She hated it, but didn’t know how to stop it from being true.
The one saving grace was that nobody knew. Not her friends. Not her parents. Not even a stranger on the street. No one. She refused to even write his name in her journal for fear someone would discover the truth.
She hid her feelings well. She never reacted. Always played it cool. And no one had ever guessed. In the long list of humiliations she’d suffered at the hands of Evan Donovan, this wouldn’t be one of them.
This secret would follow her to the grave.
Chapter Two
Six months later
The expansive, messy desk separated Penelope from her boss and friend, and as he talked on the phone, she sat and tapped her high heel on the carpet, her one concession to fidgeting when what she really wanted was to pace around his office like a madwoman. Her brow creased in concern as she listened to Shane talk to his mom.
Things were bad. These conversations were becoming a daily occurrence.
While he talked, Penelope carried on a mental conversation to remind herself that this crisis was none of her business. That it had nothing to do with her. That, despite her closeness to the Donovans, she was not, in fact, family.
“I’ve tried,” Shane said, tone beyond frustrated as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what else to do, Mom.”
Penelope fiddled with the cover of her iPad and tried to distance herself, but it was impossible. Not when the subject matter was the man she couldn’t forget. Or the deep depression that seemed to have taken ahold of Evan, and wouldn’t let go.
Four months ago, he’d taken a hard hit that ended in a severe concussion.
It had been a home game against Minnesota. Penelope had watched, horrified, as he’d gone down. It happened so quickly. One second his body had arched, stretched gracefully into the air as he caught the ball for the winning touchdown, the next he’d been tackled midair by an overzealous rookie. When the play had been called, Evan hadn’t gotten up. An unnatural hush fell over the stadium as the team doctors attempted to revive him. Penelope had sat glued to her screen, her heart in her throat, as he’d been wheeled off the field unconscious.
When he’d come to, he’d been told his days of playing football were over. That he couldn’t risk one more bad hit.
Those first couple of nights had been rough, for everyone. While Penelope fought the urge to sneak into the hospital to see him, she’d soothed her need to take action by caring for the rest of the Donovans the best she could.
She’d handled everything for Shane, managing and rearranging his schedule, talking to clients, and handing out tasks to the executive team so he could focus on his family. She’d offered Maddie a shoulder to cry on and told her everything was going to be all right. She’d made Mrs. Donovan chicken noodle soup, and had a service go clean her house. Privately, though, she’d been distressed right along with them as Evan sank deeper and deeper into his depression.
“Okay, I’ll try again,” Shane said, pulling Penelope from her thoughts. “I will.” Pause. “I’ll do my best.” Longer pause. “He’s an adult, Mom, I can’t force him.”
Penelope had overheard many of these conversations between Shane and members of his family and she felt horrible for all of them, but Shane in particular. This was one problem he couldn’t fix and it was eating him up inside.
“Yeah, Mom, I know.” Shane looked at her with pleading eyes, but there was nothing Penelope could do. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to him again and let you know.”
Shane hung up the phone and blew out a breath. “Fuck.”
Penelope stood, walking over to the cabinet to pull out the emergency bottle of Advil, she made sure his admin kept stocked in his office. She shook out three, poured a glass of water, and returned to Shane with an outstretched palm. “Here, take these.”
He didn’t argue, popping the pills and downing them with a large gulp.
When she’d graduated from college she’d known she wanted to work at the Donovan Corporation, which, at the time, was a fledgling company. Shane wouldn’t hear of it, but she’d hounded him until he finally relented, attempting to scare her off by giving her the job as his assistant.
It hadn’t worked.
She’d labored tirelessly to prove herself until her position had grown in both scope and responsibility. Now as COO she truly was his right-hand man. She ran all the operations of the company, but she’d never gotten out of the habit of looking after him. After all these years together, he trusted her more than anyone else, and they were more friends than boss and employee. He took care of everyone, and she took care of him.
He put down the water glass. “Thanks.”
Penelope sat back down. Don’t ask. She asked anyway. She needed information. “Evan?”
Shane nodded, his green eyes bloodshot after the long day. “I don’t know what they want me to do, Pen.”
In sympathy, Penelope frowned. “You saved them once, they want you to save them again.”
After his father’s death, Shane had worked his ass off to make ends meet and save his family from financial ruin. He’d worked tirelessly until he’d built his company into one of the largest commercial real-estate firms in Chicago. Now he was rich and powerful, with a connected wife and influence all over the city, but he was powerless to help his brother.
And Shane didn’t do well with powerless.
“I’ve tried everything I can think of.” Shane shook his head. “I’ve tried being nice, tried kicking his ass, brought therapists to him, but nothing penetrates.”
“How long has it been since he’s left his apartment?” Penelope understood what the game meant to Evan. Once upon a time they’d talked extensively, and she knew football was the only thing in this world he cared about. It was his one true love.
And now that it was over, he couldn’t handle it.
“Don’t know,” Shane said. “A while. Last three times I saw him he was dead drunk. I don’t know what to do. It’s killing my mom.”
Penelope nodded. “It’s tearing up Maddie too. She hoped to make progress when she came down last weekend, but it didn’t work.”
“James has tried too, and you know if anyone can take care of business it’s him, but it fell on deaf ears.” Shane sighed. “I’m at a loss. When my dad died Evan was still underage. I had some control over what he did. Although he sure as shit doesn’t act like it, he’s a grown adult, and it’s out of my hands.” He pointed at the phone. “But they won’t accept that.”
“You can’t save Evan,” she said, stating what he already knew, but it was important for him to understand. “You can only hope he sees the light.”
Shane swiveled in his chair. “I could handle rage. But he’s just despondent and unresponsive. When you talk to him, it’s like he’s staring right through you. It’s scary as hell.”
“I’m sure he’ll come through this.” The words rang as hollow as she felt. The truth was, she didn’t know. If he chose to give up, there wasn’t anything anyone could do. He had money and resources, so there was no reason he couldn’t hole up in his condo and refuse to come out. He didn’t have to worry about paying his bills or putting food on the table to propel him out of bed in the morning.
Penelope understood him well enough to know that was part of the problem. Evan needed purpose; he just believed football was the only way he could achieve that.
The intercom rang and Shane glared at it. “My five o’clock. You take off. Enjoy the sunshine. And that’s an order.”
Penelope smiled, and jumped up. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
Shane laughed and she returned to her office, at least partially appeased that she’d lightened his mood, if only for a brief minute. She sat down at her desk and opened her e-mail to return any messages that couldn’t wait until tomorrow, but her eyes glazed over as soon as she started reading, unable to stop thinking about Evan.
Something had to push him out of his apathy. It was killing his family.
And it was killing him.
Penelope nibbled on her bottom lip, an impossible idea stirring in her mind.
He needed a push, and she knew him, in some ways better than anyone. Could she help? Once she would have been certain of her power to persuade him, but that had been a long time ago.
It wasn’t her business. He wouldn’t welcome the intrusion. Hell, he’d probably throw her out.
But the Donovans needed a long shot and maybe she was it.
* * *
Evan Donovan punched the end button on his phone and wished for the old days when he could slam the receiver into the cradle.
It had been his mom. Crying. Again.
God, he was such an asshole. He didn’t want to make her cry, but they wouldn’t stop calling. And all he wanted was for them to fucking stop. His so-called friends had gotten the hint and left him alone; why couldn’t they do the same? It was the downfall of having a close-knit family; they were relentless in their attempts to pull him from a depression he only wanted to sink into.
Having given up drinking from a glass a couple of days ago, he took a long pull off his bottle of whiskey.
They didn’t understand. Nobody understood. To them, it was just a game. If he couldn’t play, nobody died. Nobody got hurt. In fact, he’d already been replaced by the rookie who had nipped at his heels all season. His career was over and the game had gone on without him.
The world hadn’t come to an end for anyone but him.
He had no idea what to do now. Football was all he’d ever been good at.
He wasn’t smart like James. Didn’t have killer instincts like Shane. He wasn’t a survivor like Maddie. The only thing he did in life was play ball. It had defined him for so long he had no clue who he was without it.
When his dad died, football had been the grounding force of his life. It had become his distraction. His drug of choice. It was how he’d medicated through his father’s death, his sister’s coma, and his family’s desperation. It was how he’d numbed the pain and fixed everything that was fucked up and broken about him. The game had been his salvation, his religion.
And now it was gone.
The worst part was, he’d known the hit would be a bad one. Had seen the blood in the overzealous player’s eyes, as he’d come barreling toward him. Evan had a choice, and he’d chosen the touchdown.
It had been a mistake. And now his entire life had been fucked because of it. So, like any good addict, he’d turned to a new drug. Whiskey.
His new religion.
He sat in his apartment, got drunk, played video games and passed out. It kept him numb and mean, and pushed everyone away, which was exactly what he wanted.
Only his family refused to leave him be. They just kept coming, forcing him to deal with the outside world and his lack of a place in it.
The door buzzer rang and he growled. He hit the button on his phone to quell the insistent noise, too shrill in his head. “I don’t want visitors, Carl.”
A refined, disembodied voice came over the line. The doorman’s inflection never changed, no matter how surly Evan became. “It’s a delivery, sir. From Mr. Shane Donovan.”
He snarled. His oldest brother had appointed himself as Evan’s father figure when their dad died, and had been riding his ass ever since. “They can leave it at the desk, I’ll get it later.”
Shane—or maybe his wife, Cecilia—had taken to sending over food for fear he’d starve.
There was a long pause before Carl came back over the line. “The woman says you have to sign for it.”
“Sign my name,” Evan said and hung up.
A second later the phone rang again. “Apologies, Mr. Donovan, but the signature must be yours.”
Evan sighed. If he didn’t live in a high-rise penthouse he wouldn’t have to deal with a doorman. Maybe he should move someplace nobody knew him. “Send them up, the door’s open.”
He grumbled, shifting in the chair that now had a permanent imprint of his ass and taking a swig from the bottle. Maybe he’d disappear for a while to some remote place in upper Wisconsin or Michigan, where no one would bother him. While he contemplated his options as a recluse, the door pushed open and Penelope Watkins stood in front of him.
Fucking hell.
His worst nightmare come to life.
Framed in his doorway, her dark, glossy hair curved over her shoulders in a gentle wave as those killer blue eyes of hers zeroed in on him, her mouth pursed in disapproval. In a black pencil skirt with a wide black belt, high heels, and a white button-down, she managed to look both proper and lethal.
As a teenager she’d been sweet and adorable, but with age she’d grown into her looks. There was no longer anything cute about her. In fact, she was quite beautiful. A fact she seemed oblivious to. Or maybe she, unlike the women he dated, didn’t care about those kinds of superficialities.
Since the day she’d started high school, when he’d been a junior, she’d been making his cock hard, and despite the alcohol numbing his system, he stirred to life.
She was the last person on earth he wanted to see and he had no qualms about letting her know it. He pointed the bottle at the door. “Get out.”
“Hello to you too,” she said in that no-nonsense voice of hers that held the barest hint of rasp.
A rasp he knew just how to coax out.
She stepped in and closed the door.
He went from stirring to hard, and he wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Figured. His cock always had a mind of its own when it came to her. It was what had gotten him into trouble with her in the first place all those years ago.
He needed her gone. Yesterday. She was the last person he wanted in his house, witnessing the wreck he’d become. “I mean it, Penelope. Fuck. Off.”
She entered the living room and crossed her arms over her chest. “Nice language.”
Why the hell did she have to look so damn perfect?
He took a sip from the bottle and swallowed with a hiss. He was drunk as hell, and twice as mean, so he didn’t think twice about breaking the unspoken rules they’d established long ago. In his muddled brain she’d crossed the boundary, now she had to pay. “You didn’t mind my language when I was making you come.”
She hit him with that dead-on stare of hers. “Really? You’re going to go there? Not even a hello first?”
It was wrong that she looked so perfect while he sat here wrecked. He needed to ruffle all that damn composure of hers. He smirked. “I still remember the way my knuckles moved under those white cotton panties of yours while I got you off.”
Her expression didn’t even flicker as she kicked aside a bottle on the floor, before reaching down and picking up a shirt and tossing it on the couch. “Are you trying to shock me?”
He’d fired his cleaning service and the place had gone to hell. He didn’t want to be around people, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be around Penelope, who’d never had a disorganized day in her life. He sneered. “After all the things I’ve done to you, can you still get shocked?”
“That was a long time ago, Evan.”
Not so long he didn’t remember every detail. She might talk a good game, and she was very convincing in her indifference, but she didn’t fool him. She remembered. It had been too good between them. So good, all the supermodels in the world couldn’t erase the imprint she had left behind. He’d screwed some of the most beautiful women in the world in an effort to forget her, but late at night, alone, Penelope was the woman he thought of.
She picked up a pile of magazines and put them on the table next to the glass.
“Stop fucking cleaning!” he yelled. Why, after all this time, was she here?
His booming voice didn’t rattle her, and with her customary poise she came to stand in front of him. “Are you done with your temper tantrum?”
He leveled her with his meanest, trash-talking sneer. “You haven’t even begun to see my temper, little Penny.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “There�
�s not much you can do to me, is there?”
A subtle reminder he’d already inflicted enough damage, not that he’d ever forget. It’s why he stayed as far away from her as possible. And why she stayed away from him. Unspoken rules they’d agreed to long ago. If he was smart, he’d let her have her say so she’d leave, but right now common sense had no effect on him. He raised a brow. “You ever tell anyone, Pen? About all the dirty things I used to do to you?”
“Nope,” she said, her voice flippant. “Hardly seemed worth the mention.”
“Liar.” He shifted in his seat, adjusting his balls that now felt full and heavy.
Her gaze dipped, lingering where his hand rested, before flicking back up to look into his eyes. As usual, her sharp, direct gaze cut right through him, reminding him he’d never lived up to the expectations she’d set. And how the fuck could he? Once she’d acted like he was a god, when in reality he was a mere mortal. A flawed mortal who couldn’t even take a proper hit to the head without it sidelining him for good.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I didn’t come here to discuss the past.”
He took another drink, his eyes making their way leisurely over her body, remembering all too clearly how she’d felt under his hands. Way back when he was supposed to leave her alone. He’d managed to keep his hands to himself until she was sixteen. She’d been good and pure and all wrong for him, and in the end he hadn’t been able to help himself. Now, his palms practically itched to touch her again. Which was why he needed to get rid of her. “I don’t care why you’re here, I just want you to get out.”
“I’m not leaving until I’ve said my piece.”
That had always been her downfall; she had no sense of self-preservation when it came to him. “And what’s that?”
“We need to talk about your life.” Her voice calm and steady, at complete odds with his inner chaos.
“My life,” he said, anger and defensiveness fighting their way through the numbness of his brain, “is none of your concern.”
She shrugged. “True, but you’re going to listen to me anyway.”
As Good as New Page 2
