“Uh huh. And why do you sound less than happy about it?”
“You shouldn’t be able to read me that well, especially not over the phone.”
“Did you forget I was your first critic? I’ve been able to see through all your acting since you were a kid. What’s really going on, Evan?”
How to explain this to Vicky, who was so jaded now when it came to love? “I told you the truth. That’s how it started.” He kicked at a small chunk of concrete, passing it from one foot to the other like a tiny soccer ball. “Then I got to know her.”
“Then you fucked her?”
“No. I liked her before the sex. I’d hoped that would get her out of my system. It had worked for every woman up until now.”
“Until now? So, you’re saying you more than like her?”
“Yeah. I am. I’m supposed to walk away from her tomorrow—it’s what we agreed on, and it’s the best move for my career—but right now, I can’t imagine my life without her. She stabilizes me and makes me ecstatically happy at the same time. Letting that go without a fight…” He tried to bobble the piece of concrete and missed. It skittered away from him, lost—like Stasia would be soon. “I don’t know if I can do it, Vicky—not even to save my job. I know you probably think this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever considered doing, but it goes beyond sex. I think I love her.”
Vicky heaved a sigh, and he could see her scrubbing at her face. “You’re a grown man. I’m not going to tell you not to chase her, but be sure. Don’t rush into something just because it’s easy or you’re scared. This is your future we’re talking about. She might be the best person in the world. I don’t know, but I do know you deserve the best. You deserve someone who brightens your world just by being in it. And you deserve that every day for the rest of forever.”
It was the most romantic thing he’d heard from her since her divorce. Maybe she was finally healing after all. “You do, too, Vicky. After everything you’ve been through, I don’t want you to settle for less than that.”
“And I don’t want you to settle at all. Please don’t do anything stupid without really thinking it through. In the meantime, I’ll tell Mom to stop threatening to disown you.”
A low chuckle escaped him. “I’d appreciate that. Talk to you this weekend.”
Pocketing the phone, he stepped back toward the door. Be sure. You need to be absolutely sure.
…
When Jessica had asked how long Evan would be, Stasia hadn’t given a second thought to running out to ask him. At least not until she’d heard him say, “We’re not really engaged. It’s all a great story to help her out of a tight spot and endear me to the media. If all goes according to plan, I’ll be single again by the time I come home.”
Her heart crumbled on the spot. All her hope of getting him alone to tell him how she felt evaporated. He could barely wait to be rid of her. One thing she knew for sure about Evan was how close he and his sister were—if Vicky was asking about them, he wouldn’t lie. And he hadn’t. Every word had been true, and every word had screamed that there wouldn’t be anything beyond tomorrow.
She didn’t have a right to be angry with him. Evan had been as good as his word. Paul was beside himself, and Lissa was looking at him with less-trusting eyes. Even if he didn’t try to come back to Stasia, they’d succeeded in screwing up her ex’s life.
She’d gotten every single thing Evan had promised her. And she’d had a magical week with him to boot.
If anyone else told her a story like this—sobbing about how they didn’t get everything they wanted—she would’ve rolled her eyes and said something to the effect of First world problems. Only you could complain about having a fling with one of the hottest stars in Hollywood but not getting to keep the guy. Get over yourself.
She tried giving herself the same lecture she would have given a friend. Then she tried giving herself another variation on the theme. None of it worked. It wasn’t the same emptiness she felt when Paul left. That was a betrayal. This…hurt like breaking up in high school. The sudden tearing asunder of an imaginary future she’d been building in her mind and heart.
She was adrift, with no plans and no clear path to follow.
This entire thing had been beyond stupid. She was an entertainment reporter for a small paper and blogged on the side. He was a movie star. In what world had she ever believed those two things could not only coexist but thrive with each other?
“Did you find out how long he’d be out there?” Jessica’s voice shook Stasia from her thoughts.
Even his publicist, with her perfectly coiffed hair and flawless French manicure, looked more Hollywood than she did. It didn’t matter how many designer clothes Evan put her in, Stasia knew she didn’t fit in his life any more than she had fit into Paul’s ten-year plan.
She gave herself a few seconds to let her imaginary future crumble to the ground and then painted a smile on her face. “He was deep in conversation, so I didn’t want to bug him. If he’s not back in a couple minutes, I’ll go out again.”
It seemed to appease Jessica, but Stasia hoped Evan finished his call soon. She really didn’t want to have to step outside and face him right now. Hopefully, Jessica would need to talk to him in the cab, and she could take the front seat, leaving the back to the two of them. She needed to start getting some distance now or tomorrow would hurt even more.
…
The drive to their hotel was strained to say the least. The instant Jessica mentioned talking to him about his late-night TV schedule for the next week, Stasia hopped into the front seat in order to “give them space.” For the first time all week, she didn’t pay any attention to his discussion, neither asking questions nor offering commentary. Granted, there wasn’t much to comment on, but he’d still grown used to having her included in most facets of his life.
When they stopped in front of the hotel, Jessica mentioned dinner, and Stasia bowed out, claiming a headache.
He caught her hand as she turned to go upstairs alone. “Are you okay?”
Her smile didn’t come close to touching her eyes. “I’m just tired. This week has been a lot busier than I’m used to, and you wanted to go to that bar tonight.”
“We can skip the bar…”
“No. People are going to be expecting you there if yesterday’s interview was aired. I’ll just take a nap and order some room service.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Positive. You two go. Enjoy dinner.”
Watching her walk alone to the elevator bank felt wrong. He spun, ready to tell Jessica they could talk later, but his publicist stood there with one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched to her hairline. “Do not say it. The woman needs time by herself, Evan. Do not invade her sacred space when she very politely told you to go away.”
It still didn’t sit right, but Jessica had a point. If Stasia wanted him upstairs, she wouldn’t have dismissed him so quickly. “Fine. But just so we’re clear, I’m spending tomorrow with Stasia. I’m off duty until the premiere.”
“Yes, Mr. Movie Star, you can hole up in your hotel and work out all your nervous energy on your fiancée.”
He bristled at the suggestion, even if it had been part of what he was considering. There was a chance it would be his last twenty-four hours with Stasia, and he didn’t want to waste any more minutes of that to work than he absolutely had to.
Chapter Thirteen
Stasia had exaggerated about the headache, but she didn’t bother resting. Instead, after a quiet dinner full of too much self-pity, she changed her flight so she could leave right after the party tomorrow night. Sticking around Vegas once everything was over had lost its appeal. Now, she stared at all the clothes Evan had bought for her. It felt wrong to take them, but he’d told her he wanted her to have them. She’d heard of sympathy fucks before but never sympathy shopping sprees.
Her fingers trailed down the fabric of the dress she’d worn to Coyote Ugly. She’d felt naked in it, but somehow, he’d made he
r feel beautiful at the same time. Was it the clothes? Or was it her? Or was it all Evan? She left most of the clothes in the closet. There was no point in keeping them—maybe they’d fit whoever Jessica had lined up to fill his dating hours after tomorrow night.
The only pieces she kept out were one outfit for tomorrow during the day and the two evening gowns Evan had purchased for the premiere and after party: the one she’d been comfortable in and the one he’d insisted on. Only a few days ago, she had balked at wearing the slinky red satin number. It had made her feel naked and vulnerable. Now, the other dress—the plain black one that would have kept most of her covered—felt like a costume, like clothes that belonged to someone else.
She sank onto the bed, staring at them.
The plain dress was the woman she’d arrived as. Crawling into it would have been a comfort right now. It was a cocoon of sadness and mourning—the perfect dress for disappearing. But she’d spent all week learning to step out of that shell. She might not be Hollywood material, but she’d learned to stand out a little bit. Just not quite half-naked standing out.
Her lips quirked as she thought of Evan having Michael at the salon teach her about makeup and brushes and contouring. Evan taking her shopping and insisting she leave her comfort zone far behind. The way he showed her off, like he couldn’t have been more proud to have her on his arm.
Damn it. She wasn’t the fucking caterpillar anymore. She was a butterfly. No more cocoons.
She was in the midst of searching for the receipts for the dresses when Evan stepped through the door.
He knelt next to her. “Is this some new version of resting? I’ve never heard of the dig-through-the-closet headache therapy.” His voice was light, teasing…and all an act.
Evan was right about awards season. He definitely deserved something for this week.
She couldn’t be mad at him, not really. He hadn’t promised her anything beyond revenge and a good time. And he’d given her both.
“I was just getting organized, and I can’t find the dress receipts. I don’t exactly need the second one for anything. Not too many formal dinners or galas at home.” She brushed hair from her face.
Evan tucked the strands behind her ear. “I have them in an envelope. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it later. We have a few minutes before it’s time to get ready and head out.”
Translation: Do you want to have sex? It was male code she’d learned from Paul. She just had never thought it would come from Evan. Surprise. When the illusions were stripped away, men were all kind of the same.
“I’m feeling better, but I haven’t really reached the zone for intense, quickie sex.” Mainly because if she lost herself in him, she’d only have to drag herself out again. Once was enough. She twisted around to find Evan frowning at her.
“You said earlier that you had something you wanted to talk to me about. It’s not always sex, babe.” He leaned in and kissed her lightly. “Though, I will admit had you suggested a quickie, I probably wouldn’t have said no. I kind of can’t get enough of you.”
Until tomorrow at least. She cast off the negative thoughts. “Sorry, remnants of the last several years. I need to toss those in an incinerator, huh?”
“Most definitely.” He paused as if waiting for something. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
She looked past him, out the window at the Strip. Just days ago she’d said being here filled her with hope. That was something else she needed to throw in the fire. “Oh. Uh, just trying to figure out which dress to wear tomorrow night.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Women. You already know my vote, but why don’t you wait until tomorrow and decide then.”
Tomorrow, when she’d walk away from this magical week and start her life over. “I can do that.”
“Good. Now, go get shoes on and whatever else you want to do before we take off. If we get there early enough, we might be able to go twice without stepping on too many toes.”
“Huh?”
Her confusion only made Evan smile. “You’ll see.”
She still didn’t know what bar they were headed to, but regardless of how little sense he was making, he was clearly excited. Staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, she tried to psych herself up for the night. Fun. She had only a day left to enjoy herself with Evan, and she was going to do her damnedest to make sure she squeezed every second out of it.
…
The place was packed already, and all eyes turned toward them when they walked through the door. Evan couldn’t help it, he grinned from ear to ear.
As soon as the current song ended, the DJ shouted, “I told you he’d be here. There is no other favorite bar in Vegas for Evan Stone! Get up here, man, and pick your song.”
“Karaoke?” Stasia leaned close. “Your favorite thing in Vegas is karaoke?”
“Babe, my favorite thing a lot of places is karaoke. I told you the day I met you that the singing would come later. Come on, pick a song.” He dragged her toward the DJ booth.
Stasia smiled at the DJ but shook her head. “I don’t really sing.”
Evan poured through his mental catalog of music. Vicky had told him to be sure. Now that he’d figured out a way to keep Stasia in his life, he wanted to at least give her hints about how he felt before tomorrow. If he just announced it, she might not be prepared. He’d rather warm her up a little first. In seconds, he scribbled the words Evan Stone: “To Be with You”—Mr. Big on a slip of paper and passed it to the DJ, wishing he could remember the guy’s name. It had been too long since he’d been in town. Then it hit him why he couldn’t remember—his name actually was DJ. They made jokes about it one night when the place was slow. His first name was actually Dennis, hence preferring to go with a nickname.
DJ raised a brow at his song choice. “You usually don’t go old school on me.”
“There’s a time for everything.” He turned to find Stasia fidgeting with her skirt. “Come on, there’s nothing you like to sing?”
“Maybe I can build up to it.”
Smiling, DJ handed her a slip of paper. “Put your name on it. I’m going to have my man here fill out another one for later if he wants a second song. I’ll put you in a couple slots after him. You can come up any time and give me a song choice.”
“Thanks?” Still looking apprehensive, Stasia scrawled her name on the paper.
Evan filled out his second one and passed it over before taking Stasia’s hand. “Drink?”
“Yes, please.”
The bar had saved a table for them right by the front. They placed their order, and then he took Stasia’s hands in his, pressing kisses to her fingers. Whatever had been on her mind earlier, part of it had disappeared, but something still lingered in her eyes. He didn’t like it. “You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
“It’s fine. There was a time I didn’t mind karaoke so much, but this isn’t some small-town dive bar. There are a lot of people here, and it’s not even like it’s anonymous because it’s Vegas. Everyone knows me now, and there’s always that risk of video winding up on the internet. It’s a lot of pressure.” The waitress dropped off their drinks, and Stasia stirred hers, not even taking a sip.
She’d held up so well under the scrutiny of the week, he hadn’t expected this to bother her, but it wasn’t a big deal to him if she didn’t want to sing. He chucked her under the chin, and said, “If you really hate listening to other people butcher music, we can go soon. I’ll just ask DJ to bump my second song. I wouldn’t stay that long, but obviously people are expecting to see me tonight.”
Laughing, Stasia shook off another part of what had been clouding her eyes. “Listening to other people is fine. I’m just not sure I want to get up there.”
Which was perfectly okay, but obviously not the only thing on her mind. Evan frowned, wishing he could wipe away those last traces of sadness lining her face.
Only a couple songs later, DJ got on the mic. “And
now, for his first of two, the guy half of you people came to see—since less than half of you are singing—is Mr. Evan Stone.” He said Evan’s name like a WWE announcer, complete with dramatic pauses and stretching his last name out for several seconds.
Evan stood and kissed Stasia on the head. “I’m trusting you not to take off when you hear my singing voice.”
She laughed, but if she got the message behind his song choices and didn’t share his feelings, the possibility of her leaving was a real risk.
No risk. No reward.
He took to the stage and grabbed the mic, ready to start baring his soul.
…
Stasia managed to keep a smile on her face as Evan sang. It wasn’t that he had a bad voice—because he didn’t. Rather, it was the lyrics of the song he chose digging into her brain—it hit too close to home. Tears welled in her eyes as he sang about her broken heart and shattered confidence. If only his words could be true, that he wanted to be the one to put her back together after all was said and done. But she knew better—she’d heard him on the phone. It was all over tomorrow, and every note was like twisting the knife. She swallowed hard, trying desperately to keep a smile on her face as he finished the song.
“So, tell the truth.” Evan slid into his seat and took a pull from his bottle of beer. “Was I horrible?”
The self-deprecation in his tone managed to make her laugh and drag her from the depths of her sadness long enough to take a breath. Questions were something she could focus on. “Not at all. I mean, I’m not sure you should quit your day job since you’re really good at that, but I could listen to you sing. Of course, until tonight I didn’t know you did sing.”
He shrugged, the motion making her recall raking her nails over the muscles of his shoulders. Her heart clenched for a second until he said, “It’s not a secret so much as I don’t really bring it up in interviews. I don’t have a band or anything where people would be looking to come see us regularly. Hitting karaoke every once in a while just isn’t newsworthy.”
Tempting Her Fake Fiance Page 15
