by Cole McCade
She craned to see past Alejandro’s big stupid head, but it was hopeless. Muttering, she sank back down in her seat and nipped her cruller. She’d need the sugar to stay awake, after the way Evan had worn her out last night. She couldn’t help a small, secretive smile. She really should have gotten his number. He’d definitely earned a repeat performance.
As she took another sip of coffee, the speaker’s voice rang out—and she spat the sip back into her cup as strident words echoed from the microphone to fill the room, washing over her with sickening familiarity and leaving her gut hollowed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice rolling and rough. The same voice that had snarled Fuck, Zero last night; that had growled and panted over her while she clung and cried out his name. A name she was currently cursing as he continued, “Welcome to the Expanding Horizons seminar.”
Evan.
The man responsible for this clusterfuck was none other than Evan mother fucking James.
* * *
The moment he saw Zero’s face, Evan knew he was a dead man.
So he should really try a little harder not to laugh.
Maybe.
It was hard when, past the rather impressive bulk of one of the other employees, she glared at him with fire snapping in her eyes and her face twisted into a comical mix of shock, horror, fury, and mortification.
He’d been aware of her from the moment she’d walked in, small and sassy yet larger than life—and half asleep, he’d noted with a near-vengeful satisfaction after he’d barely slept for thinking of her, remembering her, struggling not to remember her. For all her grumping about the dress code, she looked good. Albeit uncomfortable, with how she kept tugging at her clothes. She still managed to make the cheap, ratty pants suit look charming and cute.
Or maybe he just found her charming and cute, and it didn’t matter what she wore.
He’d been hidden on the sidelines when she’d arrived, behind the A/V rig for the projection display. He preferred to stay out of sight until a presentation started; people paid more attention that way. Mingling beforehand took away the element of surprise, when he walked out and was everything his audience didn’t expect. He knew what most people thought a typical motivational speaker looked like, and he wasn’t it.
And he worked that to his advantage every chance he could get.
As puzzled murmurs and reluctant greetings rolled through the crowd, he waited, giving them a moment to settle—and trying to keep his eyes off Zero. It wasn’t easy, but he had a job to do. The crowd slowly subsided while he scanned them, gauging their mood. Resentful. They usually were. He hadn’t been hired to make people happy. He’d been hired to make people money. How management dealt with the fallout of that was their problem.
But he could at least make this a little less miserable while he was here.
Silence fell. He leaned against the podium and let them fidget a little longer before speaking. “I’m guessing you all hate me right now,” he said, “and you don’t even know my name. It’s Evan, by the way. Evan James. I’m not sure if that’ll make me more likeable, especially when your asses are already chapping in those hard-ass chairs.”
Reluctant laughter. Not much, but it was a start. He grinned his best, most disarming grin. Maybe his routine hadn’t worked on Zero, but he’d yet to have it fail on disgruntled office workers.
“I’ve got a little good news for you, and a little bad,” he continued. “The bad news is I’m not going away, and yes, some things around here are going to change. I’m not going to bullshit you on that. Can I say bullshit? I’m saying bullshit. You don’t want to hear bullshit and smarmy corporate-speak, so let’s just be blunt about what’s happening here. The stuffed suits need to cover their asses, you’re suffering for it, and I’m the one cracking the whip. I’m what’s known as a necessary evil, folks, but I’ll try to make this as painless as possible. Rainbows and kittens optional.”
More laughter. He knew it was cold and manipulative, what he was doing—playing on people’s emotions and working the crowd like a veteran con artist. In a lot of ways, that was what he was. He didn’t believe in what he sold. Not one damned word of it. He was selling a lie, but it was a lie people bought, and that was all that mattered.
That’s you, Zero’s cold, accusatory stare said. She was the only one who’d yet to crack a smile. A professional liar.
Doubt flickered in his gut, before he let a call from the audience distract him. “What’s the good news?” a guy shouted from the back row. “’cause until I hear something about free beer, I’m not buying it.”
“My first heckler.” His practiced grin came back; it felt like a mask. He spread his hands. “No free beer, but I do have a standing bet with the CEO. She thinks I can’t finish the entire introductory seminar by lunch. I think I can. If I win, everyone gets the rest of the day off. Full pay.”
Astonished whispers rippled through the crowd, and a few disbelieving jeers. About what he’d expected. He was playing them. They knew it, but he was buying their compliance anyway. That was what it boiled down to, in the end. Giving people what they wanted.
Everyone had a price, after all.
Except maybe the woman looking at him like she’d gladly push him into rush hour traffic. He might never be able to buy her mercy, but what bothered him most was that he wanted to.
He dragged his attention back to the audience. “So you’re with me, then? Let’s do this fast and painless. If we make it through, first round’s on me. Beer, tequila, your choice.”
Cheering. They’d cheer next, he knew—and he barely had to wait a three-count before it started. Whoops and laughter and clapping, while he ducked his head and played his that’s right, I’m one of you, I’m on your side act. He had it down to an art, and he smiled like everyone’s goddamned best friend as he flicked the controls for the projector and started the presentation.
But Zero still wasn’t smiling. He shouldn’t give a damn. They’d been a mutual distraction for each other. No strings. No attachments. One night and done. One rather mindblowing night, but it didn’t mean anything.
So why did it leave a heavy, sick knot in the center of his chest when she looked at him as if he’d somehow betrayed her?
CHAPTER FOUR
ZERO THOUGHT SHE JUST MIGHT throw up.
How could he? How could he stand up there like he hadn’t done a damned thing, spouting off bullshit about empowerment and presenting a united face to the competition and the value and efficiency of standardization? He’d barely even looked at her. Just one quick glance and a repressed smile that said he was enjoying watching her practically turn purple, before he’d launched into his charming little spiel that was supposed to make everyone like him.
Oh, he was good.
And she thought she just might kill him.
“Zoraya?” Ravi whispered, leaning closer. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed with a flamethrower and a few yards of rope,” she ground through her teeth.
God damn it, and she had to sit here and stare at him all day.
Four hours. Four solid hours of rambling about bee colonies and swarm behavior principles and Japanese methods of efficiency, and the benefits they’d realized from a culture of conformity. By the time he wound down from his little sales pitch, she was down to figuring out ways to dispose of the body—her favorite so far involved a wood chipper—and he was still cracking jokes and making everyone laugh. Bastard liked to hear himself talk.
The worst part? He was still so hot he practically gave off smoke trails as he moved about with casual, confident ease. The suit didn’t look right on him—not as good as the casual roughneck look, far better for those broad shoulders and rakish smile—but it still outlined the powerful sculpture of his body so well she twinged with a sore, painful reminder of last night, and hated him that much more for it.
She’d thought she’d seen right through him, but he’d taken her in just like he was doing to ever
yone here. He’d sat there and listened to her rant, knowing damned well she was complaining about him, and hadn’t said a word.
Fucker.
The moment he ended his presentation with some smarmy joke about buying everyone a beer, she thrust out of her chair, ignoring Alejandro’s confused call of “Hey Zero? Where ya going?” to stalk up the rows of seats. She half expected Evan to make a run for it, but he lounged lazily against the podium, handing out folders and chatting as people stopped by to ask him questions. That lazy smile and utter lack of concern just made her want to punch him even more.
He lifted his head; his smile widened, flashing white teeth. “Zoraya. It’s good to see you again.”
“You,” she snarled, absolutely seething, barely able to keep her voice down. “You slimy asshole. You’re the one making my life a living hell!”
Several of the employees clustered around Evan stared at her. He flashed them a polite smile, then ushered her to the side with a hand against the small of her back. She twisted away from his touch, putting distance between them, edging out of reach and wrapping her arms around herself defensively. She didn’t want him to touch her right now. Or ever again.
Evan sighed, studying her with an assessing gaze. “Technically I only made your job a living hell. I’d like to think I made last night a little better.”
“There was no last night,” she hissed.
“Wasn’t there?”
He stepped closer. She flinched back, retreating until her shoulders hit the wall. Not a position she wanted to be in with him again, but she had nowhere else to go—and she hated how her body throbbed with the memory of last night, aching for that wild, primitive madness again, its promise waiting in the hard lines of muscle that the stiff suit barely concealed. “Get away from me.”
“Why are you so angry?”
“I’d never have slept with you if I’d known who you were.” Her fingers balled into fists, clutching the elbows of her suit jacket. “And you know that. You lied to get laid.”
“Or I omitted a few details so I’d have a chance to be myself with you, and not just the face of my job.” When she glared at him, he held up both hands. “Okay. I should have told you. Especially after you called me a douchenozzle. Flattering, by the way.”
“I’ll have it engraved on your tombstone.”
“I’d appreciate that.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “But this—all of this isn’t who I am, Zero. Who I am is who I was last night with you.”
“A schmoozing, manipulative liar?”
“An idiot who doesn’t know how to talk to a beautiful woman without screwing it up.” Pale green eyes lanced into her until her stomach twisted inside out.
No. No. He wasn’t going to look at her like that and get her to relent. She was mad, damn it—and—and—mad!
“Stop it,” she said. “I’ve had enough of your lines, and I don’t need to hear any more.”
“That’s fair.”
He inclined his head, then glanced over his shoulder. People were starting to file out, ignoring the catered lunch—soggy sandwiches that smelled like old pickle juice—to head for the elevator. They were probably heading next door to Tapas as usual. Zero was torn between joining them or just leaving. Alejandro could distract her with his inappropriate humor while Ravi’s quiet, serene warmth comforted—or she could take her paid half-day and go home to her nice, cozy apartment. Spend the rest of the day reading, until she forgot Evan James even existed. Her brother had a new book out anyway, and she hadn’t had time to read it yet. Besides—Violet Sparks was a hell of a lot more interesting than some lying asshole.
A lying asshole who’d given her the best sex of her life.
“Listen,” Evan said. “I was serious about buying everyone drinks. Helps take the sting out of things. Come on. Safe group environment. I won’t try to put the moves on you, you won’t try to murder me. Truce?”
“Fuck you, Evan,” Zero said, and walked out of the room.
* * *
Her triumph over the look on Evan’s face lasted just long enough to get Zero out of the building and onto the subway—where she slumped against her seat and groaned, burying her face in her hands. Half her coworkers had probably overheard that. She’d felt Alejandro and Ravi staring, and she didn’t want to face their questions tomorrow. Even more, she didn’t want to face Evan tomorrow. He’d be around for the rest of the week, shadowing various departments and working with senior management. They’d been told to be on their best behavior while he was in the office.
For Zero, her best behavior would be damned well invisible.
She didn’t want to see him. Not when she’d actually liked him. His awkward charm strangely paired with confident arrogance, the patient way he’d teased things out of her, the way he’d smiled at her silly stories about why she liked her tiny apartment instead of scorning it when he could probably afford much better.
Only to find out he’d just been schmoozing her. He’d done a damned good job of it, too.
No regrets. It had just been a night of sex; the fact that he was a lying douchebag didn’t change that it had been damned good sex. And that was all it was. Get through the week, move on, and forget about him.
That didn’t make the prospect of tomorrow any easier to face.
She stopped at the corner pharmacy-slash-grocery near her apartment and picked up a six-pack of green apple Smirnoff Ice, a paperback of her brother’s latest novel, and a bottle of black hair dye. First step toward acceptance, right? Maybe she could wash Evan out of her memory the same way she’d wash the color out of her hair.
While she waited in the checkout lane, her phone trilled in her pocket. She pulled it out and skimmed a text from Alejandro.
where the hell r u zero-gurl? assholes buying drinks like a sugar daddy buying luv
She chuckled to herself and tapped out a quick response. My love’s not bought that easily.
don’t have 2 luv the guy 2 spend his money. not the same w/o u
Too late. Almost home. Have a drink for me.
u make ale sad, he sent back. u owe me a story
What story?
y u were yelling at him 2day
She didn’t know what made her wince more: Alejandro’s typing, or the sharp reminder of just why she wouldn’t mind being drunk right now. But she’d rather be drunk alone; drinking around Evan just got her in trouble, and she’d had enough of that kind of trouble to last years.
Without answering Alejandro, she pocketed her phone, paid, then walked the last block to her apartment and climbed upstairs to the cozy warmth of her little space, her cheeks and nose burning after being out in the cold. With an irritable mutter, she tugged out of her coat and scarf, then left the pants suit on the floor on her way to the bathroom to run a steaming bath. Just what she needed to relax, she thought as she read the instructions on the box of dye. Soak the day away, and start over tomorrow.
It didn’t take her long to comb the dye into her hair. She’d been dyeing her hair since high school. It had started as hero worship toward a senior, a girl with blue hair and a nerd-punk style Zero had loved, but over time she’d made it her own trademark. With practiced movements she smoothed the color in to set, wrapped her hair, then sank into the tub with a drink and her brother’s novel. She couldn’t help smiling as she traced her fingers over the cover, and his name. Ion Blackwell. Their father was still mad at him for not toeing the line, but Zero was proud. He’d done what mattered most to him, and made his dream into a success.
Maybe she could learn a thing or two from her brother.
Her smile lingered as she sank down in the steaming hot water and lost herself in the pages, snickering into her drink as Violet snarked her way from one misadventure to another. She devoured the book in just a little over two hours, hardly noticing when her drink—and the backup she’d brought—was empty, bottles lined along the edge of the tub as she turned page after page. By the time she was done the water had gone cold, and the dye was
starting to crust in her hair. She started to close the book, then paused as the author’s note at the end caught her eye.
She blinked. Huh. Ion had been busy since she’d last been able to afford a call to Paris—and apparently he was in love. She’d never seen her brother in love; he’d always kept some part of himself walled off, so fierce about his privacy and never quite letting anyone into his space. Stranger things could happen, she supposed, but she couldn’t think of any off the top of her head.
Here’s one. How about you sleeping with some random guy who turns out to be the smarmy motivational speaker who’s fucking up your job?
She growled to herself, set the book on the edge of the tub, and dunked underwater to rinse her hair.
The water was dark gray by the time she ran it out, rinsed her skin in the shower, then dried off and dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt. She eyed her reflection, solid black hair straggling around her face and darkening the chest and shoulders of her shirt.
“Still me.” She smiled at her reflection and toweled her hair. “Just a slightly less colorful me.”
A sharp rapping came at her door. Her head jerked up. Who would know she’d be home at this time of the afternoon? Might be her landlord; he’d probably seen her coming in. She draped the towel around her neck, padded to the door, and stood on her toes to peek through the keyhole.
Evan.
He’d changed—sinfully ragged, low-riding jeans and a t-shirt so tight it nearly licked his skin, under that leather jacket that made him look like the devil he was instead of a slick corporate bullshit artist. She almost preferred him in the suit. At least then she could see the weasel under the skin.
She hissed through her teeth, stomach tightening into a hot, furious clutch. “Go away,” she snarled through the door.
