by Kally Ash
When they were finally both buckled in, John said, "I hope you don't mind a long drive."
"Why?" Beau asked slowly. "Where are we going?"
"I'm on the guest list for a club in West Hollywood—Temptation."
Beau whistled. "How'd you manage that?"
John grinned like the cat that got the cream. "My firm designed the place."
"You didn't tell me that."
He shrugged. "It wasn't important. Your mom was your priority."
6
The bar was getting slammed. It was Saturday night. There were at least three birthday groups, two stag nights and one bachelorette party. Evangeline pulled four beers from the fridge and removed the tops.
"Twenty-four," she told the guy who'd ordered them. He handed over a fifty and told her to keep the change. She put what was left in the jar beside the till and served the next customer. It was a woman in a low-cut dress. She looked down her nose at Evangeline, and she guessed that was the only downside to owning the most popular club in California—the clientele were all so rich, dropping a grand on drinks in one night wasn't even a big deal.
"Six dirty martinis," she said, not bothering to look Evangeline in the eye. Instead, she was looking at her reflection in the mirrored surface behind the bar.
Evangeline rolled her eyes. Dumping in some ice first, she measured out the spirits and poured them into three Boston shakers, then got to work. She transferred the martinis into the six waiting glasses and began putting them onto the bar top.
"That's one-ten."
Wiping her hands, she waited for the obscenely rich woman to drop her black AMEX onto the bar then ran it through the machine.
"Have someone bring them over to my table," the woman said, sliding the card back into her Gucci purse.
"We don't do table service here. Sorry," she replied, unapologetically.
With a theatrical sigh, she dropped a fifty-dollar bill onto the bar. "Just bring them over," she said, then sauntered off.
Evangeline bit her tongue to stop herself from telling the woman where to go. Instead, she called over one of the junior bar staff and handed him the fifty. Pointing to the drinks, she said, "Take them to that table over there."
"What was that about?" Max asked, appearing from around the corner of the bar.
She pushed the bangs from her face. "Just another one of Hollywood's finest," she replied dryly.
He laughed. "You shouldn't let them get to you."
"It's kind of hard not to when they wave their wealth in front of you like that."
He wandered off to the other end of the bar with a small chuckle. She was glad he found them so amusing. She hadn't grown up with money. Her formative years had been tough, but she'd made it out the other side with her morals and integrity intact.
She turned to serve her next customer. "What can I get—”
She froze, her world spinning for a minute before it equalized and she got her head back.
It couldn't be him, she thought. It couldn't be.
She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She studied the guy in front of her a little more closely. For a moment, she thought it was John—a friend of Beau's—from college.
He finally looked up at her, his eyes going wide. "Oh my god," he muttered.
It was him. "John?" she asked. He nodded. "What are you... ah, what are you doing here?"
John glanced away, scanning the crowd for someone before looking back at her. "Getting a few drinks with a friend."
"Of course," she replied hollowly. Why else would he be at a bar? She cleared her throat. "What can I get you?"
"Two s and two shots of tequila, please."
With a small nod, she reached beneath the bar to grab the beers from the fridge and removed the lids. She placed two shot glasses beside them, filling them with clear liquor.
"That's twenty-eight."
John handed her a fifty, telling her to keep the change.
"Thanks. Well, have a good night," she told him, her mind working, trying to figure out how to get out of there. The bar was too busy for her to just hide away in the back so she could avoid him.
He gave her a wide smile. "I will." He expertly picked up the drinks, gave her a nod and disappeared into the mass of bodies. She watched him go, losing sight of him for a moment before seeing who he'd come to the bar with.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It was Beau.
Her Beau.
John said something as he put the drinks down and Beau turned quickly, his gaze zeroing in on her in a heartbeat. And for just a moment, everything else—the people, the noise, the smell of expensive perfume mixing with the astringent scent of alcohol—just disappeared. It was a fucking romance movie; the only thing missing was the surging heartfelt music.
Forcing her eyes away, she focused on her next customer and the one after that and the one after that, trying her best to ignore Beau.
The fucking love of her life.
No, she corrected. He had been the love of her life. Now, he was just a memory—a memory she wanted to scrub away with a Brillo pad, then acid wash what was left into nonexistence. But as she let the rhythm of working the bar swallow her up completely, she still felt his piercing blue eyes on her, studying her. When there was a lull in customers, she found her gaze gravitating toward him once more—as if her brain needed one more snapshot to remember him by.
"Are you all right, Vee?" Max asked, coming up beside her. He had a sheen of sweat on his brow, his black collared shirt sticking to his skin. "You look a little shaken up."
"I'm fine," she replied icily. "Tonight is crazy." She hoped the change of subject would be enough to throw him off the scent.
He poured a double shot of vodka into a glass and made up the difference with soda water. "It is. I overheard one group of women talking about this being one of their friends' divorce party."
"Is that a thing?" Evangeline pulled two beers from the fridge and removed the lids.
Max shrugged. "Apparently." To his customer, he said, "That'll be twenty."
"It seems kind of sad to be celebrating the end of a marriage, though," she replied.
He shrugged again. "Some people just don't think of marriage in the same way as our parents and grandparents did."
Without permission, her eyes darted over to where Beau was sitting. As if sensing her, he turned his head in the direction of the bar.
Shit.
She turned to her next customer, feeling self-conscious the entire time. Beau had always had that effect on her. Her skin felt too hot and too cold at the same time, and her whole body tingled whenever he looked at her. She guessed some things hadn't changed.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Max asked her again once she'd finished with her customer.
"I'm fine," she said softly. "Why do you ask?"
Max glanced over in Beau's direction. "Did that guy give you any trouble? Need me to throw him out?"
If only you knew, she thought. "No. It's fine." He rose a brow in question and she huffed. "Forget about it, Max."
She moved away from him, getting lost in the noise of the bar and the smells of spilled spirits. The next time she had a chance to breathe, she leaned back against the bar and checked her watch. It was closing in on two AM. The crowd was thinning out—the bachelor and bachelorette parties had all moved on to bigger and better things, and all that was left were the single twentysomethings and the divorced thirtysomethings. It was an interesting demographic.
She figured she might as well try to get a little bit of work done now that things had slowed down.
"I'm heading back to the office," she told Max as she passed. She cleared the bar, but something made her stop and turn her head.
7
Beau could hardly believe it. As he stood there in front of Evangeline, he wanted to throw his arms around her and tell her how happy he was to see her. Instead, all he did was wait. Her expression was unreadable, but he knew Evangeline. He knew her like the back of his ha
nd. She was processing everything. Right at this minute, she was processing seeing him, wondering how it was possible. She was wondering what he was doing there...
Crack!
Beau put a hand to his cheek and rubbed. "Fuck. What was that for, Vee?"
Without a word, she whirled around and stalked away. He stood there for a moment, rubbing at his cheek before finding the men's room. After inspecting the faint handprint Vee had left on his cheek, he relieved himself, then went back out to find John.
His best friend took one look at his face and lowered his drink back down to the table. "It wasn't a happy reunion then?" he drawled.
"It's still visible?" he asked.
"Yep. What the hell did you say to her?"
"Nothing," he replied, touching his cheek. "I didn't say a damn thing to her and she slapped me."
"Maybe she slapped you because you didn't say a damn thing to her?" John shot back with a raised brow.
Beau downed the rest of his drink. "Fuck, I'm going to need another one." He stood up and went to the bar, hoping for another glimpse of Evangeline.
"Last call, buddy, what are you having?" the guy behind the bar said.
"Two shots of tequila and a Bud."
"You got it." The bartender stepped away and started pouring.
"Max, I—" someone started to say. Beau turned around, feeling his heart slam against his rib cage as his heart registered who it was before his brain had the chance.
"Shit," Evangeline finished viciously. Her eyes darted back to the bartender, Max. "I was just going to ask you to come out back for a minute. I need a second opinion on something."
"Sure, Vee," Max replied. "I'll just finish up here."
Evangeline nodded at him, then looked at Beau. Her eyes darted to his mouth for a moment before she turned around and went back the way she'd come.
"That'll be forty-two."
Beau handed over the last of his cash then did both shots before taking the beer back to the table.
"Are you ready to go after that one?" his friend asked, gesturing to the drink in Beau's hand.
Was he done with the noise and the smell of sweat and overpowering perfume? Fuck yeah, he was. Was he done with the possibility of seeing Vee again? Hell no, but grudgingly, he nodded. As he put the now empty bottle back onto the table, he glanced over his shoulder, searching for any sign of Evangeline.
But she was a ghost.
"Let's go."
They made their way to the door, and Beau couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. His eyes went to the bar, and there she was, staring at him, her expression still as unreadable as before.
"She hasn't changed," John said from beside him.
Beau sighed. "I know." He touched his cheek and Evangeline's eyes narrowed. Their gazes met and for that brief second, it was just her and him, the sheets of the bed pulled up over their heads, their naked bodies slick with sweat from their lovemaking.
"We should go," John said in a low voice.
"Yeah," he replied. "We should."
The freeway home was quiet and blissfully traffic-free after their drive in.
"Fuck." John's expletive was too loud in the quiet car. Beau looked over at him briefly, the darkness of the car only broken intermittently by the light of oncoming cars.
"Yeah," he agreed. Fuck was right. Tonight had been a total and complete mind-fuck. Seeing Evangeline? Christ.
Mind.
Blown.
"She looked good," John said.
"She looked amazing," he murmured under his breath. And she did. He thought she was beautiful before—back in college—but she was stunning now. How long had she been working there?
"You have to go back there to speak to her."
"Whoa, pump the brakes, John," Beau said. "I can't just go back there."
"Not now, obviously, but you need to go and speak to her. You need to find out why she shut you out in the first place."
"I doubt she wants to speak to me. In fact, after how she reacted to seeing me tonight, I highly doubt she'd have anything good to say to me."
John was silent. "You can't just let this go, Beau."
Beau glared at his friend. "What do you want me to do, John, huh?"
"At least try."
"Look, just forget about it, okay?" Beau's hand curled into a tight fist. "Forget we saw her. She clearly doesn't want to talk to me."
John grunted once then fell silent. And that was how the rest of the drive home was. Beau was quietly seething and John was trying to ignore him. By the time they got back to John's apartment, Beau had had time to think about things—about Vee and their relationship, about how she reacted to him tonight, and as John parked the car, he came to the conclusion that he couldn't not see her again.
8
Evangeline placed her keys on the table in the entranceway, shut her apartment door behind her and slumped against the wood.
"Fuck."
Perhaps not her most eloquent use of words, but Beau had always had that effect on her.
"Fuck, fuckity, fuck!"
Bang, bang, bang.
Vee looked across at her living room wall. "Sorry, Mrs. Crocker," she called. Her neighbor was damn near blind, but her sense of hearing was ridiculously good. She was also a devout Catholic and abhorred swearing just as much as she abhorred people taking the Lord's name in vain.
She stripped as she wandered into her bedroom, shucking off the smell of spilled liquor. Left only in her underwear, she flopped back onto her bed and let out a breath. She didn't want to admit she was rattled, but she was. Seeing Beau was like seeing a ghost from her past—one she thought she'd buried long ago.
Goddamnit, he'd looked good. His shoulders had broadened, his arms more defined with long, lean muscles. She hadn't wanted to notice them. She had wanted the anger that always seemed to be there to surge. It had, really... briefly. But as soon as her hand had touched his skin, she'd felt it melt away again. She'd never been able to stay angry at him for long.
God, she was tired. Normally after working a shift, she couldn't wait to get a shower and sleep it off, but she found herself too tired for even that. Instead, she just lay there, trying her best not to think about Beau.
It was Monday morning when she was jerked awake to the sound of her door buzzer.
"Fuck off," she mumbled, burying her head under her pillow.
But whoever was pushing her buzzer was pretty damn insistent.
Bang, bang, bang. Mrs. Crocker's opinion on the noise was made known, and with a groan, she sat up. Walking to the intercom on the wall by the door, she pressed the button and snarled, "What?"
"Vee? It's Max."
"Uh-huh," she replied, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.
"You said you wanted to start running in the mornings?”
Had she said that? Fuck, it was only seven AM. She buzzed him in, unlocked the door, and went to look for some clothes. By the time she got dressed, Max was standing in her living room, looking like he'd had eight hours of solid sleep. Bastard.
"You forgot, didn't you?"
"Fuck you," she replied, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
"Aren't you just rainbows and sunshine in the morning." Max's drawl was amused.
Evangeline swallowed her mouthful of water. "Fuck off."
He laughed. "Let's go. Gigi's watching Erin this morning, but she needs to go into work by nine."
She smiled to herself. Max had become so much more domesticated since Gigi had moved in. She scooped up her keys and removed her solitary house key, slipping it down into the pocket in her bra to keep it safe.
"Let's get going then."
She let Max set the pace, which was pathetic. After a mile, she overtook him and listened to him strain to catch up. After two miles, he fell behind several hundred yards and she took pity on him, slowing to a stop and waiting for him to catch up. Eventually he came to a stop in front of her, leaning both hands on the back of the bench as she stretched ou
t her legs.
"What are you running from?" he asked after he'd caught his breath.
"Nothing," she said, her voice even. "I just needed to run."
He gave her a wry smile and also began to stretch. "What have you got planned for today?"
Oh, you know the usual, she thought. Purging my memories of Beau. If only it were that easy. "I'll be going into work later."
He raised an eyebrow. "It's your day off."
"I'm also the boss, so I don't need to explain myself to you."
Max lifted his hands up defensively. "Whoa. Chill, Vee. I was just asking."
Evangeline bit her tongue and looked away. "I'm sorry," she told him softly, then looked back in his direction. "I'm being a bitch."
He put down the leg he was stretching and studied her. "Yeah, you are, but there must be a good reason for it."
"It's nothing."
His hands hitched onto his hips, and she bit her lip to stop from laughing. "I've been told I'm a good listener."
She looked at him, weighing up his offer. Despite being friends, she was still his boss, and he was still her employee. If there was anyone she should be talking to, it was Natasha.
She cleared her throat. "I'm sure you are, but maybe later." Glancing at the time, she added, "It's almost eight thirty. We should be getting back."
She waved goodbye to Max at the corner of her block, then went back to her apartment for a shower. She washed her hair as quickly as she could, hoping to catch her best friend before she got bogged down with meetings and clients.
"Vee," her friend said, her voice muffled.
"Bagel?" Evangeline asked.
"With cream cheese," Natasha replied. There was an audible swallow. "You'll never guess who Chastity is dating now."
She rolled her eyes. "You mean already."
"Same thing," Natasha said. "Anyway, you remember the guy from the bar."
"Which one," she drawled, running the towel through her hair.
"I don't know—the blond one, maybe?—anyway, she's dating him now."
