My brows rise at this development.
“But I don’t want to interrupt you.” Lou grimaces, attention swinging between Evan and me. The air in the hallways cracks with tension, and it’s a beacon flowing from Evan’s direction.
“You’re not. Uh, I came down to tell Evan my shower isn’t working.” The half-lie slips out on the edge of my nervous laughter.
Evan’s door slams closed, rattling the foyer walls, causing me to jolt. Shoulders cramp to my ears before my head snaps to the sound. The wall between Evan and me returns. My heart contracts.
“What’s he so mad about?” Lou scowls.
“You know landlords.” I grip Lou’s hand in mine, making my getaway from the building. Outside, I bustle toward work while rambling to myself. I’m disappointed for dragging Lou into this. I should have set Evan straight the moment he labeled him as my boyfriend.
“What the hello is going on, lady?” Lou jumps in front of me, a lanky barrier I could sidestep, but I halt anyway. I have to explain myself. He needs to know what I did.
“I’ll just say I’m sorry now.” I wince.
“Bloody hell.” He mimics a British accent.
“Evan’s the one who thinks you’re my ex.” I nibble my lip.
“No. Just no.” Lou lifts his hands in protest.
“You don’t even need to do anything. He concluded you were my boyfriend. I just didn’t correct him. But I told him we broke up. All I need you to do is play along if ever comes up, but it won’t. We’ll be what we are now. Friends. So nothing’s changed. Got it?”
Lou appears pained and strides on without me. I rush to his side. “I’ll bring you donuts every day for as long as we work together.”
He bobbles his head, uncommitted to an answer.
“Whatever you want. Please?” I fold my hands in prayer.
His expression’s annoyed. “You realize no one would ever put us together. I’m too young and sexy for you.”
“Take pity on me?” I give him a pathetic tug, and he pauses.
“I’ve never seen you like this.” He gives me the once-over. “You like this guy, huh?”
“No. I don’t. I mean... it’s complicated. It was a little white lie that started as a joke, and I didn’t think it would matter, but it suddenly does. He’s jealous of you and that makes me happy. Am I a bad person now?” I frown.
“Yes. You are. It’s called manipulation.”
I cradle my face in my palms. Lou’s right. From the start, I understood I could leverage Evan’s emotions. Like a demented child, I used his jealous nature to my advantage.
“Lucky for you, I’m the master of manipulation, and because I love you, I will take you under my wing as my protégé.” Lou places a hand on my shoulder.
At Lou’s offer, I take a deep breath and attempt to quell the competitive spirit tickling me from inside. All the hope I had last night wakes. It’s rising to the surface, because a tiny bit believes with Lou’s help, I might turn this in my favor. Enough to see if a fake relationship would prompt Evan’s interest in me. That’s all I want. A chance.
A battle wages in my mind. I bite my fingernail. I already got what I wanted. We had a one-night stand. In a way I won, but I don’t want to win another chance with Evan by manipulation. If anything were to happen, I’d want it to be real.
“I appreciate the offer, but no.” My resolve is firm.
“Are you sure? I’m not so sure you’re sure.”
“Walk me to work like any other day. Okay? If anyone ever asks if we dated, you can blow them off. I won’t mention it again.”
Lou’s gaze intensifies. “Fine.”
He gives me a kiss on the cheek and drapes an arm around my shoulder as if all is forgiven. We stroll south, toward work.
“Tell me about him. I’ve never seen you this rattled.”
“It’s complicated. That wasn’t a lie.”
“So what’s his name? He was hot-ta-ta.” Lou hisses the words in a sizzling sound.
I sigh. He’ll find out from Aggie, anyway. “Evan Wade.”
“As in Bossman’s younger brother?” He gasps.
I nod.
“Aye, Mommy, you know how to pick them.”
My heart sinks, and I’m not even sure if I want to hear what Lou knows. Being the office receptionist leaves him in a position to acquire secrets. He’s Grand Central Station for office gossip. And like a true pro, he’s airing Evan’s dirty laundry before I even ask for details.
He continues, “I heard he worked at the office years ago. Very brilliant. He and Linden were set to run the business when Mama Wade stepped down, but Evan fell off the face of the earth over some girl. Bad breakup or something. He was such a mess that he went on an Eat, Pray, Love world tour to heal his broken heart. It’s sad.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Yeah, no. Sorry, chica. Good luck breaking down those walls. Boyfriend’s damaged.”
My mind reels with the new info as Lou and I crisscross traffic-jammed intersections and dodge oncoming pedestrians. Evan told me the truth. There was someone special in his life. Not that this should be a revelation, but for it to be one someone is.
A guy like Evan should have had fifty girlfriends by now, if not married. Whoever this woman was, she was important, and after all this time he isn’t over her. My chin dips.
In confirming Evan’s past with Lou, any remaining optimism slips out of my grasp, drains through my body and onto the ground, seeping into the shadows. My steps slow.
Lou babbles, “It was before my time. I admit I don’t know all the details, but I could find out if you want.”
“No,” I grumble.
“Whoa, okay. I’ll leave it alone.” He tugs open the door to our building, allowing me to enter first. Inside our office, I remind him to forget our discussion. He agrees too quick, which I note is very un-Lou like.
Worried, I retreat to my office. I don’t want to know more, and I definitely don’t want Lou to know more. He can’t keep anything to himself. On any other day this trait might be nice—as long as I’m not the subject of discussion.
I step into my office and close the door. Slouching against the wall, I bang my head a few times, wanting to knock every image of Evan out.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I wrench my body to the voice and stumble, dropping my bag at the sight of a man sitting on my office sofa. With the tone of his voice, I thought it was Evan. But it’s not; it’s Linden. Until now, I hadn’t realized how similar they sounded. I hold a hand over my racing heart. I’m relieved until Linden gives me a worried look.
“What’s going on with you this week?” He tightens his gaze. Is he trying not to smile?
I clamor for an explanation but before I open my mouth to speak...
“No.” He dismisses my forthcoming answer. “I don’t want to know. I only wanted an update on the Lakeman deal.”
“Oh, right.” I collect my bag and scurry to my desk chair. I’m calling forth my work persona, the one that has her shit together, not this pitiful blob of emotion. I shake her off the best I can.
“James rescheduled his appointment.”
“Why the stall?”
“He’s on a last-minute business trip. But it works well with the new property coming available.”
“And?” His brows rise.
“I’m closing the deal. End of story.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He rises and hastens for the door. Before he leaves he halts, hand wrapped around the doorframe. “Did you see Evan this morning?”
I school my face. “Is he ignoring you again?”
“Left him a million messages.”
“Not to worry. He’s alive.” I give a weak laugh while flipping my thumb over the pages of a Post-it notebook.
He removes his buzzing cell from a pocket.
“Speak of the devil.” He shakes his phone. He answers as he leaves. I sink into my chair, knees weak. What would Linden say if
he found out? Would he be pissed? I cover my face with my hands and moan.
But then my ear tunes into a new sound. Outside my door, Lou’s voice booms over office chatter, ringing phones, and whining copier machines. He’s asking someone, “Were you here when Evan Wade worked in the office?”
CHAPTER 19
“What’s with you?” Aggie follows me into my building after work on Friday evening.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been a zombie for a week.”
I pause in the lobby and face her, but it isn’t Aggie I’m interested in seeing. I’m looking for Evan. He’s been MIA since the night we spent together. She snaps her fingers in front of my face. My eyes flitter aware, and I glower at her.
“Are you even listening to me? This is what I’m talking about.” She stabs her fist into her hip.
“I was,” I protest.
But I wasn’t. Not completely. Instead, I was counting the UPS delivery sticky notes on Evan’s door. There are three, which means he’s still in hiding. And on top of everything, the hot water in my shower is still broken.
“Okay, what did I just say?” Aggie challenges.
I peer at the ceiling, searching my mind. “Um, something about partying tonight?” A ridge forms in my brow.
“Not even close.” She crosses her arms.
I let out a defeated breath. “Sorry, I’m... I’m just not myself this week.”
What I can’t tell her is despite learning about Evan’s past, I’ve been busy dreaming of him. One minute I’m at my desk constructing an email and the next thing I know, I’m staring at a blank wall and twenty minutes has passed. Yesterday Linden caught me spinning in my office chair and humming to myself while I was supposed to be in a meeting with the marketing department. Needless to say, he was not amused.
“You’re right. You suck this week.”
“I agree. So, how’s Paul?” I divert.
She raises both hands and slaps her sides, her voice peaking higher. “That’s what I’ve been trying to talk to you about.”
“Tell me again. I’m listening. I promise.” We scale the stairs.
Over drinks I listen to Aggie for two hours. She’s gossiping about a friend who’s in some strange Bermuda love triangle with two boys. She then tangents to a historical discussion on Amelia Earhart, someone I’ll need to research later to remember. Then she segues our conversation to a new hair salon that serves bottomless pink champagne.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come out?” Aggie stands outside my door. She and Lou are attending a late comedy show.
“Nah, I have to—”
“I know, I know. You have to train for the marathon. Blah, blah, make up an excuse, blah.” She tosses a dismissive hand and steps away.
Though tonight, I’m not running. I needed time alone. Not to torment myself over Evan, my heart isn’t broken; after all, it’s only confused. I’m sane enough to grasp I barely know the guy, but this fact doesn’t shake my resolve. I level with myself. This crush is normal, even if I’m not sure it is.
The saddest part is Evan’s the first person I’ve connected to in this way. Maybe it’s because of our mirroring baggage, though vastly different if I’m to believe Lou’s information. Still, it’s enough to understand we’ve been so traumatized that we’ve carried the repercussions for years.
When I consider sharing my secret with him, I brush off the ludicrous thought. Allowing anyone to know my battle is not an option. I bargain. When I’m ready, I’ll tell Aggie everything first. She’s stood by my side through every depressed, down-in-the-dumps day. There are too many to count and one severe panic attack that sent me to the ER. With her sunny disposition on life, she’s brought me back from dancing on a razor’s edge, and for that loyalty she deserves my truth.
In my pajamas, I sit in my bed. A pillow rests flat on my thighs. My laptop sits on top. A reading light hangs above, brightening my workspace. I’m studying a bio on Amelia Earhart when my new email alert dings. At the sender’s name, my body recoils.
My mother’s been doing her homework. First, she sent me the letter. Then she found my cell phone number. She’s harassed me with calls, messages, and texts for weeks. Fed up, I blocked her number. Now this? She’s emailed my work account, so now she knows where I live and work. It’ll only be a matter of time before she and my dad appear on my doorstep. A headache forms.
My finger slides over the tracking pad, moving the cursor. The title of the email says, “We need to talk ASAP.”
“Not anytime soon.” I checkmark the email, select the trash button and click enter. A pop-up box appears, asking if I’m sure I want to delete.
“I’m sure!” I yell at the screen and tap the continue key three extra times.
Knock, knock, knock.
I pause, a knot forms in the back of my neck. I lean over and glance down the hallway, through the living room, and to the front door. There’s another knock. My back tightens. My first thought is my parents are already here. I know it’s unlikely considering the timing, but the fear of facing them plagues me.
Setting my computer aside, I slide off the mattress and make my way to the front door on silent tiptoes. I place my eye to the peephole and peer through. On the other side, an enormous blue eye widens below a gray, wiry eyebrow. The eye eases away, revealing a face I recognize—Mr. Gusterson. I exhale and open the door.
“Here to fix the shower,” he says.
His hand grips Evan’s toolbox at his side. It probably weighs more than him. In fact he’s favoring that side, one shoulder and hip dropping lower. I note his brown robe added meat to his boney structure, whereas tonight he’s wearing jean overalls. They hang on his pointy shoulder blades like a hanger. One strap’s sliding off. His shirt buttons are misaligned and his neckline askew. I glance down and find him wearing socks with holes in the big toe. When he wiggles them, I suck in my smile.
“But it’s ten o’clock.”
“You want it fixed or not?”
I do want it fixed. Not wanting to miss the opportunity, I step aside, inviting him in. “Let me show you—”
“I know where.” He waves me off, but I scrutinize him as he stumbles for the bathroom.
Before I close the door, I scan the hallway for Evan like this is some sort of joke. Until now, he’s handled all issues related to the apartment. And there have been many: the air conditioner, the heat, the garbage disposal, and the icemaker. If it could break, it’s broken. Sometimes multiple times. He’s come to my rescue every time.
Will Evan avoid me on purpose because we slept together? I’m irked by the thought, but I shake it off in search of answers. I find Mr. Gusterson already working. I can tell by the confident way he chooses his tools and an obvious system that he knows what he’s doing. Sometimes when I watch Evan, I’m unsure.
“How did Evan wrangle you into this?”
Mr. Gusterson doesn’t answer me, per se. Instead, he mumbles to himself, several words and phrases strung together in a garble of unrelated information. I listen close, but the few words I can identify during his mini rant are, “Evan, lazy, dumb shit, a good deal, Ms. Venti’s hot,” and then, “do I need suntan lotion in Alaska?”
“Okay.” I scrunch my face and cock my head, wondering if one does need suntan lotion in Alaska.
He pauses from his task, removes a flask from his pocket, unscrews the top, and lifts the container skyward. “Cheers to the youth. It’s wasted on the dumb.” He throws back a long gulp.
My brows pop high. This explains the alcohol cloud surrounding him, his bloodshot eyes, the messy nest of gray hair, and the fact that he resembles a bear awoken from hibernation, rather than a functioning human. In a word, he’s trashed.
He rises and teeters. I maneuver from his path like he’s a wild animal. He passes and beelines for the front door.
“Everything’s fixed,” he slurs.
“What about these tools?”
“Evan. Useless. Be up directly. I love muumuus.”
Mr. Gusterson pauses before leaving. He motions me forward with a wobble. As if this movement may send him toppling over, he steadies himself with one hand anchored to the door.
“Come here,” he says.
I take precarious steps in his direction. Even in his intoxicated state, he must sense my hesitation because he waves harder, his hand gestures quicker. When I close in, he latches his boney fingers over my shoulder and leans near.
“A secret,” he says.
I wince at his breath.
He places a single finger to his lips with a shhh noise and confides, “He’s lying.”
“Who?” But I have a sinking suspicion.
He steps back, releasing me, and waves his index finger, pointing. He continues, “That’s a freebee. No need to take off your top, kid.”
Feeling dirty at the memory of being topless in front of him, I wrap my arms over my chest and step back. Conversely, Mr. Gusterson seems pleased with himself as he zigzags across the hall and disappears into his apartment.
I stand frozen, staring at his closed door. I’m transfixed by this unusual encounter. I shouldn’t care about a mysterious secret from a drunken man I’ve never properly met, but I do. What could Evan be lying about, if we’re even talking about him?
Determined to find out, and perhaps to have a reason to see him again, I pack the tools into the toolbox, latch the top, and lug it down the stairs to his apartment. Apparently, Evan’s back from wherever he’s been hiding. As proof, the UPS notices are gone.
I knock three times. Footsteps stomp across the floor to the door. A shadow crosses the peephole where someone’s studying me from the other side. The door creaks open with a whoosh and Evan appears. Shirtless. Of course.
A bead of sweat dribbles between his defined pecs. It travels the contouring ripples of his abs, down his navel, and beneath the waistband of his lacrosse shorts. They sit dangerously low and snug across his sculpted hips. I attempt to swallow but it refuses to move within my tightening throat.
Ten Thousand Points of Light Page 12