“That’s not going to work. I have an appointment first thing in the morning and I need a shower.” I gesture to my sweaty T-shirt.
“No kidding, Cat, I can smell you from here.”
“It’s Cait, you ass.” I kick off my loose sneaker, tossing it with my toe in his direction. I aim to nail him in the head but he dodges away. The shoe ricochets off the wall, tumbling to the floor.
His grin widens. “I’m kidding, Miss London. You smell like roses, as always.”
“Seriously, what am I going to do?”
“Can’t you use Gusterson’s shower?” He quirks a surly lip because he already knows the answer—no. Mr. Gusterson lives across the hall, but I’ve never seen the man. I’m unsure anyone has.
For this comment, I kick my other shoe in his direction.
“Ow!” This one smacks his sizable bicep, protecting his handsome face. I suppress a triumphant smile.
Evan crouches and stands in one fluid motion of sinewy muscle. He meets my gaze, and then rakes a hand through his tousled chestnut-colored hair. “Fine. You don’t have to beg, Kitty Cat, you can use mine.” He puffs his chest and flashes his brilliant white grin.
Definitely flirting. Though I shouldn’t be surprised. How many times in the last year had I seen him at Mr. Moon’s Coffee House, sitting at a table and flirting with some girl? There were too many times and too many girls to count.
Evan takes his time sliding past, I think, purposely brushing the heat of his body near me. I pin myself against the wall, unwilling to allow our skin to touch. When will he grasp how annoying I find him?
“I’ll pass.” I latch my hands on my hips. This is me sending a clear message. I’m not flirting.
“Suit yourself.” Unswayed, he lumbers for the door.
“What about these tools?” I gesture to his mess.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He turns, arms wide, palms skyward and strolls backward with a confident teeter. He’s hitting me with his smile again and those damn dimples, like they’ll make this situation better.
My teeth clench. If I had something else to throw at him I would. When he disappears, I remove my cell from my pocket and text Aggie.
ME: Coming back.
AGGS: Did u barf? I knew u would.
ME: No, but I want 2.
Thinking of Evan, I glance at my front door, which he left wide open. His footfalls descend the stairs to his apartment on the first floor.
CHAPTER 2
Something hits my chest. When something else lands on my cheek, I open one blurry eye. I swat the dish towel off my face before rolling over and snuggling farther into the warmth of my blanket.
“Why can’t you wake me nicely, like a good hostess?” I grumble.
“Then you wouldn’t know you were with me,” Aggie says.
“Let me guess. You get bored with nice.”
She appears in my field of vision where everything in her living room is sideways. She plops into her patchwork chair. One leg is tucked beneath her butt, the other swings out front. She’s already wide-eyed, perky, and dressed in an array of mismatched colors for work. There’s no trace of a hangover on her impish face.
“What the heck is that?” My eyes squint and focus on what she’s holding between two oven-mitted hands. One mitt is a shark; the other is a crocheted, shaggy llama.
“It’s my coffee mug.”
“No, that’s a coffee pot for the coffee maker.”
“You act like you’ve never seen me drink coffee before.”
“An entire pot?”
“It’s my source of energy,” she chirps. “Just like blood is yours.”
“Ha-ha. Not funny.” I maintain a pout and scratch my nest of tangled hair. When I sit up, my quilt falls to the ground around my ankles. I crack my neck, left then right, before rolling my shoulders.
“You’re always so doom and gloom. Sometimes I’m unsure. And you’re wearing a The Cure T-shirt, for crying out loud.”
I look down at myself and tug the fabric from my shirt, taking in the band’s upside-down logo.
“But it’s my favorite T-shirt.” One of the few items I have from before. “You don’t like their music?”
“Maybe I would if I was old, or sad, or the Princess of Darkness. You know, like you.”
“We’re the same age.”
“You’re plus five, or is it ten?” She glances at the ceiling, seeming to search for the answer she already knows.
“Maybe in maturity.” I toss a pillow in her direction.
“Aw, there’s my little ray of soul-sucking darkness.” She catches the pillow before blowing me an air kiss.
“And I’m not sad. I’m... introspective.” I kick the quilt away. I’m careful to choose the word—if she knew all the things I am and all the things I hide from her.
I stand and stretch before stumbling to the kitchen in search of a coffee mug. When I find something semi-usable, it’s a mug in the shape of a single breast. On the side, in bright pink bubble letters, it reads: Don’t be a boob! Lift your mood with a cuppa joe from Mr. Moon’s.
The first time we met, I was sitting alone at Mr. Moon’s. She parked herself in the empty chair across from me and told me a dirty joke. I laughed because it was raunchy, and she was dressed like a nun. Back then she worked birthday parties and delivered corporate Candygrams. She held me hostage for three hours before I escaped. I ran into her at Moon’s twice before I agreed to tell her my name. How she discovered my cell number is still a mystery.
Apparently, the sun likes to annoy the rain.
In the living room, I steal her pitcher and pour coffee into my boob cup. I squeeze my eyes tight before taking a sip from the nipple, noting lack of caffeine drives me to desperation.
“So remind me why you came back last night? I know you told me, but everything’s a little foggy,” she says when I return.
“Pipes broke again. Water was everywhere. You know I need showers twice a day.” I walk to the window and peer outside.
“Your sweat glands should win awards for the time they put in with all your running. So who’s fixing them?”
“I don’t think they can be? I use super-strength deodorant.” I look over my shoulder and bear my teeth.
“Your pipes, dummy.” See rolls her eyes.
“Ha! See? I can be funny.”
She makes a game-show-buzzer noise like I’m wrong but continues her questioning. “So who’s fixing them?” She smiles with anticipation of the answer.
I return to the couch and sit, ignoring her. When she clears her throat with displeasure, I moan, “You already know who.”
“Mmm, mmm, sexy landlord Evan.” She inhales the aroma of her coffee with fluttering eyelids and a swaying chin, like she’s devouring his image.
“Ew, no,” I respond too fast with a wrinkled nose. The second I do, I know my disgust appears fake. I take another sip to hide my face. She’s right, although I don’t want her to know she is. He’s painfully attractive, but showing any interest in any man would set her off.
“Will he be the first on your list to unapologetically bang?”
“How do you remember that from last night and nothing else?” I smack the cushion.
“I remember the important stuff.”
“You forgot that plan was for you. Not me. A slightly important detail. Besides, I could never do the one-night-stand thing.” I race through my words, becoming defensive.
“Mmm-hmm.” Aggie keeps her cool and peers over the top of her coffee pot. Her shark mitt eyes me with seriousness, so I turn a new direction, becoming very interested in a section of chipped paint on the closest wall.
Have I before? I’m unsure. I wasn’t even sure if I was a virgin after. That is until a gynecologist reported I might not technically be. It’s strange to know I may have slept with someone but had no idea who he was... or who they were.
This information isn’t something the two people who claimed to be my parents would know when they schooled me on my pa
st. They focused on family, their memories of everyone around me, or their memories of my youth.
This is Uncle Joe. That’s Aunt Meredith. You were best friends with your cousin Samantha. You liked vanilla, not chocolate. You believed in the tooth fairy until you were twelve. You didn’t even want your driver’s license. You were too scared to drive. I shiver, recalling their useless lessons.
While I was attending Northwalton University in Chicago, they had no clue who I was becoming as an adult. They lived in Maryland, nine hundred miles away. I was on my own for three years before returning home to them in a broken state.
So I keep quiet, ignoring Aggie’s bait. The problem is she’s planted a bothersome seed. It nags at me, sprouts arms, and grows, rooting its way through my thoughts. My jittery foot taps the floor.
And now I’m curious to know if I could have a one-night stand and if I could with Evan. I shake my head and chase the thought away. Ridiculous. He’s annoying. He’s cocky. My fingers tighten around the handle of my mug. I take too large a sip and burn my tongue.
“I hate him.” The lie burns more.
“Then he’s perfect. You’ll sleep with him and move on.”
CHAPTER 3
I enter the offices of Grayson & Wade in the Loop. There’s a modern silver logo for G&W emblazoned on the wall behind our receptionist, Lou.
When I approach his desk, he lifts his catlike gaze as if sensing me. He leisurely taps the end of pen on the hollow of his cheek. I attempt a guilty smile, but this gesture doesn’t put him at ease. Instead, his eyes press into displeased slits. He’s ticked and has every right to be. Am I a bad friend? A bad coworker? I’m not sure what we are. He was friends with Aggie first but then she pulled me into their tight circle.
Unlike other times, today I came prepared. I think I did. I settle a peace offering on his desk—a Mr. Moon’s to-go cup.
“You think a raspberry macchiato is going to make everything better?” Lou’s dark sculpted eyebrow rises into a peak.
Knowing this would not be enough to appease his queenly high-maintenance, I remove a Get Dunked Up donut bag from my purse and set it beside the coffee and wait.
“Lemon pistachio?” He eyes it suspiciously.
“And a peanut butter bacon,” I add with confidence.
Lou bobs his head, considering. He inhales deeply and lifts his chin in a superior manner. “Fine. You’re forgiven for ditching me.”
He continues, “But remember, I’m on vacation for the next few weeks, so you’ll be walking to work all by your lonesome.”
“I’ll cry every single morning without you.”
“That’s a good start.” He accepts my sugar offerings with a smug grin, and I exhale, relieved. He would have forgiven me eventually, he always does, but it’s easier to keep the peace. As he takes a sip, the office phone rings. He slides his headset over his inky, hipster haircut and returns to work.
“Grayson & Wade.” His chipper voice signals my atonement, so I move to my office to tackle the next obstacle. Inside, Aggie’s dropped a stack of papers on my desk.
“Lord Linden beckoned. He wants to see us ASAP,” she says.
At the request, I tighten my grip on my purse strap. Before I allow the stress to dig deeper, I clear my mind, focus, and slip into my work mask. With it settled in place, I’m fearless. I’m Superwoman. At least, this is what I pretend to be.
“Did we receive the renderings from Adam?” I ask.
“Ta-da!” She presents a black foam board with three computer renderings mounted to the front. They look great. My muscles relax a little.
“And I have a draft of the presentation booklet.” At my desk, I select the spiral-bound book from my color-coded files.
After I run through a three-page checklist of items with Aggie, we cross the hall to Linden’s corner office. His floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Chicago River. The water glistens with the reflections of the surrounding high-rises. Water taxis zoom by, blowing horns at tourists paddling canoes.
Linden’s on the phone but waves us in.
As we sit and wait, I have a moment to compare Linden to Evan. Sometimes I forget they’re brothers. Linden is the older of the two. I covertly allow my gaze to roam his features. Where Linden is refined with slicked-back hair and a clean face, Evan is brooding and rugged. Though they do share the same dark hair, eyes, and complexion, along with bodies that can only be attained at the gym. When his chair swivels in my direction and his gaze spots mine, I avert my interest to my nails. Maybe one day I’ll paint them.
Grayson & Wade recruited me the moment I strode across the stage for my business degree at Georgetown. To make the move across country smoother, the company rented me an apartment in one of their family-owned buildings.
Finishing his call, Linden slips his cell into his pocket. “What do you have for me?” He’s business focused, another blaring difference from Evan, who’s all play.
I slide to the edge of my chair, back straight, and hand him the presentation booklet. “I’ve picked three properties, and Aggie’s been coordinating with 3-D imaging.”
On cue and as I instructed, Aggie rises from her seat and lifts the presentation boards. Her arm swings across each photo in a spirited manner. Too spirited. Linden assesses her fluttering hands with deepening brow lines.
“Will Aggie be impersonating Vanna White at the meeting?” he asks.
“Kind of adds a little pizazz, right?” She gleams.
“It’s purely for your enjoyment,” I assure.
“Thank God.” Linden relaxes in his chair, his gaze drops to the booklet open on his lap. He flips through while nodding. On the last page, he pauses before returning it. “Add the estimated TI allowances for each property and update those renderings with some brighter colors. Make the Lakeman logo larger. It really needs to pop.”
“Will do,” I say.
Linden stands, and I stand. He buttons his suit jacket and strides toward the door. When he pauses and turns back, I hold my breath. I’m always waiting for something to go wrong, but in this case it’s not me he’s inspecting, it’s Aggie.
“No. Just no,” he says, shaking his head. He gives me a glance. He’s transmitting a message: fix her before the meeting. When I nod in understanding he disappears, rushing down the hall for his next appointment.
“What’s wrong with me?” She grimaces.
I survey her purple patterned tights and the cheery narwhal sweater. “Maybe a little less color for the meeting? Less fringe? Oh, I know, less glitter.” I smile.
“At least I’m not wearing the colors of death every day.” She eyes my black skirt suit, one of ten I own.
“Just tone it down for the presentation? For me? Please?”
The remainder of the Friday is spent revising the presentation booklet, returning emails, making calls, and coordinating Aggie’s boring outfit for the meeting. She’s only slightly cheered at the prospect when I suggest shopping for something new. At three, I show several commercial properties in the West Loop to a small graphic design firm before returning home late in the evening.
At the top of the stairs, I pause at my open apartment door. I sigh, remembering my water issues. My tense shoulders lift and lock close to my ears. I’ll have to deal with Evan again, and I’ll need a drink to do that. After dropping my things on the counter, I select a wineglass from the cabinet and pour myself a Malbec. I take several sips, allowing the alcohol to warm me before heading down the hall.
I lean my weight on the doorjamb and peer inside the room, noting the same exact scene from last night: water everywhere, my good towels soaked and lining the floor, and ass crack.
“Please tell me it’s fixed,” I beg.
“Welcome home, Kitty Cat.” Evan glances over his shoulder.
“Two days without water seems extreme. Am I getting a break on rent?”
“You’ll have to negotiate with Linden, but if I had to guess the outcome, I’d say no.” He kneels back on his haunches and rubs his hand
s down his jeans, over his strong thighs.
Linden fiercely protects the financials of his family’s empire. During my first week at work he fired an intern who used too many napkins in the company kitchen. He’s never given me much issue, but I continue to walk on eggshells in his presence. The stress of losing my job remains in the back of my mind, like all the other whispers telling me I’m not good enough.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing away a forming headache.
“Hard day?” he asks.
“Long.” I peer down at him. “But there’s one thing you can tell me that will make everything better.”
“No can do, Cat.”
“Come on. You’re killing me here.” I moan.
He stands and stuffs a rag into his back pocket. “My offer stands. You can use my shower. Or,” his eyes twinkle, “we could use it together.”
I stiffen at his offer. I know he’s joking but when his brows give me a naughty wag, it causes an unexpected scene to emerge behind my eyelids—an image of us showering together.
“Cat?” Evan snaps his fingers, and I’m brought back from my racy daydream. I jolt and blink. I blink again and find him standing in front of me, his curious eyes searching mine. At imagining us wet, naked, and entwined, a blaze of heat fans across my cheeks and shoots to the tips of my ears. I glance away from his questioning gaze as if focusing on the floor will save me.
Evan’s head falls back when a full and throaty laugh booms from his open mouth. It’s like he’s read my mind. He grabs his stomach and curls forward with uncontrolled glee.
“It’s Cait, you idiot.” I shove him away and berate myself for allowing my mind to go there, even accidentally. I stomp down the hall needing to add distance between us, and this unfamiliar fluttering tickle in my belly. I won’t allow myself be attracted to Evan. No way.
His laughter follows me into the living room. Apparently, he’s unwilling to let my humiliating moment pass.
“You better have this fixed tomorrow.” I hunker down into the armchair with my wine. I take a long gulp, finishing it.
Ten Thousand Points of Light Page 2