by T. K. Leigh
Once I’m certain I’ve evaded him, I break off from the crowd and walk down one of the meandering paths, mature trees shading me from the hot June sun. The sound of runners’ feet hitting the pavement is coupled with birds and the background noise of Manhattan, but there’s still a tranquility here you can’t find anywhere else.
Dogs pull their walkers along the trails, tourists stop for a picnic on a grassy area. A few locals on their lunch break sit on a bench and read. I even spy a couple having their engagement photos taken. It causes me to slow my steps, unable to look away. I had planned this very thing for Trevor and me.
I even had a list of shots I wanted our photographer to capture. Thanks to my time working for a wedding planner, I knew exactly what I wanted. Now, I stare at this couple with longing, faced with the possibility that I’ve truly lost Trevor, that this breakup may not be due to stress, as I tried to claim it was.
My legs seeming to give out as I confront this new reality, I fall onto a bench, recalling the distance that seemed to stretch between us, even when we had first moved here. I always excused his behavior, considering he was in law school. Maybe we fell out of love all those years ago, but neither of us would admit it, not wanting to prove our parents right when they warned us moving to New York together was crazy. But I remember all the happy moments we shared, too.
Like when we’d order a pizza and sit out on the fire escape to eat it, the view of the city more mesmerizing and exhilarating than any movie could be.
Like the time we got lost when trying to figure out the subway system and ended up somewhere in the Bronx. Instead of asking someone for help finding our way back, Trevor insisted we figure it out on our own. Together. And we did.
Like the way all the tension slowly rolled off his body when he’d climb into bed beside me after a long day of studying. He’d wrap his arms around me and fall asleep. In those moments, everything was worth it.
I have to believe it still is.
“You’re giving me a complex, ya know,” a voice startles me from my quiet reflection.
I snap my head to my right to see Julian helping himself to the vacant space beside me. He drapes his long arms along the back of the park bench, resting the calf of one leg on the other thigh.
“How many times are you going to run away from me, Evie?”
“Not used to a woman telling you no?”
He narrows his steely gaze on me. “I’m not used to anyone telling me no.”
Rolling my eyes, I stand. “Well, get used to it because the only answer you’ll ever get out of me is no. Have a nice day, Julian.” When I spin from him, I almost run into a group of cyclists flying by. Thankfully, their reflexes are quick and swerve out of my way, allowing me to avoid any additional embarrassment today.
“Even if I said I may have a way to help you with your predicament with your ex?” he calls out.
I halt, gradually turning to face him, tilting my head to the side. A voice in my head reminds me that I barely know this guy, so there’s only one reason he’d want to help me. But there’s something about the way he looks at me that keeps me here. A genuine affection that’s been missing from Trevor in recent days.
I place a hand on my hip, pinching my lips into a tight line. “Well, are you going to share how? Or do you hope I pick it up telepathically?”
With a smile that can only be described as panty-dropping, he gestures back to the park bench, an unspoken request for me to sit. I hesitate, but eventually acquiesce, ignoring the buzz of energy that sparks in my body as I pass him, inhaling a hint of his aroma.
Once we’re both situated, he glances at me. “You’re serious about getting back with your ex?”
“Of course!” I exclaim, indignant. “We were together twelve years. You don’t throw away twelve years overnight. He probably didn’t think he had any other option if he wanted to be taken seriously as a possible candidate for partner. All the other partners’ spouses have more serious jobs. I get that giving sex advice isn’t something to be proud of.”
He rests his forearms on his thighs, considering my words. “I believe it shows you have no problem talking about uncomfortable topics, a trait Trevor should find valuable.”
I struggle not to react to his compliment, failing miserably as heat covers my cheeks.
“So let me help you prove that to him.”
“How?”
“Date me.”
I straighten my spine, leaning farther away from him. “What?”
The expression on my face is probably akin to that of a child who prematurely learns Mommy or Daddy is actually Santa Claus. Nothing could have prepared me to hear Julian suggest we date to help me win back Trevor.
“Sorry if I sound blunt, but are you fucking crazy? I just told you I want to get back together with my ex and you ask me to date you?”
“It won’t be real.” He laughs, causing his eyes to sparkle. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh, and it’s just as hypnotic and seductive as I imagined it would be. “Just for show. To make him jealous. He’s moved on. You should make him think you’ve done the same.”
I shake my head, thinking the entire idea absurd. It reminds me of my conversation with Chloe and Nora that night at the bar when I first heard the name August Laurent. They suggested I hunt him down to do the very same thing. I was against it then. I’m still against it now.
“It would never work. The chance of running into Trevor in a city this size is slim to none. Hell, I haven’t even moved out of our apartment yet and today was the first time I’ve seen him since we broke up two weeks ago.”
He whips his head toward me, his brows pulled in. “Wait a minute. You’re still living with him?”
“Yeah.” Chewing on my lower lip, I shrug. “I figure if I don’t move out, he’ll realize how much he needs me in his life, how big of a mistake it was to walk away from me.”
Julian shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose before returning his impassioned gaze to me. “That’s exactly why you should have moved out by now. Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you’ll always be waiting for him.” He shoots to his feet and grabs my hand, tugging me off the park bench. I’m too off balance from the sudden movement to fight him. “Come with me. This appears to be a bigger task than I originally thought.”
I fight to keep up with his long strides as he leads me through the park. “Oh, really? And what makes you an expert in how to win back a boyfriend? Forgive me if I don’t see you as the romantic type.”
“You don’t think I’m romantic?”
“This shouldn’t come as a shock to you,” I argue, but am quickly cut off when he stops walking and yanks me against his hard body. Initially, I struggle in his arms, but when he leans toward me, his breath warming my neck, I melt, becoming a ball of clay in his rather capable hands. That spark is back, that unyielding rush of need filling me, urging me forward.
“You may not think I’m romantic,” he begins, his tone low and seductive. I exhale a shaky breath as my eyes roll into the back of my head, my nerve endings firing. “But if that’s the case, do you think I would have cared that you were no longer in my bed when I woke up the morning after our chance meeting?”
I stiffen, shooting my gaze to him.
“Because I did,” he continues, barely pausing for a beat. “For days, all I could think was I should have gotten your number. So I did what anyone would do in this digital age. I scoured Facebook to find you. I searched for anyone with every variation of the name Evie. Evelyn. Yvonne. Yvette. Everything remotely close to Evie, hoping I could track you down and see if…”
“If what?” Floating my eyes to his, I lose myself in deep pools of blue.
“If you feel this, too.”
His mouth inches closer to mine, the anticipation of feeling his lips on my tender flesh unhinging me in a way that erases all sense of what’s right. I’ve reverted to pure animalistic desire. No emotions. No reason. Just the urge to be satisfied.
; “Feel what?” My heart pounds violently against the walls of my chest as I brace for his kiss, praying it will be as incredible as I imagine.
“How much you want to say yes to my little proposal.” Before I have a chance to react, he pulls away, straightening his jacket, acting as if he weren’t just about to kiss me.
I’m wound tight, a bundle of sensation in desperate need of release. It doesn’t help I’ve been celibate for two weeks. It’s the longest I’ve gone without sex since I met Trevor. That’s got to be why I’m ready to agree to anything. It’s desperation. That’s it. Nothing more.
Recovering quickly, I run my hands along my dress, fixing my expression. “Your proposal is ridiculous. In order for it to work, Trevor needs to see us together.”
He passes me a sly grin. “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”
“I know who you are.” I square my shoulders. “Your name’s Julian. Not Julius.”
Bemused, he smirks. “Do you know anything else?”
“Just the fact you must have a shit-ton of money, or at least a really wealthy sugar mommy…or daddy. I’m not one to judge.”
He chuckles, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Definitely no sugar mommy…or daddy. I can assure you of that.” When his laughter wanes, he narrows his gaze on me. “Suffice it to say, Trevor will hear about us. A lot of people will. They’ll all wonder about the mystery woman on my arm. It’s summer. Party season is under way in the Hamptons.”
“The Hamptons?” I swallow hard. I’d heard stories about those parties, mostly from Chloe, but you have to know someone to get an invitation. Hell, I’ve never even been north of Jones Beach on Long Island. The Hamptons is like a different world than what I know.
“Precisely. Men are protective and territorial by nature. In his mind, he can still stake a claim over you because you haven’t moved on. Attend enough of these parties on my arm, he’ll come to believe you have moved on. If his so-called ‘ownership’ over you is threatened, he’ll realize his mistake. He’ll never do that as long as you remain in his apartment, cook and clean for him, do his laundry like the status quo hasn’t changed. It has changed. And he needs to feel that change or he’ll never admit he fucked up. Trust me on this.”
I ponder his words for a moment, something not adding up. Maybe living in New York has made me more cynical. “I find it hard to believe any guy like you would proactively want to help a woman he’s slept with get back with her ex unless he wants a repeat. So, as enlightening as this entire conversation has been, it’s over. I’m not interested in a replay.” I turn from him, my legs not moving as fast as I wish they could.
“Evie, wait!” he calls, but I ignore him, continuing down the path. Then I hear him bellow, “We never slept together!”
I come to an abrupt stop, my pulse quickening. Passersby look in our direction, a few snickers and gasps ripping through the air, but I don’t pay them much attention, too shocked by his admission.
“What did you say?” I ask over my shoulder.
He advances toward me. “We never slept together.”
“But—” I square my shoulders, fully facing him.
“But then why would you wake up in a strange man’s bed in just your bra and panties?”
I nod, still shell-shocked by this revelation.
“Because you threw up all over your damn dress… And my shoes.”
Embarrassment fills me as I close my eyes, cringing. “I did?”
“Sure did.”
“But how—”
“When I headed up to my place, I saw someone who looked alarmingly like this beautiful, charismatic woman I’d witnessed tell an entire bar about her breakup that evening. So, out of curiosity, I walked up to her. That’s when I overheard you say you were never going to drink again.”
“To which you said, ‘That’s probably a good idea.’”
He smiles. “I did. To which you responded by emptying the contents of your stomach.”
I bury my head in my hands. “Oh god. I really am never drinking again. I’m so sorry.”
His arms wrap around me…unexpected, yet comforting. I inhale a breath, my muscles relaxing at his familiar aroma. “It’s okay. We all have those nights where the only cure is bourbon or tequila. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Not the first time I’ve had someone throw up on me. And it probably won’t be the last.”
“Unless you have some sick fetish, it should be.” I tilt my head up at him. “You don’t have some weird fetish where you pay people to puke on you, do you? That’s not why you want to do this, is it?”
He chuckles as he drops his hold on me. “Certainly not. No sick fetishes here.” He raises his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
I pinch my lips. “Why do I get the feeling you were never a Boy Scout?”
“Very observant of you. I wasn’t.”
There’s a brief silence before I speak again. “So you saw me drunk on the street, then what? You decided to take care of me when the rest of the city just walked right by?”
“What can I say? I know how it feels to be overlooked, to think no one notices you. Plus, you’d just had a horrible night. The last thing you should do on your thirtieth birthday is spend it in the drunk tank at the local police precinct. I brought you back to my place to make sure you were okay, that you weren’t about to pass out and choke on your own vomit.”
“You washed my dress,” I breathe. It’s not a question.
“You probably thought the worst of me when you woke up in my bed. I considered sleeping in one of the guest rooms, but the reason I brought you to my place was to keep an eye on you. I couldn’t do that if I slept in a different room. When I woke up and you weren’t there, I panicked. I could only imagine what you must have thought, and I hated the idea of you walking around thinking we slept together. I needed to track you down and explain. That’s why I searched for every name close to Evie on Facebook. I even went to the bar I first saw you at in the hopes I could find you.”
“I haven’t been in the drinking mood after that night. Plus, once my boss told me about the possible promotion, that’s been my focus.”
“I don’t take advantage of women,” he states with determination, his jaw firm. “Particularly drunk women. I just…” He blows out a breath. “I just wanted you to know the truth.”
I stare into the distance, reflecting on this new information. No one in the city cares about each other. It’s always every man for himself. The idea that Julian took it upon himself to make sure I was okay has me rethinking my original assumption.
“You really are a good guy,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
“I’m no saint, but I try to be a decent human being. Okay?”
“Okay.” It’s all I can manage to say as relief fills me. Trevor’s still my number three. There’s no number four. But now the idea of there being a number four doesn’t seem to be the apocalyptic event I once believed it to be. For two weeks, I’d carried on like there was a number four. There were no flooding rains requiring me to build an arc. No swarm of locusts. No great famine, apart from that between my legs. Life went on. And I get the feeling it will continue to go on even if there were to be a number four.
“So, what do you say?” He runs a hand through his hair, drawing my attention back to him. “Want to be my fake girlfriend?”
To anyone else, I’m sure it sounds like a great offer. Pretend to date some ridiculously good-looking, presumably wealthy man who looks incredible in a suit. But it’s not that easy for me. Even though Trevor’s moved on, there’s still a level of guilt.
“I apologize if I appear skeptical, but I just don’t see what you get out of this.”
“Simple. I get a seat at the table.”
I scrunch my brows together. “Excuse me?”
“Listen…” He licks his lips. “I didn’t always have money. Because of that, there are a few prominent people in my circle who are bitter about my windfall. I’m typically relegated to the ‘kid’s table’,
so to speak. Old money versus found money kind of thing. A dear friend who’s been around this life for more years than she cares to admit suggested a girlfriend might help. Showing up at many of these events as a bachelor could be working against me. I’m in the middle of a few huge projects for my company, but there’s a lot of bureaucratic red tape I need to cut through to get them off the ground. Some of the nation’s most powerful people summer in the Hamptons.”
“And if they see you’re in a committed relationship and aren’t just some bachelor playboy pissing away his fortune, they’ll take you more seriously.”
He nods. “Like I said, it’ll be a win-win. I can conduct some much-needed business. You can make Trevor so jealous that he’ll come crawling back to you.”
I chew on my bottom lip, considering his offer. Julian certainly makes it sound appealing. But he doesn’t know Trevor like I do. He’s always had an uncanny ability to weed through the bullshit, which is why he’s one hell of an attorney, even for only being thirty. He’ll see through this bullshit, too. When he does, it will only reaffirm his reasons for breaking up with me in the first place — that I don’t take anything in life seriously enough.
“I really do appreciate the offer, but Trevor will see right through our game in a flash. It will never work. I’m sorry. But I’m sure you can find someone else to help you.” I lock eyes with him, feeling a twinge of guilt at the disappointment crossing his brow. “Goodbye, Julian.”
When I turn from him, a part of me hopes he’ll call my name once more. He never does.
Chapter Ten
“I can’t believe you’re actually trying to figure out who August Laurent is,” Nora says Friday afternoon as we unpack all the boxes containing possessions from my former life.
After my run-in with Julian in Central Park yesterday, I went back to the apartment I shared with Trevor instead of heading to the office. All I heard was Julian’s warning that if I kept living with him, I’d only give him the satisfaction of knowing I’ll always be around and waiting. I refuse to do that any longer. He needs to know I’m ready to walk away, too. A part of me hoped Trevor would reach out to talk when he walked into the apartment last night and saw the stacks of boxes containing my things. He never did. So, after our weekly meeting at the magazine earlier today, I convinced Chloe to play hooky. When I told Nora of my plans, she volunteered to help, as well.