Cityscape Affair Series: The Complete Box Set

by Hawkins, Jessica

  I fidgeted with one corner of the page. “Once I make this decision, then Bill and I will go down a path I can’t come back from.”

  “You can always come back,” Davena said gently. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that nothing is permanent. There’s always time to start over, especially at your age.”

  “But if I’m already thinking of starting over, then I don’t think that’s a good sign.”

  “You can’t stay in limbo, Liv.” She took my hand. “I drive Mack crazy the way I bounce from thing to thing. I constantly make mistakes—sometimes they pay off, but I never regret them. I do the best I can with the information I have. But you only have one shot at life, Olivia, and take it from me, you don’t want to miss anything. If you want something, say it out loud.”

  I looked at her frail but manicured hand on mine. If my life were ending, would I even think to do my nails?

  For Bill, the question wasn’t if. It was when. He’d offered me the only thing I’d wanted—security. Had he recognized the risk in me, or had I made him feel safe, too? Could I take that from him without becoming someone I resented as much as my mother?

  I’d entered my marriage sure I’d be ready for all of this one day. But one day still seemed so far away. Buying the house meant I was all in on our future. I’d be trading the city and my freedom to be a wife and mother.

  “And if what I want—or don’t want—would hurt others . . .?” I heard myself ask Davena. “Break promises? Destroy lives?”

  “That’s something only you can answer,” she said.

  Her eyes lingered on mine a moment while her words hung in the air. Perhaps sensing that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—answer just then, she looked away. “Listen, sweetie. Can I keep this spec-sheet? I know Mack would love to put in his two cents.”

  “Of course. Bill has one up on the refrigerator,” I said, setting my tea on a coaster as I stood. “I’d better get home.”

  She walked me to the door, kissed me on the cheek, and hesitated. “If you’d asked me years ago if a person’s own happiness was worth destroying many others’, I might’ve paused. But now, knowing my time here is limited . . . you can’t hide from your desires. You can suppress them, ignore them, maybe even kill them off. But they’ll stay buried and rotting inside you.” She drew back to look me in the eye. “What kind of person will that make you over time?”

  My throat closed. I’d seen firsthand what rotting emotions could do to a person. To a marriage. To the lives of the people you loved.

  Even when Davena had revealed her diagnosis to me, her expression hadn’t been so grave.

  Everything I’d asked for, wished for, worked for, stood within reach. To say that any of this had fallen in my lap would be a lie. I’d chosen Bill. I’d willingly started down the path I was on.

  To walk away from it all for the unknown? To turn my back on a perfect house for one that might have a faulty foundation with deepening cracks, that could be moments from crumbling—and expect an architect with nothing invested and even less to lose to swoop in and fix it?

  I’d be a fool to pursue any of that. But after so many years of trying to keep every hair in place, and the sudden, growing feeling that I might be trapped . . . maybe foolishness was the only way out.

  14

  I walked through the doorway of Lucy’s small but organized office—and froze, one foot in the room. My best friend, my engaged friend, kneeled in front of a man in a tuxedo, her hand inside his pant leg.

  A man who, known for his bachelorhood and playboy ways, was likely all too familiar with his current view.

  Even with his back to me, I recognized the broad shoulders, jet-black hair, and towering height before me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, retreating. “Your receptionist said—”

  Lucy peeked out from behind his leg. “Come in, come in,” she said around a pin stuck between her teeth. “David, you remember—”

  “Olivia,” he said and turned his head over his shoulder to meet my gaze.

  How had he known? The man had a sixth sense for me. I had one for him, too, evidenced by the way I’d felt him at the restaurant opening a couple weeks earlier before I’d even laid eyes on him.

  My surprise must’ve shown on my face.

  “With a voice like that,” he said, angling to give me his profile, “I’d know her anywhere.”

  I touched my neck. I’d met with another bachelor that afternoon who’d said my “rasp” reminded him of Lauren Bacall.

  With a measured step into the room, I set my purse and some work I’d brought for the weekend on a chair. Normally, I would’ve kicked off my heels and curled up with Vogue while Lucy finished. But the pair of sky-high YSL pumps on my feet suddenly felt wasted on anyone who wasn’t the god before me, so I left them on.

  Lucy removed the pin to stick it in David’s pant leg, then gasped. “I just had the best idea,” she said, glancing up at David—and up and up. “Olivia’s in the running for a competitive promotion at work. She’s looking for bachelors for Chicago M magazine’s ‘Most Eligible’ feature. David, since you’re such a popular bachelor, maybe . . .”

  David arched an eyebrow at me.

  “Actually, David already agreed to do it,” I said. “It turns out, Diane had reached out to him.”

  “Of course she did.” Lucy beamed. “David must be the most eligible bachelor in all of Chicago. You’ll be great, David,” she said, and added, “and now that I’m your personal stylist, best dressed to boot.”

  “Thank you, Lucy,” he said, his ridiculously deep voice rumbling through the small space.

  “I’m sorry, Liv,” Lucy said. “I know we’re supposed to leave in fifteen minutes, but David had a sartorial emergency.”

  “Black-tie gala at the Museum of Contemporary Art tonight,” he explained, “and my Prada tux is at my New York apartment. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

  “Not at all,” Lucy said. “Liv and I have a double date this weekend up at Andrew’s parents’ cabin on the lake. Andrew and Bill—Liv’s husband—are picking us up on the way out of town.” Lucy stood, brushing off her dress. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable, Liv.”

  She rushed out, leaving David and me in complete silence.

  David rotated to face me. I stayed across the room, as far as I could get, resisting the infuriating urge to be near him. To go to him. If he commanded me again the way he’d sent me to the lift at the construction site—I worried I’d be unable to resist.

  “I’m surprised to see you,” he said finally.

  “Last time we spoke, you forbade us from being alone.”

  I crossed my arms. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “That’s too bad.” His eyes scanned over me. “I’d kind of hoped you’d worn that outfit for me.”

  I inhaled under his perusal, willing myself not to react. A snakeskin belt cinched the waist of my fitted black dress, giving the illusion of curves. The neckline scooped, revealing a small glimpse of cleavage. I was wearing higher-than-usual pumps, but they matched the belt—unavoidable. With the four-inch boost, I figured my lips would come right up to his neck, or maybe just past, to his chin . . .

  “If you expect me to behave, don’t wear things like that,” he said and opened his arms to display a classic black and white tuxedo. “What do you think?” he asked. “Does it suit me?”

  My fingers curled into fists. My cheeks burned. He was so goddamn beautiful. Why did he have to be so beautiful? I could throw caution and sense aside and run and leap into his arms. Cover his face with kisses. Linger on the soft spots and relish the coarse ones. Press my willing self against his hard body, locking my snakeskins around his lower back so we were perfectly aligned . . .

  I blinked, forcing myself from the fantasy. “It—it needs tailoring,” I said, bridling the heat rising in me.

  He moved in front of a floor-length mirror. “Agreed.”

  My eyes darted to a rolling rack with four crisp ens
embles. “Are these all yours?”

  “My event starts in an hour. Lucy had these on hand and pulled them all to see what would work.”

  Lucy’s heels clicked in the hallway, muting once she hit the carpeted office. “They’re leftover rentals from a Chicago Bears event,” she said behind me. “David’s got a similar build to a couple of the players. Not a perfect solution, but it works in a pinch.”

  Lucy went to the rolling rack and removed a different tux. She practically pushed David into a curtained off area. “Try this one,” she said. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll have to fix the hem of the one you’re wearing real quick.” She gave him a dress shirt. “And the shirt you’re wearing is too tight. This should fit better.”

  I perched at the edge of Lucy’s desk, fingering my earlobe as she bustled around me. Behind the curtain just feet away, David shed one suit for another. Those long fingers undoing his buttons, hard muscles too big for a dress shirt that fit a football player.

  I closed my eyes and heaved a deep sigh. Get it under control.

  “What do you feel like?” Lucy asked.

  I frowned at her. “Huh?”

  “For dinner?” She lowered her voice. “There’s a great pizza spot Andrew and I usually stop at on the way to the cabin.”

  “Um.” I rubbed my eyebrow. “Bill won’t want to splurge on eating out.”

  “Oh, I’d hardly call it a splurge,” she said.

  “Me neither,” I agreed, but I knew my husband. Bill had learned thriftiness from his parents, and he remained careful with every dollar, even though we’d never hurt for money. Especially now that he was making far more than he had in the public sector.

  “I’ll convince him,” Lucy said with a firm nod.

  David stepped out, closing up his dress shirt, each button swallowing a little more of his tanned chest.

  “Oh, David,” Lucy said as he shrugged on the blazer. “You look dashing.”

  David straightened his shoulders in the mirror and tugged on the sleeves. His hair was like black marble, styled into a sophisticated, shiny ripple, less tousled than normal.

  My throat dried. I swallowed. Our back-and-forth from lunch filtered through my head. Standing tall in the urbane tux, he looked every bit the refined gentleman.

  And gentleman becomes him.

  When Lucy was occupied pinning again, I glanced at David’s black American Express on the desk beside me. The invite-only card had monthly fees in the thousands.

  Exactly how much do architects make?

  The desk vibrated under my thighs. David’s phone lit up, and the name Brittany bannered across the screen. He didn’t make any effort to move or see who was calling, so I didn’t mention it. Brittany didn’t exactly sound like a pressing matter if you asked me.

  “I brought snacks.” A cheery voice entered the room before Lucy’s assistant did. Kimmie backed into the office and she turned to show off a haphazard tray of items she’d clearly found around the office breakroom. “Goldfish, apples, Go-Gurt, croissants—from this morning but I think they’re still fresh . . .” Kimmie nodded as she named each thing on the tray. With a goofy smile plastered on her face, she set it on the coffee table and turned to David. She cleared her throat, trying to catch his eye in the reflection. “Um, is this all right, Mr. Dylan? Would you prefer something else? Coffee?”

  “I can’t move,” he said, nodding his head down toward Lucy.

  “Oh, of course—what can I bring?” Kimmie nodded enthusiastically, picking up the tray.

  “No, that’s all right,” he said when she started toward him. “I’ll grab a Go-Gurt later.”

  I stifled a giggle, wondering if women were always this eager around him.

  “Oh.” She set it down again. “Well, if you need anything—”

  “I’ll take an apple,” I said.

  Kimmie motioned toward the tray on her way out the door. “All yours.”

  David grinned, but silence fell over the room in her wake.

  “So, Liv.” Lucy glanced at me and resumed pinning. “Do you think you’ll get the promotion? Are you nervous?”

  “I’m optimistic,” I said.

  “It’s my favorite time of year,” Lucy said. “Liv gets to work with all these hot guys while I live vicariously through her.” She blushed as she smiled. “Don’t tell Andrew.”

  “Women, too,” I clarified.

  David stared at his reflection, his smile gone.

  “I don’t care about the women,” Lucy declared. “Who else are you interviewing?”

  “Actually,” I said, “I just got back from meeting with Brian Ayers.”

  David’s gaze shifted to mine. “Brian?”

  “Yes.” I smiled. “Thank you for giving me his name. He’s perfect for the piece.”

  “Perfect?” David’s eyes narrowed on me. “I offered you an introduction in place of my spot. I didn’t give you his contact inform—”

  “Hold still, David,” Lucy said. “I might accidentally stab you!”

  “He’s a freelance photographer,” I told Lucy, “and one of the most charming men I’ve ever met. Really interesting guy—beguiling, actually. Don’t tell, but he fed me wine and cheese.”

  “While you’re working?” Lucy asked.

  “You went to his apartment?” David asked.

  I met his eyes in the reflection. “Yep.”

  “How do you know him?” Lucy asked David.

  “We’ve been friends a while.” I thought I detected a hint of a growl, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “So, what do you think, David?” Lucy asked, looking up. “Would this Brian guy make a good Bachelor?”

  David’s nostrils flared, but Lucy didn’t notice as she worked intently on the hem of his right pant leg.

  “He’s . . . he’s a good guy,” David said with obvious reluctance. “I suppose some women might find him attractive.”

  Lucy’s eyes flitted to me. “Is he, Liv?”

  Brian, a doppelgänger for Paul Walker, had greeted me with a huge smile, a hug, and compliments before showing me around his studio loft. He’d worn a nice suit but hadn’t bothered to even brush his chin-length blond hair. And when he’d crossed an ankle over one knee during our interview, I’d spied colorful, patterned socks.

  “He looks like a distinguished beach bum if that makes sense,” I said. “Like, I could see him hitting the waves before a board meeting. But he doesn’t have board meetings, because he’s a photographer. I don’t really know how to pin him down, which is why he’ll be great for the article. He’ll appeal to different demographics.”

  “Distinguished beach bum.” David snorted. “Maybe that should be his headline.”

  “He sounds great,” Lucy said. “I just remembered—David, while I have you trapped here, can we go over a few things? Since we haven’t really had a chance to discuss your wardrobe needs at length, would you mind answering some questions?” Lucy pointed behind me. “Liv, grab the sheet from my desk and take notes, please?”

  “You’re putting me to work?” I asked, picking up a clipboard.

  “We’re almost done, promise.” Her eyes pleaded with me not to be upset.

  If she only knew. I could sit and watch this all day.

  “So, aside from work and the occasional event—”

  “Frequent,” David interrupted Lucy. “I have events weekly.”

  “Right.” Lucy nodded. “Frequent events. Aside from that, what else do you need? You mentioned you’re a swimmer,” she said.

  “A sailor,” I said and bit my bottom lip when David’s gaze shifted to me.

  “I do both,” he said. “I swim most days to keep in shape.”

  Swimmer’s body. I knew it.

  “My free time is limited,” he continued. “But I also do some construction on the weekends.”

  My mouth twitched. Every muscle sculpted by the water. Defined and roughened by hard labor.

  He was trying to break me. Between gentleman, swimmer, and construction wor
ker, he was hitting triggers I hadn’t even known I’d had.

  “Construction for what?” Lucy asked.

  “Right now, Arnaud and I are flipping a house in Evanston—but I don’t need an outfit for that.” He winked at her. “I just wear an old t-shirt and jeans.”

  A house flashed across my vision—the magnificent teardown disturbing the perfect neighborhood in which Bill saw us living. Would David have called the house appalling as our relator had?

  No. He wouldn’t. He’d even told me as much.

  You have to get your hands dirty to unearth the good parts. That’s work I love to do.

  I swallowed down the flush of excitement working its way up my neck and stared hard at the clipboard so David wouldn’t notice. Or, more importantly, so Lucy wouldn’t.

  “Do you need, um, new t-shirts?” I asked, scanning the form in front of me. That question wasn’t on it, but I couldn’t think of anything other than trying to hide my reaction to David. “Or swim trunks? For—for swimming?”

  “I’m all set, thanks.” A smirk twisted his mouth. “You can put me down for new undergarments, though. Will you make a note of that?”

  I raised a scolding brow at him. He thought just because we weren’t alone as I’d mandated, we could play?

  Game on.

  “Boxers? Briefs?” I asked.

  “I’m not picky. Why don’t you mark down what you prefer?” he said.

  Lucy glanced up as he continued.

  “How about you, Miss Germaine? Anything you need?”

  “Mrs. Germaine—and I’m good,” I said, losing the battle against my blushing skin. “Bill has great taste in that department.”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows at me, and I lowered my gaze, pretending to make notes.

  “Ah,” David said, his tone lightening. “You know what, there actually is something I could use. Shoes. Size fourteen. And a half.” His sincere expression didn’t hide the gleam in his eyes. “They’re hard to find, so don’t forget to write that down.”

  Fourteen-and-a-half? That was . . . unheard of. Sometimes even Bill, a twelve, proved hard to shop for. And if David’s shoe size was any indicator of the rest of him . . .