by Ivy Layne
I was in Marietta, northwest of the city. Close enough that we could have seen each other more often, but neither of us offered or asked for more.
I didn’t ask because I knew I wouldn’t get it, and Evers because he didn't do more. More wasn't his thing.
Julie was waiting in front of my building, the car running, music blaring through the open windows. She was ready to party, but she didn't miss a thing. A grin bloomed on her face when she saw me.
I snapped my seatbelt into place as she said, “Your lip gloss is smudged."
"I still have lip gloss?" I lifted a hand to wipe my lips. I'd have been shocked if Evers hadn't kissed every speck off my lips. I pressed my knees together at the thought.
Down girl, tonight's not about you. Not until you get home. If he’s still there.
Julie stared at me for a minute before her eyes flared wide and she glanced at my building. “Is he up there? Did he come by tonight?"
She thought my weird thing with Evers Sinclair was the stuff of fairytales. Evers Sinclair of the Atlanta Sinclairs. She imagined he’d fall in love with me, and we’d live happily ever after in a little mansion in Buckhead.
I gave a mental snort. Not likely.
I couldn't see Evers settling down, and if he did, it wouldn't be with someone like me. Someone normal. Average.
He'd find some society princess or a former model. An actress. Somebody with flash. With flair. Someone exciting enough to fit into his life.
Evers Sinclair came from a long line of Atlanta Sinclairs who, a few generations back, had founded the premier security agency in the country.
They protected royalty. Celebrities.
Designed security systems that put Fort Knox to shame.
He was James Bond come to life, from the perfectly-tailored suit to the Aston Martin. I wasn't the first to get caught in his orbit, and I wouldn't be the last. I was just enjoying the ride.
I shook my head at Julie. "He's up there, but don't worry about it. Tonight is about you."
Julie hesitated before putting the car in gear. "Are you sure? I mean, we can go out any night. He hasn't come by in a few weeks, and—"
"I'm sure," I insisted, irritated that even Julie thought the world should stop for Evers Sinclair. "If he wanted to know if I was free, he could have called. He shows up, he takes what he gets. Tonight is for you. He can wait.”
Julie leaned over and threw her arms around me in an awkward hug, considering our seatbelts. "You're the best friend, Summer. Most girls would have ditched me for a hottie like Evers Sinclair."
My libido bitched at me when I said, "I'm not most girls, and he'll be there when I get home."
I hoped.
I really, really hoped he’d be there when I got home.
Chapter Two
Summer
I tried to throw myself into girls’ night out. I did. I hadn't lied, tonight was important. Julie needed her friends and some fun.
I did my best. I had a drink. I flirted with a guy down the bar who Julie thought was cute and lured him in so she could give him her shy, sweet smile.
Julie was a catch. Pretty, smart, easy-going, fun. Good job.
She'd settled for Frank, but she hadn't had to. She was going to find a good guy. I knew it. Maybe not tonight, but eventually.
It was closing in on ten, Julie and the other girls diving into a round of shots, when Julie leaned over, nudged me, and said, “Go home."
"No, I'm having fun, I swear, I—"
Julie rolled her eyes. "You’re not having fun. You’re a sweetheart, and I love you for being here, but go home. Somebody should have amazing sex tonight, and it's not going to be me."
"You don't know that," I protested, though I did know that. We both did. Julie may have been four drinks and two shots into the night, but she’d never picked up a guy in a bar, and I didn't think she was going to start now.
"I'm not,” she affirmed, “and we both know it. I'm getting drunk, Steph can drive me home, or we’ll get a rideshare and I'll pick up my car tomorrow. Go home. He might not be back for a few weeks or a month, and I'm not going to be responsible for you not getting any. You get cranky when you go without."
She wasn't wrong. "Are you sure? I don't want to bail on you."
"You're not bailing, you idiot. I would have dropped you in a heartbeat if he'd been waiting in my apartment."
“Liar.” Julie never would have dropped me for a guy. Friends first. "If you're sure," I mumbled, already pulling up the rideshare app on my phone.
I rode home in an aging sedan, staring blindly out the window, trying not to squirm in my seat as I imagined all the things I wanted to do to Evers when I got there.
He would have stripped off the suit coat. Loosened his tie. I wanted to slip the buttons of his shirt free, one by one.
Push it off his shoulders and down his arms, baring all his smooth skin.
Trace every line of muscle on his chest down to his abs.
Slide his belt from the buckle…
I pressed my knees together, the heat between my legs already out of control.
He always did this to me. So fucking hot.
Half a lifetime passed before I slid my key in the lock and opened my door, so ready to jump him that if he'd been in the foyer, I would have had him on the floor.
Instead, my apartment was quiet but for the murmur of an announcer's voice coming from my living room. The end of the game was on, the volume low, the only light the flicker of the television.
Evers lay stretched out on the couch, feet propped on the arm, fast asleep. He looked almost boyish with his eyes closed, his hair mussed, his smirk of a smile wiped away.
I reached out to brush his hair from his forehead, a rush of tenderness taking me by surprise. Snatching my hand back, I stared down at him in horror.
I could not feel tenderness towards Evers Sinclair.
Tenderness wasn't lust.
Tenderness was feelings. I could not have feelings for Evers.
I had feelings about sex with Evers, sure.
Great feelings.
Amazing feelings.
That was it. I did not feel tenderness for him.
I did not want to lay down on the couch next to him and trace my finger along his lower lip, stroke my hand down his back and cuddle into his warmth.
No, I wanted to wake him up, strip him naked and have sex with him.
That was it. Sex.
Having feelings for Evers was a recipe for a broken heart, and I was keeping mine in one piece.
I turned my back on him, needing to get my bearings. Seeing him so defenseless in sleep had caught me off-guard. I couldn't afford to be off-guard with Evers.
This thing between us only worked because I followed the rules I'd set up with myself from the beginning.
No making more of it than it was.
No expectations.
No demands.
No feelings.
Quietly making my way to the kitchen, I set my purse on the counter, looking around for my key ring. I’d removed my door key earlier, but if I didn’t put it back on the ring, I’d lose it. I finally spotted my jacket on the chair by the front door and remembered I’d tossed it there when I'd come home in a rush to get ready.
Evers’ briefcase sat on top, the zipper half-open. He must have done some work while he was waiting. I picked it up to grab my jacket, and the handle slipped through my fingers, the jacket and bag spilling to the floor.
Maybe that last round of drinks had hit me harder than I thought. I felt giddy, not tipsy. Definitely not drunk, but the mess at my feet said different.
I dropped to my knees to put everything back. It wasn't too bad, only a few files, a pen, and a half-eaten bag of sunflower seeds.
I slid the first two folders in the briefcase, barely glancing at them except to note the Sinclair Security logo, a slightly pretentious combination of a royal crest, a lion, and the company name. The third folder caught my eye.
Neatly typed o
n the label were the words ‘Smokey W.’
Smokey W.
My heart skipped a beat.
Smokey W. was my father's name.
Why would Evers have a file with my father's name on it?
I sat back on my heels and stared down at the bland manila folder, mind racing. My father's given name was Clive Winters, but everybody called him Smokey.
He and my mom were hard-core hippies, had been forever, and you can probably guess why my dad was called Smokey.
He was a big believer in the spiritual and medicinal benefits of marijuana and partook regularly. He hadn’t been the most reliable of parents. Smokey Winters was a man-child—irresponsible, immature, but fun.
If I'm being honest, I don't know if I could say he was a good dad, but he’d always loved me.
I hadn't seen him as much as usual lately. He and my mom split a few years ago—she wasn’t a stoner hippy, she was an energetic activist hippy, and she'd grown tired of being the only adult in her marriage.
I loved them both to pieces, but I hadn't given my mom a hard time about leaving my dad. I got it. Boy, did I get it. I loved him, but I wouldn't want to be his wife either.
Since the divorce, he hadn't been around much, and lately, he'd been… off. Weird.
Tense.
Smokey Winters was never tense. He was chemically incapable of being tense. He made sure of it.
I’d been meaning to call him, sit down and see what was up, but work had been crazy, and I hadn’t gotten around to it.
Why did Evers have a folder with my father's name on it?
What the hell was going on?
Feeling absolutely no shame at invading his privacy, I opened the folder and flipped through the pages. My heart turned to ice at what I saw.
Reports on me.
Reports going back all the way to Emma's wedding.
Reports on my father starting six months after the wedding and continuing regularly. Reports on his movements and activities. Comments on me. What I was doing. Where I’d been. Reports on my clients.
I didn't understand most of it. It was written in code, almost all of the relevant language abbreviated so that it meant nothing to me, but based on the dates I could decipher a few.
1.26.18 Su.W. ctc Sm.W. Cl mt Atl. Su.W. Il 2d. Sm.W. mt B
January 26, 2018. I’d called my Dad on the way to a client meeting in Atlanta before I flew to Illinois for two days to assist another client. I only remembered because I’d had a flat tire on the way to the airport and come close to missing my flight.
Since my client was meeting me there, and she was deathly afraid of flying, the flat tire had caused an avalanche of problems. I’d handled it. I always did. Handling things was what I did best, but the day was etched in my memory as one for the record books. The day from hell.
And Evers had been watching, documenting the whole thing. While I’d been standing on the side of the road, freezing my ass off, splattered by ice as cars flew by, he’d been there. Somewhere. Watching me.
I had no idea what Sm.W. mt B meant. Sm.W. was my father. Based on Su.W. mt Atl, I thought mt stood for meeting. B? No idea. Not that it mattered. My dad’s life wasn’t my problem.
I flipped through more of the file. Page after page of cryptic notes. Me, my father. A few on my mother, spanning over two years.
The ice in my heart turned to nausea. I thought of Emma and how she'd met her husband, Evers' brother, Axel. Emma had been a job. Axel was investigating her on behalf of a client for suspected embezzlement. She'd been innocent, but that wasn't the point.
She'd been a job.
Just like me.
I was a job. My mouth watered, and, abruptly, I realized that I was going to vomit. I set the folder on the floor and rose, walking deliberately to the bathroom, then racing as my mouth flooded and my stomach hitched.
I hit my knees in front of the toilet and threw up a night’s worth of frothy drinks and shots, everything inside me turned upside down, inside out, body heaving as my head spun.
I sat there for what felt like a year, my clammy forehead braced on my arm, leaning over the toilet, my mouth sour, breath shallow, heart racing.
I couldn't get my bearings.
I should have known. I should have known it was a lie.
I'd had the good sense to keep my distance from him. I’d thought it was because he was a player. A flirt. I didn't want to fall for him and get my heart broken.
The stab in my chest told me I'd fucked it all up.
I hadn’t kept myself safe at all, and my heart was breaking anyway.
I hadn't even known it could. Not over Evers.
I’d tried so hard to keep him at a distance. I’d thought I could keep my heart safe if it was only sex. I’d thought I was protecting myself. He couldn't break me if I didn't let him.
Wrong.
I was an idiot and he was a liar.
I’d thought I knew him.
I’d thought I was in control.
Seeing the last two years in black and white, I’d been so blind. He'd been watching me, chronicling my every move and reporting it to… Who? Why?
Why was he investigating me and my father? None of this made any sense.
I hadn't done anything. I couldn't imagine my father had, either. He didn't have enough motivation to do anything. There was nothing in my life that justified this kind of invasion.
I worked, had fun with my friends, and for a while I had an affair with Evers.
He was the most exciting thing to happen to me in years. And he was a lie. He was a fucking lie. He wasn’t here for me. He was here for a job.
Not anymore.
Not for another second.
Mechanically, I stood, leaned over the sink and turned on the water to brush my teeth. When I was done, I set my toothbrush back in its holder. Flushed the toilet. Washed my hands. Replaced my father’s file back in the briefcase beside the others. Zipped it closed.
I left it on the floor and went to wake Evers.
Every step to the living room fell like lead. I stood over Evers, fists clenched at my side, staring down at him. His eyes flashed open and warmed, a sleepy grin spreading across his face.
It halted abruptly as he took in my expression.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"Get. Out." I couldn't bring myself to say any more than that. Couldn't trust myself not to choke on the words, was desperately afraid the tears prickling the back of my eyes would spill down my cheeks.
I would not cry in front of Evers. No fucking way.
He’d lied to me. He’d used me. Fine, that was done.
I'd been a fool, but I didn't have to let him see me cry. He already knew he’d lied to me. He didn’t need to know he’d hurt me.
Evers rolled to his feet, instantly in command of his body, of the room, of everything.
I stepped back and repeated myself.
"Get. Out."
"Summer, did something happen?"
I wasn't playing this game anymore. Flirty, mischievous Evers wasn't going to cajole me out of my mood to get what he wanted. Forget that.
"I saw my father's file in your bag. I know you've been watching me this whole time. I don't know what you want. I don't know why you're here. But get out. Do your job somewhere else."
His face went blank. Most people would jump straight to defensiveness, making excuses or accusing me of snooping.
Not Evers. A wall went down behind his eyes, his jaw set, and he straightened his shoulders.
"Summer, if you give me a minute, I can explain."
The flirtation was gone, the glint in his eyes extinguished.
This wasn’t charming Evers, this was Evers on the job. Hard. Cool. Detached. This was what he hid beneath the smooth veneer. What he hid from me.
"Can you?” I demanded. “Can you explain lying to me for a year? Watching me? Taking notes on everything I do? Is there anything you can say that makes that okay?”
We locked eyes, Evers’ ice-blue assessing
, analyzing. He was flirty and sexy, but behind that façade, he was a cold-blooded machine. I knew it. I'd always known it.
I’d fooled myself into thinking he left the machine at the door. I'd been wrong.
"Summer," he started, "it's complicated."
"Just tell me one thing, Evers. At Emma's wedding, was that premeditated?"
"No. Absolutely not."
That was something. I would have bet anything our first hook up had been an accident. A collision of lust and champagne resulting in two spectacular days in my hotel room.
I already knew the answer to my next question. "And last year? At my client’s party?”
A muscle flickered in the side of Evers' jaw before he admitted, "I knew you'd be there."
"So it was a setup. This whole thing is a setup."
The muscle flickered again. He nodded.
My heart squeezed, and I blinked hard. Tears pressed the back of my eyes. My nose tickled. I had about a minute before I lost it.
I felt it coming, the wave of anger and pain rising too fast for me to hold it back.
I couldn't talk to him anymore. I wouldn't. There was nothing he could say to justify this.
He wasn't my boyfriend. This wasn’t real.
It was convenient sex, and it was over. Turning my back on him, I walked a few steps down the hall to his briefcase, still on the floor where I’d left it. Scooping it up with one hand, I turned for the door.
Evers’ hand closed over my elbow, stopping me in my tracks. With a jerk, I pulled free, reaching the door with him a pace behind. I swung it open and tossed his briefcase into the hall.
"Get. Out. I don't care what you have to say. Leave. This is over. Get your information some other way."
"Summer, at least let me explain."
"What is there to say? Are you going to tell me why you're investigating me? Are you going to tell me whose job this is? Why you're really here?"
Evers stared me down, his silence my answer.
"That's what I thought. Don't come back."
I watched him leave, briefcase in hand, his long, smooth stride carrying him to the elevator without a hitch.
