Redemption (Vincent and Eve #3)

by Jessica Ruben

  “Great!” they reply in unison, looking relieved by the change in my demeanor.

  Crouching down on the floor behind me, I hear unzipping. The tall one moves beside me, placing a flat iron, curling iron, a large round brush, and a blow dryer at the edge of my desk.

  The girls are likely around my age of twenty-six. But where they’re seemingly young and fresh and full of dreams, I’m working like a dog for a goal I’m not even sure I want anymore.

  I make a few hundred thousand dollars a year as an attorney, plus a bonus. I should feel fulfilled; after all, I worked like hell to get to this spot. But deep down, I’m unhappy. They treat me like shit here. And while I’m learning a lot, I’m not remotely interested in what I’m absorbing.

  I wanted to make it to this level in my career precisely so I could have stability and freedom—and I have it now. After going to college and graduate school with the upper-crust crowd, I yearned for this exact life of ease. Fancy dinners, beautiful clothes, and an apartment of my own. I thought I’d finally be happy but instead, there’s only emptiness.

  I stare at my computer screen, forcing myself to read while the girls prep my face for makeup and spritz my dry, but clean, hair with water.

  “Girl, you are so lucky,” she separates my thick locks into sections using a comb and clips, “to have this office! You must be so smart.”

  A cold hand spreads cream all over my face. “You’re a girl boss!”

  “We all work hard.” I try to keep my face unaffected as she preps it for makeup. “My sister does hair in New York; so trust me, I know how hard you guys run. Don’t tell her though, but New York doesn’t hold a candle to L.A. beauty.”

  “Yasss,” they exclaim, slapping each other five. “Where are you going tonight?”

  “The Kids Learning Club gala.”

  “We just did another girl for the same event. But don’t worry, you’re hotter and you’ve got the better career.”

  We all laugh, but inside, my chest sinks. I want to tell them it’s all just a façade. I’m not as happy as I seem. Instead, I just smile.

  “How do you want to do your hair? I think beach waves would suit you best. Your bone structure is perfect for that look.”

  “Oh, and a smoky eye!”

  “No,” I reply firmly. “I want to go for straight and sleek. I want both hair

  and makeup to be elegant, clean, and polished. Not too much bronzer. No sparkle.” They both nod quietly in understanding.

  The days of wild and sexy hair and makeup are firmly behind me. My New-York self is a time of life I’d prefer never existed. But somehow, the more I try to ignore the old me, the more she haunts me.

  5

  VINCENT

  Eve walks into the ballroom and my heart constricts. In a long black gown, she is a sight to behold. She’s straightened that wild hair I love. I smile with the memory of how hard she always tried to tame it down. But I always loved her exactly as she was, without all the bullshit other girls do.

  My tux fits like a glove—an overly restrictive and scratchy one. I always hated dressing like this, and it’s even more hellish now. I’ve got no patience for this shit. I lean against the darkly polished wooden bar, ordering a vodka rocks from the bartender, who won’t leave me alone. She’s already asked me if I’m an actor or a model about a hundred times. Normally, I’d be annoyed by this can’t-take-a-hint flirting. But she provides good cover from what I’m actually doing here: lurking around my ex-girlfriend.

  I turn my head as Eve steps closer to where I stand. Her dress makes her look like a mermaid; it’s off the shoulder and tight down to her thighs before flaring out. I’m in awe of her; she accomplished everything she set out to do. In prison, I wished to see this moment. Here it is.

  Eve’s head moves around as her eyes scan the room. Absentmindedly, I rub my chest, feeling my body sway toward her like a magnet. There’s a part of me waiting to see her flinch or show an emotion, as though maybe, on some level, she notices my presence.

  She smiles. God, but I missed seeing this. Watching her happiness makes me feel straight up euphoric. Following her gaze, I freeze. Her eyes are locked on a clean-cut preppy boy who is half my size. Calm settles into her demeanor. My fists automatically clench as my body registers fury—she’s mine. I move up to my toes in anger before settling myself back down.

  He takes her in his arms. Holy fuck, seeing this hurts like hell. I knew the guy existed, but nothing could prepare me for watching my woman in the arms of another man. They’re chatting and I take a minute to inspect this asshole.

  He’s sporting a navy tux that fits him too well to be rented. A white-gold Rolex Daytona watch—the same one my father wears—sits on his wrist. His hair is clean cut, his face shaven. Is this Eve’s type now?

  An old man with stark-white hair walks over to the happy couple interrupting their conversation. That boyfriend of hers stands slightly behind her, dutifully. I want to stride over and punch his lights out. Instead, I take another deep pull of my drink before grinding my teeth together.

  6

  EVE

  “Eve!” Cyrus Nazarian walks up to me wearing a perfectly fitted black suit complete with a pink silk tie and matching pocket square. After immigrating from Iran without a dollar to his name, he worked from the ground up to become one of the largest real estate investors in L.A. Just like me, he gives back.

  We kiss each other twice, once on both cheeks. As I’ve learned since living here, this is the typical Persian greeting. “I still can’t believe the new wing,” he exclaims. “I wonder if the donor is here tonight.”

  “No idea,” I shrug. “Whoever he is though, he just changed life for these kids.”

  A few months ago, during a tutor meeting at the Kids Learning Club, the president let us know about an anonymous donor who handed over a forkful of cash without any demands in return.

  “I doubt he’s from around here,” he whispers conspiratorially.

  “Yeah? Why do you say that?”

  “People in L.A. want their name up on everything. If they give a penny to even a remotely decent cause, they want public credit for it.” He lifts his glass to me. I have to admit, he has a good point. “You look drop-dead gorgeous, by the way. I’ll see you next week.”

  I turn my head around and feel my skin prickle as if I’m being watched. I shake the feeling off; seeing Vincent has clearly put me on the crazy train. Marshall steps beside me, a reminder that while Vincent is in my city, nothing has changed. I’m here at a charity event with my sweet boyfriend. He’s annoying me with his presence, but still, I’m safe.

  I move around the bar area with Marshall by my side, shifting my hands to my thighs to lift up my gown so I can walk easier. I can feel the eyes of the expensive crowd watch me, but it only makes me raise my head higher.

  Marshall’s hands gently graze my lower back and I flinch from his touch. He knows how to play the part of devoted boyfriend, but tonight, he’s making my skin crawl.

  I clear my throat, wanting to change my train of thought. “Have you started the book I gave you?”

  Last week, I lent him The Autobiography of Malcolm X as told to Alex Haley, by Malcolm X. Time Magazine recommended it as one of the most important nonfiction books of the twentieth century. And on top of that, it still reigns as one of the most important books in my life.

  “Nah. Not sure I’ll read it,” he says with a quiet chuckle.

  “But—"

  “You know how busy I am.” He squints his eyes, confused. It’s not like me to push him. Everything we do is easy and relaxed.

  Memories of Vincent and me discussing this exact book over dinner pop into my head. I push Marshall’s dirty-blond hair away from his eyes, reminding myself that any woman would be lucky to be with a man like him. Who cares if he shares my passion for reading?

  He pulls me into a soft embrace, careful not to grab too hard when he notices my sad demeanor. “Eve. You okay?”

  I force a smile, but it co
mes out as a grimace.

  “Hey,” he lowers his brows, concerned. “You look upset. If you really want me to read the book—”

  “No, no. I’m fine. Just a tough day at work.”

  “Those guys giving you a hard time?” He pats my back. “Just hang in there. Soon you’ll make partner like you’ve always wanted. Just a few more years of the suck.”

  “Yeah,” I reply miserably, wishing he’d say something more along the lines of ‘If they fuck with you again, I’ll beat their asses.’ But that’s just my inner Blue-House girl talking, as opposed to the respectable new me. He knows how poorly they treat me, but agrees that with enough work and dedication, I’ll be able to show myself apart from the others.

  Marshall orders me a glass of Sancerre from the bartender who thankfully, pours quickly. Only yesterday, I loved how easy and simple my life was with Marshall. And now, everything I thought was working is turned upside down. Maybe I ought to just try harder. A nagging voice inside my head tells me that I may as well just start fresh with another man. Why hang onto someone I don’t really like? But a more mature voice chimes in, telling me I’ve got something good and I ought to do the mature thing and stick it out. Relationships take work. If I just open up more, maybe what we have can be more.

  I never let him know what the Learning Club means to me and that it’s not just a side gig. Sure, I’ve told him that I was raised in a pretty shitty part of New York City and that helping kids with potential, but limited means, is both fulfilling and necessary. But I never talked to him about my history. The result is that a huge chunk of who I am, or who I was, has been deleted. Up until today, I loved that fact.

  No—I still love that fact. And I’m going to prove it to myself right now. I place my glass of wine back on the bar and squeeze his hand. “Let’s get out of here,” I step closer to him, an invitation in my eyes. First, I need to get my physical body on track. And then, we can talk.

  “Hell yes,” he smiles wide. “My place or yours?”

  “Mine.”

  Draping an easy arm around my shoulders, we walk across the room and leave the event.

  Questions and reservations knock on my head again. I take a deep swallow, telling my thoughts to shut it. Plenty of people begin relationships without digging up and sharing their old dirt. He knows the me of today, and he likes it. The rest will follow. I seal my will, determined to make a last-ditch effort. My agonizing is nothing but stress from seeing Vincent. Marshall is great. We’re great. Everything is great!

  We step into the car, but before we can buckle up, I grab him by the lapels and press my lips against his. I’m dying to feel that connection, and I desperately want to remember that what Marshall offers is good for me. Waiting to hook up until we reach my apartment is no longer an option. I need reassurance—now.

  The minute we touch, my body recognizes his clean scent and gently melts. He’s a good kisser, with soft but firm lips. Gently caressing my back, I urge him on by kissing him deeper, pushing for more. I want to want this—so badly. I let out a groan, hoping the sound will jumpstart my body.

  “Eve, oh—” he murmurs.

  I grab him harder, “Tell me.” I pull my dress up to my thighs to spread my legs, straddling him and grinding down. I squeeze my internal muscles on a mission to get my body on board with this moment. “Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything,” I beg between dry kisses. I need him to make me forget.

  7

  VINCENT

  I walk out of the event a few minutes after Eve leaves when I immediately spot her prissy boyfriend stepping into her car; it turns on but doesn’t move. I get closer before wishing I hadn’t. I can see through the window that her boyfriend is all. Fucking. Over. Her.

  My body lunges forward, wanting to rip the car door open and beat his ass—jealous energy coursing through my veins. I gather myself by taking deep inhales through my mouth and exhaling through my nose. The result is a sound more animal than human. But the idea of another man kissing her perfect lips. Touching her full breasts. Listening to her moans.

  “She’s mine!” I roar, turning from the scene and cursing.

  Sweat beads on my forehead. Does he make her feel good? The thought of her enjoying what another man can do is enough to make me sick. I kick the ground, small rocks flying ahead of me. I want to break something.

  I drop down to the curb, unable to stand. Eve may be the love of my life, but the truth is that as of now, I have no hold over her. She can be with whomever she wants, whenever she wants. And it’s all my fault. One thing’s for damn sure: I’ve gotta make this right between us and get her back.

  I pick up my phone, ordering a car to bring me to her apartment building. If I have to wait all fucking night and day for her to show up, I’ll do it. I don’t give a fuck if she comes home at three in the morning with mascara smeared on her face from a late night with this asshole—or a smile and a coffee in her hands in the morning. I’ll take Eve any way I can get her.

  8

  EVE

  I’m in the process of unbuttoning his shirt when I feel his hands at my shoulders, pushing me back. “Wow, let’s relax a second.”

  His blue eyes are startled. “Huh?” I pant, confused.

  “What’s gotten into you?” His mouth is parted and eyes drawn to slits. He’s mad.

  Embarrassment blazes through me as I think of how to explain myself. “Well, I just thought—"

  Before I can finish speaking, his hands spread beneath my ass. I’m lifted off his lap and into the driver’s seat. “What if we were seen?” He straightens his skinny black tie. “I mean, a kiss is one thing. But what you tried to do is an entirely other—”

  “Are you kidding me right now?” I start to fix my dress as my body turns cold. It’s as though the temperature between us has dropped twenty degrees.

  “This isn’t even about me, Eve,” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “It’s about you. People know your car.” He turns his head to look out the window and shakes his head in disapproval. “What would they think? You’re not a college girl. You’re a world-known attorney for God’s sake.” He slicks his hair as I unroll my gown down my thighs.

  Our car ride back to his upscale apartment complex is full of awkward silence. I pull up to his front door, exhausted and reeling from Vincent. Having Marshall near me is only making things worse.

  “Sweetie, let’s talk a second.” His voice is quiet. Unbuckling his belt and leaning toward me, I raise my hands in front of my face, as if to say, don’t get any closer.

  “You know what? I think we’re done.” The minute the words leave my lips, I feel a rush of relief.

  His head rears back, shock moving across his features. “What are you talking about? Done with what?”

  “It’s just not working between us. I’ve got too much happening at my office. And this isn’t feeling good to me anymore.” I shrug, realizing this is all coming out of left field to him. Hell, it’s coming out of the woodwork for me too, but I don’t want to try harder with him. I need to find someone else. Someone different.

  “Because I didn’t want to screw you in public?” he spits out his words furiously.

  I do my best not to roll my eyes; it’s not as if we ever said we loved each other. We were dating out of convenience. “No. It’s not that. It’s because what we had was nothing more than easy. And I’m just not happy anymore.” I bring my gaze to his face, staring at him directly so he knows I’m serious. The truth hurts and no one knows that better than me. But in my opinion, it’s better to rip off the Band-Aid than send someone off with a lie.

  He waits expectantly for me to fight back or to show emotion, but I have none.

  “I was wife’ing you up,” he yells, throwing the door open before jumping out of my car. The side door swings open next as he grabs his neatly folded jacket from the back seat. “You’re a cold bitch, you know that?” And with those parting words, the door slams with a bang.

  My fingers grip the steerin
g wheel, knowing in my gut that what he said is true. I’m not warm and soft—not anymore. Maybe I’m just meant to be alone, forever.

  Shifting the car in gear, I get to my building in record time. Pulling into the parking lot, I jump out of my car and run as fast as my high heels will take me to the elevator. I just want to take off my shoes, wash my face, eat a bowl of cereal, and pass out. Sliding my keys into my apartment door, I pause. I can feel a body behind me. My old instincts immediately kick in as I turn, lifting my keys in my hand like a weapon.

  He looms in front of me like a dark shadow.

  “V-Vincent?”

  I take a step back.

  He steps closer. “I’ve been trying to call you the last few months, but you never answered.” His voice is deep and low. All I can do is blink as he leans his huge body against the doorframe. “Why don’t you invite me in? We should talk, Eve. It’s been a while, yeah?”

  I finally look him up and down as a lump rises in my throat. He looks like danger in a black tux—muscled thighs covered in a pair of tapered black pants and a wide chest encased in a crisp white tuxedo shirt. I crane my neck to look up at his face. God, he’s gorgeous.

  I lean my weight onto my right leg and lift my chin, needing to get a grip on reality. “No.” The word flies out of my mouth like a whip. My feelings are all across the map, and I can’t get a hold of them. I move to my safe default: bitch mode.

  “No?” He looks at me incredulously, crossing his huge arms in front of his chest.

  “I’m not a kid anymore, Vincent.” I swallow. “You can’t just boss me around. I have plans for myself and they don’t include you. Now, if you’ll go back to your hotel or wherever you’re staying, you can send me an email and we can find a good time to talk. I assume this is work related, right?” My voice comes out as high and mighty, but I’ve got to harden myself as much as I can around this man if I want to keep myself straight.