by Jesse Joren
Then I reconsidered. Why waste a perfectly good coffee?
The gods finally had a little pity on me. It was Phillip St. Clair sitting in my lone guest chair, a definite upgrade from his venomous sister.
"Hi Eva," he said with a smile. "Got a minute to chat? Or I can come back. Why are you eating at your desk?"
"No worries," I said, Phillip closed the door behind me as I went behind my desk. "Am I in trouble?"
"Stella must have already gotten to you today."
More like all week. Make that since I've worked here.
The memory of Hex haunted me these days, but I could still appreciate that Phillip was really something. His dark suit and crisp white shirt emphasized his all-American good looks and great body.
He was known to be ruthless in court and on the rugby field, with a passion for Ducati motorcycles. Rumor had it that anyone challenging him in Texas Hold 'Em was going home broke, but he was also one of the most generous patrons of Atlanta charities.
The fact that he wasn't dating anyone had prompted an epidemic of hooker heels, plunging necklines, and ass-hugging skirts around the office. The girls were working hard to end Phillip's dry spell.
"You should be taking your lunch away from your desk," he said, "otherwise that means we're working you too hard."
"I had some things to catch up on," I said. "Natalie is out of town, so it's cool."
"Next time let me at least buy you a better lunch," he said. "By the way, not to be too personal, but that color really works on you. You're looking great, Eva."
His voice held nothing but kindness and sincerity. No wonder everyone loved him. Opposing counsel excepted, of course.
My lightweight turtleneck was emerald green and had a soft, expensive shimmer. Every item I pulled from the amazing closet fit as if made for me.
"Thank you," I said, waving at my sandwich. "Do I have time to finish this before you fire me?"
He laughed.
"No chance of that now that I've seen the Wellburn report. Fantastic job, especially being three weeks early. You'll make us all look bad if you keep up that pace."
Wait. What about the due date that Stella said I'd missed? I struggled to control my expression, a move not lost on Phillip.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing. I'm glad you like it," I said with a large, fake smile.
"What did my sister say about this?"
Lying would be polite, but he would probably know it since he exposed liars for a living. A damn good living, from what I heard.
I gave him a highly edited outline of my meeting with Stella. He didn't need to know that she thought I had a weight problem.
He rubbed the back of his neck as if he was getting a headache.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't say that I'm surprised, and I'll talk to her. It's not right that she—"
"I wish you wouldn't," I blurted, surprising us both.
"Why not?"
"I'll find a way to deal with it. I need to fight my own battles, but I really appreciate the offer."
"I can respect that," he said, "but I feel bad because I know why she's being like this. It's partly my fault."
This was getting awkward. "You took a real chance on me for this job, and I appreciate it, Phillip. I won't let you down, even if I have to—"
"It's not all the job," he interrupted. "I'm like every other ambulance-chaser with ulterior motives."
"I find that hard to believe. Like what kind of motives?" I asked.
"The kind you'll find out when the time is right."
He gave me the famous killer smile that made females swoon, but it didn't feel like he was hitting on me. Once again I thought that Phillip deserved so much better than having a harpy like Stella in his family.
"We understand each other," he said as stood up. "My door is always open if you need backup."
I watched as he walked back to his office. Every pair of female eyes followed him, plus some of the male ones. Phillip had a bright light around him, and my mood was better after our chat.
That ended soon enough when I saw that my email had filled up since my brief trip to the deli. Here a Stella. There a Stella. Everywhere a Stella-Stella.
The Wellburn brief was done, but the free weekend coming up wasn't a good thing. That meant too much time to think and pace the floors and be exhausted on Monday morning.
There might be a way around that. You still have something to do, unless you're a chicken.
True enough. There was something unpleasant I needed to do, and I'd been avoiding it. Why not, since the weekend would suck anyway?
Chapter Nine
Like everything else at the Ritz, the exercise room was state-of-the-art. Someone had spent a lot of time and money to make sweating your ass off seem like a luxurious benefit.
A more virtuous Eva would have been using this room every day, making sure that all the hard work at Walden wouldn't be lost. Forced or not, Hex's plan had paid off in the end – my rear end.
Deep inside I was still the Eva who hated exercise and avoided it like plague. My clothes fit well, but that was only because the tension of my new life often killed my appetite.
It wasn't a personality change that had me standing here early on a Saturday morning. During my captivity at Walden, Hex had tricked me into that gruesome hundred-mile bike ride by implying that Natalie's freedom was up to me.
I was no longer captive, Natalie was in Michigan, and Hex was gone, so none of those reasons applied now. Just like auditing my classes, some part of me needed to know that I could do this without a taskmaster.
Even if I failed, it didn't matter. It would burn some calories and eat up part of a lonely weekend.
A row of Nautilus stationary bikes stood quiet and gleaming in the empty gym. The screens were dark and silent, no Hex-sent messages to prod or praise. Any motivation would have to come from inside of me.
Bet you don't make it five miles. Screw this. Let's get some chicken and waffles.
"Got some questions about the equipment?" someone asked behind me.
It was Chris, the assistant weekend manager who was about my age. He looked startled when he recognized me.
"Hey, Eva, I didn't know you without your clothes on," he said.
My raised eyebrow made him grin.
"You know what I mean," he said. "You're always so dressed up for work."
I slid onto the last bike in the row, the one closest to the wall. "So tell me how to set this up, Chris."
"What's your goal? Cardio endurance? Strength building?"
"Nothing fancy. Just a distance ride."
"Five miles is a good start for warm-up."
"I was thinking more like a hundred."
Chris laughed before he realized that I was serious. "That might be pretty extreme for starting off, Eva."
I looped my small exercise bag over the handlebars and opened it. "See? Bottled water and energy gels. I know the ropes."
"I guess you do." He still looked skeptical. "I'm working mostly out front today, but I'll check on you. Take it easy."
"I will."
"Start peddling."
When I did, the screen lit up. He touched a few buttons, then 99.9 MILES appeared on the screen.
"This model counts down. See, you already have a tenth of a mile gone," he grinned. "What incline and resistance?"
"Um, no idea." Hex had always controlled the cranky, hard-to-please bike at Walden. "Something in the middle?"
Chris adjusted a few more settings.
"Okay, you should be all set. What is that, four hours at least? You're crazy to spend Saturday morning like this."
Tell me about it.
"I know," I said, "but I'll pace myself."
He shook his head and left me alone with the bike. I took a long, deep drink of Dasani, downed a strawberry energy gel, and picked up the pace.
--
49.9 MILES remained on the screen when I took stock of myself two hours later.
Several people had come and gone in the gym, but mostly I had it to myself. Chris had looked in a couple of times, waiting for my thumbs-up before wandering off again.
Tiredness was creeping in around my edges but I was nowhere close to being exhausted or near tears like I had been at Walden. The water and energy gels were the same, and Chris had put in a medium setting for resistance.
Maybe I performed better when there wasn't an implied threat looming over me. Maybe I was better rested now than during my captivity, or just in better shape.
Or maybe Hex gamed you. Maybe that other ride was longer than a hundred miles, or the resistance was higher. Maybe today is the real deal.
I slurped down another energy gel, grape this time. I was sweating like a farm animal, but what did it matter? This time no one was watching.
--
"Color me impressed," Chris said two hours later as I guzzled the frosty-cold quart of Evian he brought me. A trophy water, he called it.
"Don't take this wrong," he said, "but I didn't think you'd do it. You don't seem like, I mean—"
"I know what you mean. I wasn't sure either."
My casual tone pleased me. Inside I was cartwheeling and screaming in victory, even if I was exhausted.
Screw you, Hex. I did this on my own.
"By the way, I have a couple of sisters," Chris said.
"What?"
"They would have killed me if I'd let a guy come to the house and catch them off-guard. Consider this a "big brother" moment. There's someone waiting for you outside."
I stared at him. "Who?"
"He wouldn't give his name. He's been out there almost two hours. Said he didn't want to invade your privacy or bug you until you were done."
Hex.
Blood pounded in my ears. He was here and throwing my words about privacy back at me. Like a genie from a lamp, my thoughts had manifested him.
From my sweaty hair to my swampy feet, I wasn't ready to make a good impression. Chris might know another way out of the gym. Maybe I could run up to my place and clean up before –
Be sure to ask how high before you jump.
That pulled me up short. Hex could take me as he found me, stink and all. This whole ride was about trying to set my own rhythm. Who did he think he was?
"Thanks for telling me," I said as we walked to the door. "He's just a friend."
Chris looked skeptical. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
He plucked a clean towel from a rack and wet it with bottled water, handing it to me. "At least get the purple off your mouth."
I took the towel and scrubbed at my lips. The white towel came away with grape-colored streaks. How many people in the gym had seen me like that, including Chris?
He didn't seem repulsed as his eyes lingered on my mouth. A flush that wasn't from exercise stained my cheeks. I got that look a lot since my return to Atlanta, but it still caught me off-guard.
"Thanks," I said, really meaning it.
"Sure. Going to have a steak to celebrate your victory?" he joked.
"Spaghetti. I've got a two-pound box upstairs, and I'm going to eat every bite."
In spite of my resolve, my heart thumped as I thought about Hex, standing right outside that door. What had made him finally decide to respect my boundaries?
"That sounds like a crappy reward for a hundred miles," Chris said, holding the door open for me.
He flicked his glance to the right. There was a row of chairs outside the gym, and from the corner of my eye I saw someone sitting there.
I took a deep breath and turned, bracing myself for the intense gaze I knew so well. Instead, a pair of eyes as warm and green as summer met mine.
"Hiya Vixen," Del said. "How about lunch with me instead?"
Chapter Ten
I'd been so prepared for Hex, so ready to flaunt my sweat. Seeing Del standing there, easy-going and sexy, made me wish that I'd listened to Chris and cleaned up first. At least he'd stopped me from parading out with purple lips.
"Hey Del. What are you doing here?"
Hex's words about strangers knowing where I lived echoed in my head. As if thinking the same, Chris shot me a quick look.
"It's okay," I told him. "Thanks for the brotherly advice. Too bad I didn't listen."
"Toldja," he said with a smug grin. "Congrats on the ride. I sure wouldn't spend my Saturday like that, but good for you."
With a final glance he headed off, leaving me standing there without the slightest idea of what to say.
"My office called yesterday," Del said. "They got a package with my coat and wondered if body parts were coming next. The return address was here, so I thought I'd give it a shot that you might still be here."
"How did you know I was in the gym?"
"I asked for you up front, and your friend said you were in here. He looked like he thought I was up to no good. Maybe I am."
His grin lit up his face, and I realized once again how good-looking he was. The worn jeans and sage-green shirt complemented his dark hair and the golden lights in his eyes.
"Were you expecting someone else?" he asked, giving me a keen look.
"No, I was just surprised to see you," I lied. "I don't get a lot of visitors."
And the one who does show up never knocks.
"Well, here I am," he said with a dramatic sweep of his arms, "and that's a bona fide lunch offer. You can tell me about all the other people you've disarmed this week."
That made me laugh. The quiver of attraction I'd felt at the coffee shop returned, teasing me to see where it might lead.
"I solemnly swear that I'm not stalking you," he said. "My only motive is getting some lunch without fighting off reporters."
"Isn't that what a stalker would say to make me feel safe?"
He thought about it. "No. I'd just follow you one night and drag you away. That would be more efficient."
You're more right than you know.
"Did I just ruin my chances?" he asked with a grin.
I could almost see Hex scowling. Telling me that Del showing up here was a bad sign. Ordering me to send him on his way.
Instinct told me that I was safe with Del. The only danger was that flashing attraction and what it might turn into if I spent time with him.
Would that be such a bad thing?
"We probably need to go dutch," I warned him. "I think I could eat an elephant."
"I had that in Cameroon once," he said, "but it might be scarce around here. I know a place with decent Cajun food. It's not New Orleans, but it's good."
It's just one lunch. It's not like you're marrying him.
"I'd love to," I said, savoring Imaginary Hex's displeasure. "I need to shower. Sorry to make you wait even longer."
"I'm a patient man," he said, sitting down and pulling out his phone. "Good things don't ever come easy."
Chapter Eleven
For once the elevator didn't stop on the trip from the lobby to the twenty-second floor. Sometimes a straight-shot ride like this made me a little dizzy. Today my thoughts were the culprit.
When the elevator doors opened, I could see all the way down the long hallway. A package was waiting outside my door, and that was strange. All the mail and packages were supposed to be picked up downstairs.
It was about the size of a medium Amazon order, but thick brown paper and twine were wrapped around it. A brief note was scrawled on the top.
ATTN: EVANGELINE BRIGHT
PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL
How well I knew that bold handwriting from my days at Walden. Hex had played private tutor, marking through my lessons in that same slashed style. I glanced toward the elevator, but I was still alone.
The box was compact and solid, no rattling or suspicious stains. Once I was inside my place, I checked every room and closet. Hex wasn't hiding, and nothing was out of place. Roxy was asleep in the middle of my bed, basking in a warm ray of sun.
It's probably something from Walden. You told him to get lost, now
he's getting rid of every trace of you.
I took the box into the kitchen and found a knife to slit the paper. Sure enough, right on top was my tattered copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales.
So he was sending back my stuff. That meant he was agreeing that we needed to just call it quits. I had won…so why did it feel like the world was ending?
I swallowed around a lump in my throat, digging deeper into the box. Now I would find shampoo and soap, maybe the expensive hairbrush I'd left behind.
Instead there were more books, three thick volumes I'd never seen before. I picked up the first one, the red leather binding smooth and elegant under my hands.
A parting gift, probably some Dumas or Garnier to keep the French going. Throw these away, and go have lunch with that hunky guy downstairs.
When my glance fell on the title, everything seemed to stop. This was no French classic. It was a title that would never appear in any bookstore, only in two very private libraries.
The Book of Eva, Volume 1, gleamed up at me in mellow gilt from the cover. When I opened the book, rich smell of leather and fresh ink rose from the pages.
Another black message was slashed on the fly leaf.
I want to do all of this to you.
Slowly.
Your call.
There was no signature. Only a phone number.
My fingers were steady as I turned to the first page. The plain font was a stark modern contrast to the gilded edges of the paper.
May 1, 4:18 A.M. GMT +4
Cherry-on-the-Bottom has accepted your chat request.
May 1, 4:19 A.M. GMT +4
Cherry-on-the-Bottom has entered the room.
Hex wrote: Going to tell me to fuck off?
Cherry-on-the-Bottom wrote: Depends. Do you know the difference
between dominance and being a jerk?
Hex wrote: Depends. Do you know the difference
between submission and being a
doormat?
Cherry-on-the-Bottom wrote: Trust me. I have opinions.
Hex wrote: Your profile screams that.
Cherry-on-the-Bottom wrote: I've never been much of a screamer.
Hex wrote: That may change. I'm still making
