If my parents had taught me nothing else, I’d learned how to stay in control from them. How to take my mom’s hysterics in stride. I’d learned when love became more dangerous than anything. And when to let go.
Tonight, I’d almost let a complete stranger undo all that work.
Why?
What made him think it was okay to push against not just socially acceptable boundaries, but the walls I had in place for a reason? And why did I let him, when nobody else got to? Gretchen was the only person who tried anymore, and that was because we’d grown up together. She’d known me before it all, knew my parents and my history, because she’d lived it.
Glass shattered on the pavement, jarring me from my thoughts. I checked my watch as I passed under an open window blaring the Grateful Dead. It was well after eleven. Readjusting my purse strap, I took a crosswalk toward my apartment building.
I looked forward to crawling into bed alone. I didn’t want to keep thinking about him, but I wasn’t sure I could help it. The brazen way he’d demanded details about my marriage, had asked me to dinner, had suggested I dream about him—it was equally unsettling and intoxicating to have my limits pushed so unapologetically.
“Hey,” I heard as I tuned into footsteps behind me. “Hold up,” a man said. “You got a light?”
I’d been completely wrapped up in my thoughts, not paying attention to my surroundings. I rarely felt unsafe in my neighborhood, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t crime. “Sorry, I don’t smoke,” I said over my shoulder.
“Wait up.”
I quickened my stride as the footsteps bore down on me.
“Hang on—” Fishy fingers grasped at my elbow. With an adrenaline spike, I yanked away to run, but the man grabbed my arm and jerked me back into a cloud reeking of alcohol and stale cigarettes. “I told you to wait, bitch.”
Having my head in the clouds one moment and my elbow in an unforgiving grip the next, shock immobilized me. “Wh-what do you want?” I asked.
He whirled me around to a face I didn’t recognize. Dark-haired and blurry-eyed, he wasn’t much taller than me and swam in an oversized sweatshirt and sagging jeans.
“The name Lou Alvarez mean anything to you?” he slurred.
What? He was clearly on something and thought I was someone else. My heart skipped, panic closing in with the way he restrained me. I struggled to free myself. “Let go of me.”
He leaned in and put his cheek to mine. “You smell like flowers.”
With my free hand, I smacked my handbag into the side of his head. He cursed, and his hold on my elbow tightened so hard that my knees buckled.
As I sank to the sidewalk, he bared his teeth at me, his misty eyes clearing. “I’m here about my brother Lou.”
“I don’t know who that is.” I labored for breath as pain radiated up my arm. “I swear.”
He pulled me to my feet. “Get up.”
I flinched. “You have the wrong person.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “But since Bill’s not here, you’ll do. You’re his wife, right? Olivia?”
At the sound of my name, the street lamp behind him got blindingly bright. Everything around us sharpened. This wasn’t an accident? “Who the hell are you?”
“You tell your husband if he doesn’t get my brother out of prison—”
“That’s not what Bill does.”
“He better find a way, and fast.” He released me with an emphatic push. “Or my friends and me will pay him a visit.”
I backed away, watching him. When it became evident he wasn’t going to follow, I ran to my building. Once in my apartment, I bolted the lock and leaned against the door, exhaling my relief.
The name Lou Alvarez didn’t ring any bells. Before Bill’s current position at a private law firm, he’d been a prosecutor. Back then, he’d sent criminals to jail. Now, he mostly kept them out of it. But as far as I knew, he didn’t spring prisoners free.
I dug my cell phone out of my handbag to call him. With my thumb hovering over Bill’s name, I paused. David should’ve been the last thing on my mind, but since he’d dominated my thoughts up until five minutes ago, he felt like a secret. One I was keeping from Bill.
This had nothing to do with David, though.
I had to call my husband.
I stared at the screen until it went black. My heart pounded. Too shaken up to control my thoughts, they fixated on David. I wanted to be back in his presence, trapped by his body. Or had he been shielding me from the world?
I imagined him at home, wherever home was, replaying our conversation in his mind. One moment he’d had me in a corner, asking for more time—and the next he’d been gone. What had stolen him away? Or who?
Did he assign her a drink order, too? Make her feel like she belonged to him with just a glance? Did she make it easy for him when I had made it hard?
No—I hadn’t made it anything. That implied he had a chance when he didn’t. He and I, we weren’t easy, hard, or anything in between. We were impossible. Non-existent.
I didn’t exist to him nor him to me, and I had no plans to ever see him again. And as it turned out—I had bigger problems than the fleeting attention of a persistent bachelor.
6
Serena followed me to my new shared office with two cups of steaming coffee. The intern I’d tasked with helping out on the “Most Eligible” feature had kept me well-caffeinated while also completing most tasks almost immediately. I had a feeling she was gunning to get hired as an assistant.
As we navigated through cubicles, Serena gave me the lowdown on her weekend, spent in her boyfriend’s studio apartment binge-watching TV.
“What’s Enter the Dragon?” I interrupted as she covered the highlights of their movie marathon.
Her eyes doubled in size. “Only a martial arts classic,” she said, handing me a mug as I sat behind my desk. “Brock and I could lose days just on Chinese cinema.”
“Sounds like you did,” I said with a grin. “What’s the latest with the bachelors and bachelorettes?”
She pulled a folder from under her arm and handed it to me. “One of the guys wants to meet with you today. He’s interested but has some concerns he wouldn’t address with me.”
“He has concerns? We haven’t even narrowed our selections yet.” I opened the file, glancing over a one-page typed sheet Serena had obviously cobbled together. Thirty-four, employed, single. “Did Lisa call him?”
“He came to us. Apparently, he’s been asked to participate in the past but turned it down. Now he’s reconsidering.”
“Well, that’s bold of him. What makes him think we still want him?”
“Trust me,” she said in a low tone that made me look up. “We want him. He’s the definition of handsome. Like, if you Google the word, he’ll come up.”
I frowned. Attraction was subjective, and it wasn’t the defining quality on which we’d make our final selections. “There’s no photo here.”
“The printer’s out of ink, but it wouldn’t do him justice anyway. He literally called a half hour ago, so I threw the file together. Just look him up.”
“I trust your judgment to at least meet with him.” I checked my watch. “As if I don’t have enough to do first thing Monday morning.”
“I can ask Lisa,” Serena said, holding out her hand for the file. Her eyes glinted. “But since he’s a likely finalist, I thought you might want to reel him in.”
She had a point there. If I knew Lisa, she’d already been plotting ways to edge me out of the promotion. “I’ll make time,” I said.
“Great. He’ll be here at eleven.”
“Who’ll be here at eleven?” my boss asked from the doorway.
Serena whipped her head over her shoulder as I straightened up. Despite Mr. Beman’s small frame, the office shrank when he was in it. “A highly promising potential bachelor,” I said, doing my best to sound convincing even though this guy could’ve been repulsive for all I knew. I opened the file and squinted as I read off, �
��Lucas Dylan.”
Beman raised his eyebrows. “From Pierson/Greer?”
Serena subtly nodded at me.
“Er, yes,” I said. “That’s the one.”
“Incredible. Nice work,” Beman said but wagged a finger at me. “He doesn’t go by Lucas, though. I’m sure you knew that?”
“Of course,” I said.
Luke it is.
“He’s a bit private,” Beman continued. “Only does work-related interviews. Diane tried for years to score him, but she wasn’t even able to get him on the phone. An in-person interview is promising.”
I smiled, silently thanking Serena for coming to me with this before Lisa could get her hands on it. Clearly, I had to do whatever necessary to land this guy.
“I believe Liv is all set on coffee,” Beman said to Serena, dismissing her with a nod.
“Oh, right.” She shrugged at me. “Let me know if you need a refill.”
“Have a fresh pot ready for Mr. Dylan,” I said.
She nodded on her way out, barely squeezing by Beman as he fixed his tie. “This would be a huge coup, Liv,” he said. “If you manage to get Mr. Dylan in the issue, well . . .” Beman tilted his head as if presenting a challenge. “He’ll sell magazines. And I like to sell magazines.”
So did I. Especially since that would be the key to unlocking my promotion. “I’ll do my best.”
“Do better than your best,” he said. “Make it happen. Any other updates?”
“I’d actually love to run an idea by you,” I said, setting aside Lucas—Luke’s—file and opening a spreadsheet on my computer. With Bill out of town, I’d spent my weekend brainstorming fresh ideas to set myself apart from Lisa. “As you know, the issue’s launch party is perhaps the magazine’s biggest event of the year. Why not capitalize on the buzz? We could throw an invite-only exclusive pre-party, like a meet and greet for the finalists. Since many of them are local celebrities, it would drum up some publicity before we go to press.”
“Publicity is good,” he agreed. “I’ve already promised Russ it’ll be our best-selling issue of the year, and since I also assured him this would be our most profitable quarter yet, that would make this our best-selling issue of all time.”
Beman made no secret of his great expectations each year—each issue—and as an easy sell to the public, “Most Eligible” had a target on its back. Especially when making promises to the CEO of our parent company. Beman had just never directed those expectations at me since I’d had Diane as a buffer in the past.
I swallowed, trying not to look spooked. “It will be,” I said. “That’s why we’re pulling out all the stops.”
He worked his jaw side to side before nodding. “Get me your projected costs for this pre-party by Wednesday. I’ll see if there’s a budget. We’ll need sponsors to foot the majority of the bill.”
“I’ll get started now.”
“Oh, and might I suggest a little touch-up before meeting with Mr. Dylan?” he asked, gesturing around his pursed lips. “No harm in trying to look nice for guests.”
I held my fake smile until he blustered out. I wouldn’t have put it past Beman to pimp us out to guarantee a best-selling issue, but how bad did I look? I’d slept fitfully all weekend, tossing and turning over my encounter with the Alvarez brother—and worse, the one with David. Maybe it wasn’t my fears that kept me up, but my guilt. Bill didn’t know anything yet. Every time I went to call him, or respond to his texts, the wrong man flashed across my mind.
David.
I shouldn’t get a thrill when I thought of his eyes on me. I shouldn’t wonder if I’d ever see him again. When it came to David, I shouldn’t feel or do anything—except forget.
* * *
My desk phone buzzed, jarring me out of a virtual black hole of research on alcohol sponsors for the Meet and Greet event. I dropped my pen on my open notebook and grabbed the receiver.
“Mr. Dylan’s at the front,” Jenny said breathlessly. “Should I show him to your office? I’d be happy to.”
“Have Serena bring him back,” I said, closing out of the browser. “She’ll be assisting me with the feature and should get to know the candidates.”
“Candidates?” Jenny asked, lowering her voice. “If you don’t pick this man for the feature, you’ll be joining Diane in the unemployment line. Beman’s out here flirting so hard, I’m afraid he’s going to pull a muscle.”
I raised my eyebrows, pleased. “Is Mr. Dylan gay?” I asked, also whispering but for no reason. One thing Lisa and I agreed on—Diane’s selections over the years had been too homogenous.
“No,” Jenny said. “And he looks uncomfortable.”
“Then get off the phone and call Serena,” I said, hanging up.
A surge of panic hit me. I hadn’t expected to conduct any interviews this early on in the process, and everything I knew about Luke Dylan was in a folder I’d barely peeked at. I hadn’t forgotten Beman’s unsubtle threat about fixing myself up, either.
I peeled off my borderline homely wool cardigan and took an emergency makeup kit from my handbag. Fortunately, Diane had hung a mirror on the back of the door. Balancing my cosmetic bag on the arm of the couch, I chose raspberry-colored lip gloss that left threads of goop when I smoothed my lips together. I had just enough time to comb my fingers through my hair when Serena’s voice came from the hall.
“It’s just right back this way, Mr. Dylan,” she said. “So, are you, like, from Chicago?”
“Born and raised in Illinois.”
I reached behind myself for the makeup bag and knocked it over, spilling products all over the floor.
Shit.
I squatted, threw everything back in record time, and went to stand when a green Clinique tube caught my eye. I squatted to slip my arm to where it had rolled between the wall and couch as the door opened.
“Olivia,” a man said as I grasped the lipstick.
Not just any man. I recognized that chest-rumbling voice that had been reverberating through me for days.
Palming the tube, I turned. Burnished, brandy-colored leather brogues stared back at me. My eyes drifted up a long body and landed on a familiar face that managed to be both intense and expressionless.
My mystery man. Sultry, penetrating eyes from the theater. Broad, walled-off shoulders that had shielded us on Lucy’s balcony.
David.
He’d parted his hair off to the side and gelled it into a soft, cohesive wave. His sharp, navy suit followed every edge of his body, from the cliffs his shoulders created to his trim waist to the hem that hit just the right spot of his shoes despite his height. He wore his collar open with no tie, and the exposed skin of his collarbone made my breath catch.
How long had I been staring, kneeling at his feet like his disciple? Why couldn’t I speak? If the office had seemed smaller before, it became a shoebox now, especially from my current position. His presence could barely be contained.
“David?” I asked.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“Yes.” I rocked off my heels and finally stood, smoothing my hands over my dress. “Luke Dylan.”
“Do you always do this much research before an interview?” By the quirk of his mouth, I assumed he was teasing me, though I couldn’t be sure. “Lucas is my first name. I’ve always gone by my middle, though.”
“David,” I said. “David . . . Dylan.”
“David Dylan,” he confirmed with a nod.
Serena hadn’t taken her eyes off of David, clearly starstruck. “You know each other?”
“Not really, no,” I said quickly, holding out my hand. What else could I do? It was best that I didn’t know him, and so I’d pretend that was the case. “I’m so sorry for the mix-up. Nice to meet you.”
David glanced down, seeming to debate whether to call out my lie or to go along with it. After a moment, he took my hand and squeezed it. “Your hand is cold,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said and tried to take it back
, but he kept it in a firm grip. As we held each other’s gaze, his palm warmed mine. Heat crept up my arm to my chest. By the time he released me, I was half-thawed, half-chilled, my nipples hardening in my bra.
Serena broke the silence. “I can bring coffee,” she quipped. “How do you take it, Mr. Dylan?”
How do you take it?
How do you like it, Mr. Dylan?
I didn’t even really know the man, but I thought I knew the answer.
He liked it his way.
I wiped excess lip gloss from the corner of my mouth.
He didn’t even blink. “Black is fine.”
“I’ll be back in a jiff,” Serena said.
Once alone, I returned to my spot behind the desk. “Have a seat, Mr. Dylan,” I said, gesturing to a chair.
“Call me David.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you again.” I avoided his eyes and picked up a pen, unclicked it, and put it in a pencil holder before rearranging its contents.
He laughed softly as he sat. “I should think not after the way you ran away from me on the balcony.”
I straightened up, looking across the desk at him. “I didn’t run away,” I said. “You left the party—you were the one . . .” I stopped at the slight smirk on his face. If he’d been trying to get a rise out of me, he’d succeeded in no time at all—again. “Nobody ran away from anyone,” I said. “We had a normal conversation, that’s all.”
“You’ve had conversations like that before?”
“Me? No,” I said without missing a beat. “I meant normal for you.”
His expression eased. He gripped the arms of the chair and looked around. “I love what you’ve done with your office,” he said wryly. “It’s . . . inviting.”
As if the bare walls weren’t bland enough, the brown carpet was the matted and grimy type that I never wanted to touch with bare feet. The only personal thing I had was a photo of myself with Gretchen and Lucy that Lucy had taken, printed, framed, and brought over my first week at the magazine.
“It’s not mine,” I said. “I’m just borrowing it.”
He glanced around the room. In the daylight, his mysteriousness persisted. But in an office, with the desk between us, he somehow seemed less threatening. And if possible, more handsome.
Cityscape Affair Series: The Complete Box Set Page 7