When Adam Met Evie

by Giulia Skye

  She’d relented even more, allowing herself to imagine what she’d say when she contacted him about how she’d given his money away. Would she tell him she missed him? But then she’d seen another recent photo of him, taken just a week ago, and it had turned her stomach. Needless to say, Michael Adams had looked extremely handsome in his designer tux with the equally stunning Saskia Williams on his arm.

  There’d been a lot of photos of them together recently. At restaurants and parties, or grabbing an early morning coffee as they strolled the city. He didn’t look like the Adam she had known. Probably because he wasn’t.

  “He’s just someone I traveled with for a few weeks.”

  The way Zac was studying her told Evie he was contemplating what she wasn’t telling him. “Are you still together?”

  “No. It’s over.”

  She took another sip of her latte, and in the same way that she knew Zac was happy, he knew the same wasn’t true about her. “Well, he sounds like a complete dickhead.”

  Evie choked on her coffee, tasting caffeine up her nose.

  “What?” Zac said. “He does sound like a dickhead. If he wasn’t, he’d still be with you.”

  Hysteria bubbled over and she burst out laughing, wave after wave bringing tears to her eyes. She wiped them with a coffee-stained tissue.

  “Oh, Zac.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “He used to say exactly the same thing about you.”

  An hour later, Evie sat on her train home, which was crawling down the tracks thanks to some earlier hold up. They slowed, then halted again. Stop. Start. Stop. The man next to her huffed and she found herself wondering if Michael Adams had ever sat on a delayed, overcrowded train after a hard day in the office.

  She ended up telling Zac as much as she could about him without revealing who he really was, not wanting to compromise the nondisclosure she’d signed. She hadn’t wanted to risk it even though she knew he’d keep the secret—just like she’d known all along he hadn’t had an affair with Teagan.

  Evie smiled thinking of the horror on his face when she’d asked him. It was so Zac. But then her smile faded, the gnaw of guilt that had been increasing ever since she’d left Darwin finally breaking through.

  I’ve never felt like this before … It’s more than just a passing fling.

  If she had believed Zac, why hadn’t she believed Adam?

  Evie loved Adam. Adam loved Evie. But she had left him. She’d overlooked his love that last night, and she was overlooking his love now, so focused instead on trawling the internet for something to make her hate him. For some tangible proof that what they’d had in the Kimberleys was just one big fat lie.

  CHAPTER 37

  “Howie, relax.”

  “Oh no, Mikey. You have got to be kidding me.”

  Michael Adams held his phone close to his ear as he sidestepped a river of people on the cramped city sidewalk. He ducked down an alleyway where an icy gust of wind had him pulling the lapels of his blazer up with this free hand. It was mid-February and he’d known the days would be crisp and cold here, even though the low temperature today was at odds with the bright blue afternoon sky.

  “Where the hell are you this time?”

  “On vacation.”

  “You bag of shit.”

  “C’mon, Howie. You’ve read the news. I’m in hiding, nursing my broken heart.”

  “You planned this, didn’t you? I knew something was up when I saw Josh Brennan’s publicist at the Strive launch last week. Is that when you concocted this little scheme of yours?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Howie went nuts. “Did you fucking pay Josh Brennan to punch you the other night?”

  “He was in a jealous rage. Didn’t you see the headlines? He’s still madly in love with Saskia.” Michael held the phone away from his ear as Howie ripped out a string of curses and demands. “No, Howie, I’m not coming back. Not just yet anyway. I’m lying low for a few weeks. The Strive deal is over now and Saskia can bask in the light of her own popularity again. I’m done, Howie. She’s got what she wants.”

  “At your expense.”

  Michael turned his back to the wind. Welcome to the club, she’d said, and he’d been a breath away from telling her to screw herself—and her fucking club—but instead of storming off, starting another Twitter war or boarding another flight somewhere vast and remote, he’d channeled that rage into finding a solution. Sucking it up was easy. Running away was even easier. But finding a solution to the problem took effort. A lot of effort.

  And in his case, a lot of money too. He’d sold his apartment in a quick sale to pay Josh Brennan’s fee—whom Michael had learned wasn’t as popular in Hollywood as Saskia had made out—and the money he’d earned from the Strive campaign had been spent on lawyers, divorce settlements, and a super injunction ensuring Saskia would leave him, Evie, and her family alone.

  All he had left now were his clothes, his medals and his Cadillac Escalade, currently parked at Aunt Flo’s in Edmonton. Michael had driven there the moment the security staff at Valentino’s had pulled him away from Josh’s flying, carefully staged, fists. He’d given Saskia the public showdown of her dreams then fled the scene, leaving the publicist he’d hired last week to deal with the fallout.

  “So where are you going on vacation this time?” Howie asked.

  “Didn’t my father tell you?”

  Howie sighed. A deep surrender of a sigh, as if he’d given up second-guessing what his biggest client was doing with his life. “Your father’s in Hawaii with CTV’s new weathercaster.”

  Right. Of course he was. Michael had lost track. “I guess he had other things on his mind.”

  “And may I ask when you’ll return?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Some unfinished business.”

  A young assistant wearing a denim skirt and black furry boots ushered Michael through the open-concept office where Evie worked. He’d overdone it with his tailored fine-knit wool suit, he thought. The aftershave too. But he strode on, shoulders back. Surprisingly nervous.

  This meant something. Evie meant something. And he was here to find out if he still meant something to her.

  The assistant led him to the far side of the building where a meeting room looked out across the tops of red buses, inching toward the lights of London’s busy Oxford Circus. He’d taken a while, wading through the crowded sidewalks to get here, but he was still early and surprised to see Evie in the room, sitting at the long table already typing into a laptop. Waiting for him. Not that she knew it.

  “Mr. Smith is here, Evie.”

  She looked up and her face froze halfway to a smile.

  “Please let me know if you need anything,” the assistant said, then closed the door behind her.

  Michael gazed down at the woman he loved. Her hair was shorter now. It fell at her shoulders in smooth waves held away from her face by a shiny black clip, prim and proper, though he knew she could be anything but. He remembered how it had fallen long and wet and tangled around her breasts as they’d kissed in a freshwater pool. She wore makeup, too, now, polishing the ruddiness of the outdoors with soft, even tones; her eyelashes curled like butterfly wings, extra-long and dark. He’d been thinking about this moment for weeks but despite running this scene in his head a million times before, all he could think to say was, “Hey.”

  Evie gasped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Her eyes were wide with shock and horror. He tried not to let that bother him, but this was harder than he’d hoped it would be. “On the surface? I’m looking for taxation advice.”

  “And under the surface?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “How did you find me?”

  He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “I may have broken several priva
cy laws.” Her mouth dropped open a little more. “Just kidding.” Sort of. He’d paid for a private investigator the moment Brandon had called to tell him she’d deposited her check, but seeing as this meeting wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped, he thought it best not to mention it just yet. “I’ve missed you.”

  “You need to leave,” she hissed. “You can’t muck around here. You can’t lie and pretend to be someone else here. This is where I work.”

  His nerves gave way to a nip of disappointment. Thousands of miles away in his apartment, this idea had made perfect sense but now, he wasn’t so sure he’d done the right thing.

  “I know this is a total shock, but I thought this would be better than turning up at your mom’s house.” He helped himself to a chair across from her. “I’ve got a job in London,” he began. “I have a three-month gig, training the next generation of British Olympic swimmers. Also, I’ve set up that fitness company I told you about, and I eventually want to bring something similar to the UK. So you see, I really do need your advice.”

  He could practically hear the conflict in her mind, an internal debate whether or not he was telling the truth. Eventually, she turned to her laptop.

  “Okay, then. Let’s hear it.” Evie poised her fingers over the keyboard. “To give you the most informed taxation advice, I’ll need to take a few details.” She tapped and clicked. “Let’s start with your name. Or is that too difficult a question for you?”

  “You know my name, Evie. You know everything about me.”

  “Yes, it’s made for some very interesting reading.”

  “I’m not talking about the shit on the internet.”

  “So you weren’t a famous Olympian and married when you were in Australia?”

  “I’m talking about really knowing who I am. Me, Evie. It’s me.”

  “Please—”

  “Cut through all the bullshit. All the things you may have read about me and Saskia. It’s not real. It never has been. And, now we’re officially divorced. Please, can we talk? I’ve been desperate to explain since that night.”

  “It was too late then, it’s too late now.”

  “No. No, it isn’t.” He shook his head.

  “Please.” Evie pushed her chair back and stood. “Don’t make me throw you out in front of all my colleagues.”

  Michael stared at her, feeling her pain. Feeling her solid resolve not to see that he was here, for her. He’d been a fool to think he could just turn up, that this alone would make her see how much he still loved her. That she would run into his arms like he wanted to run into hers. Instead, she was close to tears and wanting him out.

  He rubbed at the tight spot near his temples. “I’m sorry.” He’d handled it all wrong. Again. “This was a bad idea.” She didn’t want him here, at her job. He should respect that. He stood. “Thank you for your time, Miss Blake.”

  And then he walked away.

  Evie watched him stride out of her office, the scent of his aftershave clinging to the air. She’d had so many dreams of seeing him again, but never like this—watching him disappear from her sight. No backward glance. No apology.

  She was shaking, sick and dizzy, trying to comprehend that he’d been here, wanting to see her. Ayesha, the office assistant, burst in with a wad of papers in her hand and a girlish gleam in her eyes.

  “Who was that?”

  Ah. That question again. “That was Mr. Smith.” Evie stared at her laptop screen. She was disintegrating, shriveling up with shock and pain. Damn Adam—or whatever the fuck his name was. Her next client would be here soon, and she had to gather her remaining strength to focus and carry on. “Are those Mr. Patel’s VAT figures in your hand?”

  Ayesha made a purring noise. “He looks like James Bond.”

  “Who, Mr. Patel?”

  Ayesha giggled. “No. The hot American who was just here.”

  “Actually, he’s Canadian.” Not that it mattered. Evie took the printouts from Ayesha. Her fingers unable to clasp and hold. She glanced at the time on her screen, grateful that she’d soon be going home. Somehow, she composed herself enough to deal with Mr. Patel then spent the rest of the day reviewing figures and forecasts, getting lost in numbers and strategies, right answers and wrong. Everything adding up nicely on her spreadsheet, unlike the scrambled mess of her heart and mind.

  What the hell was he doing turning up like that? Mr. Smith, indeed. Bloody idiot.

  Eventually, her workday came to an end and Evie grabbed her bag and coat, said goodbye to her colleagues, and burst out into the crisp evening air. She joined the throng of people making their way down Regent Street toward Piccadilly, often stepping out onto the road to overtake slow walkers, even though she wasn’t in her usual hurry to make her train from Charing Cross.

  Evie didn’t want to go back home just yet and have to face her mum and tell her all about this. She’d go shopping instead. Maybe call a few friends and see who was around to meet up. Go for a coffee and a slice of cake. A few glasses of wine. Anything to forget that Michael Adams had tracked her down and had come looking for her. Anything to avoid asking herself what it all meant.

  Halfway down Regent Street, she ran out of air and her limbs had trouble moving through space. She’d been zapped and stung, her movements as unsteady as her nerves.

  He’d said, I’ve missed you.

  And, God, she missed him, too, deeply regretting pushing him out of her office when all she’d wanted to do was run into his arms.

  The tears started when she reached the statue of Eros. Under the flashing lights of Piccadilly Circus, she dodged her way through a line of people who’d stopped to watch a troupe of street performers dancing to a beatboxer’s rap song.

  Her head thumped with the music, each and every nerve vibrating. Evie ran, ducking into the quiet side streets off Haymarket where she tried to steady her breathing. Tried to take control of her tears.

  She hadn’t stopped loving him. She knew it now—she could no longer disguise it as anger and betrayal. Could no longer use the lies he’d told her as a barrier to how she truly felt. Was it weak of her to want him back?

  In Trafalgar Square, Nelson’s Column stood illuminated against the blackened sky. Evie stood at the top of the wide stone stairs next to the fourth plinth. Across the road, the red and white flags of Canada House waved in the wind. Tears streamed down her face.

  Someone handed her a tissue.

  “Please don’t cry, Evie.”

  Undone by the sound of his voice, she threw herself against him. His arms caught her, locking her tight against his body.

  “You came back for me. I’m so happy you came back.” She sobbed against his chest, her tears seeping into his crisp cotton shirt. “I tried to forget you. I tried to hate you.” All the things she’d read about him hadn’t added up to the man she’d known and loved in the outback, and when things didn’t add up in Evie’s world it usually meant they were wrong.

  And yet, now she was back in his arms, everything felt so right.

  After leaving Evie’s office, Michael had gone straight to the café across the street, keeping watch on the door until she walked through it, thinking how the pain he’d seen in her eyes mirrored his own. And that could only mean one thing.

  She still cared.

  Michael held her close to his chest now, her hot tears watering his soul.

  She hiccupped. “You followed me.”

  “Always.” He kissed the top of her head. Out the corner of his eye, he caught the colors of the Canadian flag, and the noise of the city traffic morphed into a cheering crowd, and with Evie in his arms, Michael felt like he’d won gold, all the golds in the world—only a million times better. He pressed his face against her hair. “You talked about loving me, but that last night in Australia… I needed you.”

  “I ran. I’m sorry.” She started to cry again. “The man
I loved became a complete stranger and I ran.”

  He hushed her. “The man you love is right here. The man you love has been going crazy without you.” Easing her away from his chest, he tilted her face to his. “And I’m glad you ran that night. I’m so glad because I deserved it and it made me realize I couldn’t bail anymore. I’ve learned to fight for what I want, Evie, and I want you.”

  Michael took a deep breath. Evie was staring at him, her eyes wet and waiting. This was it. He was here, himself, at last. Exposed and set wide-open before her. Her X-ray vision had nothing to see past anymore.

  “I screwed up, Evie, and I’m here to tell you I’m sorry. Truly, deeply sorry.”

  Please say you’ll forgive me. Please say you still love me.

  And then he saw it, the change in the way she looked at him. Forgiveness. Acceptance. She loved him and trusted him. He knew it. He could feel it. Evie didn’t have to say it because it was there, in her eyes. Two brilliant windows inviting him into her world. Their world.

  Succumbing to the very thing he needed to keep alive, Michael bent his head and kissed her. A soft kiss that swiftly turned hungry. When they came apart, she buried her face into his neck and he held on tight.

  “Remember that first night in Derby when you said we never introduced ourselves?” He felt her nod, just below his ear. “So … what’s your name?”

  She gazed up at him. “Evelyn, but everyone calls me Evie.” Her fingers trailed over his chest, over the damp patch her tears had made on his shirt. “And yours?”

  “Michael.”

  “Michael?” She scrunched up her nose. “I don’t like it.”

  “Too bad.” He laughed. “I’m done changing it.” Taking her hand, like he’d done so many times before on dusty outback trails, he led her down the stone steps toward the fountains. “Do you think there’s a chance you might get used to it?”