by Scott, Talyn
Payton checked her text messages, while Stephen gave Libby a thorough tonsil examination. Avery and Dylan kept blowing up her phone; even texting and calling from unknown numbers, and the messages were killing her. The last one from Avery simply stated: I’m hurting. Well, so was she, in the worst possible way. Payton never explained why she went cold on their newfound relationship. Instead, she’d avoided their calls and texts. At least, Dylan and Avery hadn’t shown up, allowing her time to piece back a semblance of inner strength. Still, they’d sent her daily floral arrangements, one more exotic than the next, with notes only containing their initials combined— all three of them. But even without direct communication, Avery and Dylan knew every move she made, because they had security detail on her constantly. Payton hated the feeling. Found it hard to sleep at night, not that she could sleep anyway. No matter Payton’s startling physical resemblance to Helen Savon, she could never replace the woman Avery and Dylan had lost to death years ago. A shudder raked her spine at the thought of playing runner up to a ghost who haunted Avery and Dylan’s memories.
As the van lurched forward, pulling away from Gulf Bleu on the way to Club Saturday, she wondered if the vultures and Easton security would catch on to their backdoor escape and follow them. Bile threatened to rise, so she dug out a mint from her purse.
“So how does it feel being engaged to one of the wealthiest men in the world?” Stephen asked, rushing to the intersection and studiously checking his rearview mirror. Obviously, Libby hadn’t told him the truth behind Dylan’s marriage proposal.
“How does it feel?” She unwrapped the mint, popping it in her mouth. “Like everyone knows more about me than I do.” Discretely, she pulled the news clipping Libby had given her from her bag to place it in the smaller beaded purse that she’d brought for the club. She couldn’t help but unfold it, taking her umpteenth look at Dylan swooping her nearly to the sidewalk in an old-Hollywood-style kiss in front of Hytel Plume. Around their figures frozen in time, flashing lights went off in all directions. In that moment, he’d informed the world Payton was to be Mrs. Dylan Easton, though he’d never proposed to her beforehand. She had to admit they took a striking picture, Payton practically floating in his arms. Later, she had truly floated in his arms all the way to the clouds, when Dylan and Avery had taken her virginity at the same time with their gentle, probing fingers. ‘Are you sure about this?’ Avery had asked. ‘We have all night. We have all year.’ Dylan had said, ‘This is serious for us, Payton, not a one-nighter.’ Neither had pressed her for the final act, to trust them with something she’d never shared with another man, but it had felt as though she’d saved herself only for them. Somehow, no matter what she’d found out regarding them since, Payton still didn’t regret the night they had spent together.
Stephen took a right, keeping an eye on his rearview mirror for vultures. “Well, I guess you’ll have to get used to the press from now on. If you marry an Easton, most everyday folks will live vicariously through you to escape boredom.”
“Cinderella syndrome,” Libby huffed, “it’s ridiculous.”
Stephen reached across, running his fingertips over Libby’s knee. “The Eastons are North America’s version of royalty.”
Payton sighed. “Yeah, I guess so.” Tears threatened when they passed the Unconditional Surrender statue, where the sailor and nurse were lost forever in time, kissing in Sarasota Florida day and night. Dylan had told her he fought to keep that statue right where it was, had thought there was such a thing as love at first sight.
“You okay?” Libby asked, threading her hand through the seats and tapping Payton on the shin.
“Yes,” she lied. Instead of transferring the news article to her smaller purse and keeping it next to her heart as if she were a love-struck teenager, she thoroughly shredded it with trembling fingers and tossed the remnants in an empty cardboard box next to her seat. “You don’t have any éclairs hidden back here in all these catering boxes, do you Stephen?” Payton asked, while grabbing her phone again and deleting all her messages.
“Sorry, no.” Parking the van behind Club Saturday, Stephen waved at a suited hottie waiting at the back door. “Hey, Evan, thanks for the celebrity treatment,” he said to none other than Evan Easton, clasping his hand and patting his shoulder, obviously a good friend.
“You’ll make it, Pay.” Libby got out of the van and opened Payton’s door. “You always do.”
No one needed to remind Payton that she was a fighter. She could put on a brave front as well as Libby and Noah. “I’ll be fine.” She slid out of the van nearly falling on her butt, but Libby steadied her. Payton lowered her voice, glancing at Stephen. “Do you realize Stephen is talking to Evan Easton?”
Libby gaped. “He said the owner was his friend.” She stalled a moment, pursing her lips. “I guess I can’t begrudge Stephen, though. He receives catering referrals from the Eastons. But why would Noah work a gig here?”
“I guess we can’t begrudge him, either. His band shouldn’t have to give up income due to our mounting problems.” Payton rubbed her stomach. “Logic aside, I have a bad feeling about tonight.”
A few minutes later, a slightly tipsy Evan led them through the club’s backdoor. Tall, broad-shouldered, and darkly handsome, he pretended to be talking to all of them, but his eyes kept dropping to Payton as they moved through Club Saturday. “Do you mind a table by the bar?”
Payton shrugged. “That’s fine.”
“We’ll see you on the dance floor,” Libby called out as a smiling Stephen pressed her against him in a we-need-to-get-a-room body squeeze.
Payton shooed them away and said to Evan, “Hey, I’m good until the vultures find me, and then I’m gone.”
“Unfortunately, the paparazzi and a few reporters are already salivating in front of my club.” He helped her onto a high backed chair upholstered in sky blue. Never would she have thought to resurrect such a color, but it worked here among the brushed steel and gleaming ebony. “You going out without Dylan created suspicion.”
“Do you have enough security to keep them out?” She asked as she surveyed the sumptuous club. A striking coral inspired chandelier at least ten feet high centered the dance floor. Up above, dancers filled open areas and nearly hidden alcoves. Around the stage below, low hanging lights resembling swimming jellyfish dotted larger tables, their clear structures changing colors in time with the music. Narrow up-lights centered the intimate tables, such as the one Evan had chosen for them. Club Saturday was a newer club, less than three years old, and Evan Easton had somehow worked in a typical tourist trap with the edge of past generations grunge.
He raised a censoring brow. “I do now, since your bodyguards also found you.”
“That’s just…great.” She gladly accepted a Key Lime martini from a prompt server. On the side of the glass, a miniature alligator gripped the edge with its rubber teeth. “Cute,” she said, placing it on a napkin.
“You are,” Evan amended with a curl to his lips. “Stephen said to order you a chocolate martini, but I thought you might like something tart and sweet. That’s how I would label you, if you were a drink or a lover.” He reached over and stroked her hand. “Fiery red hair, a snap in those shamrock eyes, and, still, the creaminess of your skin makes you appear almost approachable.” Wisely, he took his hand away. “So why aren’t you here with Dylan and Avery?”
“Well, say whatever comes to mind.”
“Well,” he mocked, pointing a finger at her, “Dylan Easton’s fiancée is under the microscope, and she went clubbing without him, which looks pretty damn bad.”
“I’m here to support Noah.”
“Just friends with Mr. Wyatt, I suppose?”
“Yep,” she said, tipping her head to a transparent floor where three women danced in barely there skirts. “Interesting.” Down below, anyone could see their naked, suntanned cheeks as they wiggled in time to the music.
Evan gave a lazy shrug, not even glancing in their direction. “
That’s nothing compared to Level 69.” His eyes focused entirely on her. “Think your fiancé would share you there? With. Me.”
He was trying to shock her, trying to make her talk about things she didn't want to talk about tonight. However, Payton wouldn’t pretend she didn’t know about Julian Easton’s sex club, hidden beneath The Easton Hotel’s Tower Amore. “Avery told me about the place, and I would never attend, not with him, not with anyone.”
“No?” He took a sip of his drink, licking a lingering drop from his bottom lip.
“Never,” she repeated and waved at Noah, when she saw him setting up on stage. His answering smile was glorious. Her best friend and roommate nearly melted her heart, looking so blonde against his simple grey T-shirt nestled inside a black bomber and brushed Diesel jeans sliding over the contours of his thighs. If she could only trust him around other women, she could take him up on his offer to further their relationship past friendship.
“Do you want to know what I think of people who use the word never?”
“Sure, why not?”
“They are far too emphatic to mean what they say.” He studied Noah for a moment. Five or so feet below him were his groupies, sidling up to the stage and waiting for his undivided attention, which they never would get. Noah gave no woman his undivided attention, and Payton didn’t see that changing anytime soon. Evan slid his thumb across her bottom lip. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Payton leaned away and finished her martini. Another had been placed next to her without her knowledge, so she started on her second drink. “What do you really want to say to me, Evan?”
“You’re engaged to my cousin, a man you’ve basically known a week, while accepting Avery, as well.” He eyed her considerably. “Why?”
“Because I’m a gold digger.” She tossed down the rest of her second martini and realized he’d ordered her drinks on the strong side, extremely strong. For a second, the room tilted, and she blinked her eyes a few times. She couldn’t handle champagne, much less tequila, so this was bad any way she looked at it.
Evan rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. “As Mrs. Easton you would want for nothing, but that’s not your reason for taking them on, I’m sure.”
“For such a successful man, your intuitive skills are lacking.”
He fingered a lock of her hair, tugged. “Payton, Payton, Payton,” Evan murmured on a weary exhalation. “You are so young and genuinely good that I’m compelled to tell you…”
“In the past week, I’ve nearly been broken.” Though it shocked her to admit that nugget of truth aloud, and, to an Easton no less, Payton owned it. “Nothing has happened that I expected, and I came here tonight to get away from discussing anything serious.” She placed a warning hand on his chest. “All I need is a night to unwind, to forget the world, which means I don’t need another man interfering in my life.”
“Okay,” he said amicably, and then his lips curved into a secret smile. “I have an idea that doesn’t require talking.” She raised a disgusted brow, but he held up placating hands.
“Dancing, that’s all, your friend’s band is about to start.” He slid off his chair and helped her down. “I’ll be the perfect gentleman. I swear.”
She looked around his shoulder and spotted Libby and Stephen finishing a slow dance. “Okay,” she agreed, “but I’m holding you to your perfect gentlemen oath forever.”
Evan laughed as he led her to the dance floor. “You can hold me to anything you want.” They stopped near Noah’s line of groupies, and Evan wrapped his arms around her quite respectfully.
Noah had his guitar in one hand, his opposite hand adjusting his microphone. “We’re going to open soft, tonight,” he said to the crowd, his eyes resting hard on Payton. “This first number was written for the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
Then Noah lost himself in the music, his husky baritone singing My World For You perfectly, a song he and Payton used to sing to one another when the world was kicking their asses on a regular basis - and it still was. Even so, Noah had never explained he’d written the song for her.
Payton swayed in Evan’s arms, but kept her eyes peeled over his suit-clad shoulder on Noah. The room melted away, the bustling club, the hookers dressed in nothing short of bathing suits, the vultures lurking outside with cameras at the ready, and she was strolling on a long ago beach with Noah Wyatt. Her hand in his, their teen selves walked that day for what probably amounted to miles, suffering together as Payton’s father and Noah’s mother had ruined two families by having an extramarital affair with each other. On that long ago beach, she’d nearly given herself to Noah, but trust was a hard thing to toss around when she was a stricken teen thinking every man was like her father.
As if sensing her discomfort, Evan’s hands tightened on her waist, supporting her. She leaned her head on his chest, closing her eyes and reminding herself that although Noah had declared his love for her in front of everyone here, still, he had basically turned into her father ten-fold. Sleeping with hundreds of women, Noah hadn’t an ounce of remorse over his lifestyle.
Payton kept her eyes closed and pretended everything was fine. Long minutes passed, well into the next song, before Evan put a few inches between them. “Open your eyes, Payton,” he whispered against her forehead, his lips tickling her skin.
She looked up. "Hi.”
His lips curved. “Hi.”
“I’ve had too much to drink.”
He steadied her as she started to stumble. “I guess you are a two drink maximum.” As Evan edged her to the side of the dance floor, he led her away from Noah and his swooning court.
With his fingertip, he drew a line down the slope of her nose. “As lovely as you are, you look exhausted. Shall I drive you home?”
“No.” She yawned and gripped his arm. “I wanted to hear Noah’s set.” Another yawned escaped, and her cheeks heated. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve actually slept for days.”
“Then Dylan or Avery should be caring for you.” When she said nothing, he cupped her chin. “If you don’t want to leave, then put your feet up for a few minutes in my private apartment upstairs.” He opened his mouth, and then closed it, as though rethinking what he was about to say. “I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss Avery and Dylan with you.”
“Okay, but what about Noah and Libby?”
“Text Libby.” He shrugged. “Noah’s band plays thirty minutes, so you’ll have plenty of time to catch his last song.” He pressed his hand on her lower back as they made their way to a private corridor containing an elevator. He swiped a card key through a slotted panel and gunmetal on black doors swooped open.
“What’s with you rich guys and private elevators?” She shot a text to Libby regarding her whereabouts.
“Privacy, for starters,” he said. “I guess we haven’t the patience to wait for anything or anyone, so they make for smooth convenience.” He leaned in teasingly, stroking her cheek. A fist came out of nowhere and knocked Evan onto the elevator floor with a resounding thud.
Payton gasped, dropping her phone on the club’s stained concrete floor, her screen shattering like a sheet of ice. “Oh, Dylan!”
Chapter 4
Evan stood up quickly, making a move to take down Dylan, but stopped when security circled them.
“Don’t worry about them,” Dylan cajoled, raising his chin. “They won’t interfere unless you ask them to so don’t ask.”
“What the fuck’s your problem?” Evan growled, swiping at his bleeding mouth.
“What part of fiancée don’t you understand?” Dylan pierced him with a ferocious glare.
“You’re always jumping to conclusions, where I’m concerned,” he said accusingly, his eyes flicking to Payton. “Are you okay?”
“F-fine,” she said quickly, thinking he was not only handsome but an all right guy if he was bleeding and still worrying about her feelings. “Thanks for -” One look from Dylan and her mouth froze in mid-sentence. She threaded
her purse over her shoulder and splayed her hands on her hips, tapping her toe in time with her thundering heart. Gathering her courage, she demanded, “Stop this, Dylan.”
Ignoring her, he ordered Evan, “Don’t touch her again.”
That just pissed her off. “I’ll decide who can touch me.”
Dylan stayed focused on Evan. “You know what I can do to you.”
“Threats aside, if Payton wants to leave with you, I’m not stopping her.” Evan raised his brows at her expectantly. “If she wants to stay…”
Dylan, or any other man, would never decide whether she went or stayed, but there wasn’t any way she could go upstairs and rest now. “Thanks for the drinks and the dance, Evan. I really enjoyed myself, but I’ll head out and not cause you any more unjustified trouble.”
