greeted. “May I introduce you to my date, Evelyn Flynn?”
The older gentleman turned to us with a kind smile. “You can, of course, but be warned, I might have to steal her because she is ravishing.”
“Hello, Mr Harrington,” I said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your flower display is amazing.”
“The pleasure is all mine, dear, and please call me Frank. My staff made the display. I’m just the old codger who pays their wages.”
“Don’t listen to him. He does a whole lot more than that,” Dylan said.
“Oh well, please let them know they did an incredible job,” I added.
“Evelyn here is a gardener, too,” Dylan went on. “I used her flowers in my very first perfume.”
Frank’s eyes widened with interest. “Really? And where do you work now?”
My chest constricted at his question, and all of a sudden it was harder to breathe. I didn’t expect to react this way. I also didn’t expect the excitement that lay beneath the difficulty breathing. I was excited to talk to someone who owned a flower farm, someone who let his workers create beautiful displays with the things they grew.
But then, I felt unworthy, because I had no achievements of my own. No farm to boast about.
“Oh, I don’t garden anymore,” I said.
“I’m trying to convince her to start again,” Dylan added. “But she’s a stubborn one.”
Frank’s expression was amiable. “Well, if you ever want to dip a toe, I’d be happy to have you at my place. We always need extra pickers, though we’re coming to the end of fall now, so things are quieter.”
“That’s very kind of you, but—”
“She’d love to,” Dylan said, and I shot him an irritated glance.
Frank chuckled, obviously noting Dylan’s enthusiasm and my apprehensiveness. “Why don’t you both drop by this Saturday and I’ll give you a tour?”
“We’ll be there,” Dylan replied and then Frank excused himself to mingle with other guests.
Dylan turned to beam at me. “Well, what do you think?”
“I think he’s only being so welcoming because of his business relationship with you. I could be anyone.”
“But that’s the thing. You aren’t just anyone, and once he gets to know you he’ll see that.”
“Hmm,” I said, feeling like this whole evening had been a trap, even if it was a well-meaning, kind-hearted trap on Dylan’s part.
He slid his hand affectionately down my arm. “Think about it. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“Yeah, okay. I’m going to the bar.”
I felt his eyes on my back as I walked away. Conor stood by the bar, sipping on a drink.
“Is that a Bellini?” I asked, amused by his choice.
“It’s cheat day and I’m partial to fruity cocktails. So sue me.”
“I didn’t see you ordering any of those when we were out with Yvonne.”
“That’s because I need her to see me as a big, sexy manly man. I’ll wait until the fourth or fifth date to reveal my girly preferences.”
I chuckled. “Speaking of, did you invite her tonight?”
“I did. She said she was working.”
That lying wench.
Conor grimaced. “I take it from your expression that was a lie.”
“My aunt has issues.”
He held out a hand. “Totally understandable given she knew me when I was a skinny little kid with acne and giant glasses.”
“That shouldn’t matter. I can tell she likes you. It’s just, Yvonne’s never excelled at relationships. I think she prefers the controllable predictability of being single. That way she doesn’t have to worry about getting hurt.”
Conor nodded, thoughtful for a moment. “Can you talk to her for me? Let her know I really, really like her. She can pretty much have me any way she wants me.”
Well, that was interesting. It’d be sexy if he wasn’t talking about my blood relative. I studied him speculatively. “What is it about my aunt that you like so much? I mean, you must have your pick of the ladies over here.”
His lips curved in a smirk. “Is that a compliment?”
I poked him in the arm. “You know it’s true.”
He took a sip of his drink and shrugged. “I just really like her. She doesn’t judge people, you know? Back home I was so used to everyone looking at me funny because of the colour of my skin. They’d do this little double take when I came around a corner. But Yvonne never did that, she just smiled and spoke to me like I was a normal person.”
My chest ached a little at his explanation. “You were a normal person.”
“I know that now, but it was hard to feel that way when I was younger.”
I pursed my lips, remembering some of the mean, backhanded comments people would whisper about him. It wasn’t outright bullying or racism, but I was sure it made Conor feel like crap sometimes. Like he didn’t belong. And aside from his family, it wasn’t like there was anyone else who could relate to his situation. Where we lived, everyon
e was white. Then Yvonne came along, full of sunshine and pretty smiles, and she treated him like any other person. I wasn’t surprised she’d made a lasting impression.
I reached out and squeezed his arm. “I’ll talk to her, okay?”
Conor shot me a grateful smile before Dylan appeared at my side. “Everything all right?”
I nodded, still a little put out by him foisting me on Frank Harrington like some sort of charity case who needed a job. I had a job. It just wasn’t as fulfilling as Dylan thought flower farming would be. He was right, of course. I think it bothered me even more that he was right.
“Yes, fine,” I said finally.
“Hey, do you two want to find a quiet bar somewhere for a few drinks? I’m not really feeling the stuffy atmosphere in here,” Conor said and an idea sprung to mind. After our little heart to heart, I wanted to do something nice for him.
“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we all go back to my place? I have some beers in the fridge.”
“Are you sure Yvonne won’t mind?” Conor asked warily.
I waved him away. “Not at all. Yvonne loves company.” I knew she be annoyed at me for outing her lie to Conor that she was working tonight, but he already knew it was an excuse, so there was no point keeping up the charade.
Besides, if everything went to plan, she’d be thanking me for my determination to get them together before long.
* * *
I slotted my key in the door and led Conor and Dylan inside. The living room was empty, so I thought Yvonne must’ve gone to bed. I hoped she wasn’t asleep yet.
“Make yourselves comfortable. I’m going to get out of this dress.”
Dylan gave a sultry look. “I can help with that.”
“Nice try. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I went into my room to change into my pyjamas, navy sweatpants and a Wicked T-shirt that read, ‘Defy Gravity’. Yvonne took me to see the show the week I arrived, and I bought the T-shirt from the merchandise stand, cracking a joke to the girl by asking if its witchy magic would ensure my boobs defied gravity. I told the same joke to Yvonne every time I wore it, but she stopped finding it funny after the fourth or fifth time.
I went to knock on her bedroom door, but when I didn’t get an answer I ducked my head inside. She sat in bed reading a book, her hair in a knot, eyes wide.