by T. K. Leigh
“Of course I do, Viv. I dated him without realizing it. He admitted he—”
“I understand that. But do you really think people agree to be the subject of a story based on the goodness of their heart?”
I step away from the door, sucking in my lower lip. “What are you saying?”
She stands from behind her desk and walks toward me, her mouth formed in a tight line. “I’ve been in this industry for more years than I care to admit. It’s one of the toughest jobs out there, especially for a woman. No matter what you do, how much you try to present yourself as serious, there are times when you’ll only get the interview if you turn on the charm, if you make them think there’s a chance of something…more.”
“I didn’t just make him think there was a chance of something more. I gave him something more. And then some.”
“No. You gave that to Julian, not August.”
“I still didn’t get the story based on my talent alone, regardless of whether the man I slept with was Julian or August. I didn’t plan for it to happen this way.”
“Evie…” She runs her hands down my arms. “Life sometimes doesn’t go as planned. It’s how we handle the unexpected that determines our strength. Do you go on to fight another day? Or do you give up because it’s too hard?”
“I’m not giving up,” I mumble.
“No?” She spreads her arms. “Then what do you call this? So you were lied to. It doesn’t lessen your ability to do your job and do it well.”
“But I’d know the truth.” I point to myself, my jaw tensing. “If I continued on and, by some miracle, you gave me the promotion, every time I walked into that office and saw my name on the nameplate, assistant editor below it, I’d question whether I earned it. I need to know I earned it. I’d never…” I stop short. I can’t tell her the other reason. That every time I walked into that office, I’d be reminded of Julian. Ever since I learned the truth over two weeks ago, I vowed to erase him from every aspect of my life. That includes my work life, too.
“I’ve always known you were stubborn,” she says when I don’t finish my thought. “I just didn’t realize you were stupid, too.” She spins and grabs a large envelope off her desk, shoving it at me.
“What’s this?”
“An early proof of the February issue. It’s not final yet, but it has the feature story and the layout you designed. Figured you’d want to see the fruits of all your hard work.”
“Oh.”
She crosses her arms. “Yeah. Oh.”
After several long moments pass and she doesn’t say anything further, I take it as my cue to leave.
“You’re damn good at what you do, Evie,” she offers as I reach the doorway. “You should be proud of everything you’ve accomplished, regardless of how you did so.”
I glance over my shoulder and smile, wishing I could be as proud of myself as it appears Viv is. I walk out of her office, returning to my cubicle and the only thing that makes me feel grounded in a world that seems to have fallen to pieces around me. I pull my new planner out of my desk drawer and make new plans…better plans. Happier plans.
But it still doesn’t heal the gaping hole in my heart. I wonder if anything will.
“Coming to Nora’s to help her decide on centerpieces?”
When I hear Chloe’s voice, I pull my attention away from my planner, which is now covered with decorative stickers and color-coded based on my itinerary for the day. I’ve even started making daily, weekly, and monthly goals for the next three months. It makes me feel like I’m slowly regaining control of my life, like I will move on from this little hiccup.
“The hotel…” She focuses on my desk, then snatches the planner off the surface. “What in the holy hell is this?”
“You know what it is.” I tear it away from her, hugging it to my chest like a baby would a security blanket. “It’s my planner. A new planner. For new plans.”
“Oh, I know that. But what is it doing out here?”
“Nothing.” I hold my head high. “I just like being organized. I dropped the ball the past few months and am now suffering the consequences. Life is better when it’s planned. No surprises. So that’s what I’m doing. Making a new plan for the new year.”
“Does this new plan include finally growing a pair and talking to Julian? I’m not sure how many more bouquets of roses we can fit into the apartment before the city zoning committee tries to evict us for running a floral shop out of a residence. Or are you planning on ignoring him forever?”
“I’m not ignoring him,” I answer calmly. “I just have absolutely nothing to say to him. Eventually, he’ll move on. He’ll go back to being August Laurent, screwing whatever rich socialite calls him that month, and forget I even exist.”
She considers my words for a moment, then sits on the spare chair. “But will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Move on? Forget about him?”
“Yes. I have a plan.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you do. And what does that entail?”
Flipping my new and improved planner open to the correct page, I push it toward her, keeping a protective stare on her the entire time to ensure she doesn’t do something crazy.
“What is this?”
“New requirements for a potential partner.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No. Goals are important. Of course, I set the bar a little lower than I did when I first did this in high school. I’m thirty. Most women are twenty-seven when they marry, and the men are twenty-nine. So I can’t be as selective as I was twelve years ago. Ideally attractive, a decent job—”
“I can read,” she shoots back. “It’s all here on your list.”
“And not a secret escort.”
“Well…” She closes my planner and pushes it toward me. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I didn’t take that into consideration last time and look where it got me.”
Chloe glares, her lips pinched together as she leans toward me. “Did you ever stop to put yourself in his shoes? Try to figure out why he did what he did?”
I open my mouth, shaking my head. “What are you—”
“Julian!” She slams her hands on the desk, her eyes fierce. “Have you considered what he’s gone through during this pity party you’ve thrown for yourself these past few weeks?”
“I know why he did it. So he could have his cake and eat it, too.” I look away from her heated stare, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You know that’s not the case. You said yourself he claimed to have stopped taking clients the beginning of June. When you met. The first time. Before you ever agreed to be his fake girlfriend.”
“Who knows how true that is?” I mutter under my breath.
She brushes off my comment. “If he told you who he was back then, would you have given him a shot?”
“No.” I chew on my fingernails when I notice a word spelled wrong on my itinerary for January second. My hands itch to reach out and grab my planner to fix it, but I have a feeling Chloe would toss it into the incinerator if I did that.
“Then maybe that’s why he did what he did. Because he knew lying to you was the only chance he had to get to know you. Trust me, as much as I was initially skeptical of the whole arrangement, that man has always had eyes for only you. I saw it that first weekend when the photos of Julian Gage’s mystery woman started appearing online. The way he looked at you… Well, it’s a way all women yearn to be admired, revered, worshiped. There’s no question in my mind he worships the ground you walk on. That he would do anything for you.” A smile lights up her face. “I’ve never seen you as happy as I have when you were with Julian. Trevor certainly never made you that happy.”
“At least Trevor never lied to me. He didn’t have a secret escort business he never told me about. Remember this…”
I open one of my desk drawers, shifting through the contents until I find th
e list I’d scratched out after Julian called to take me to dinner all those months ago. On one side are Trevor’s pros and cons. On the other are Julian’s. I haven’t updated this list since that day. I could probably add many more cons to Trevor’s side and dozens of pros in Julian’s. But there’s one con that outweighs everything else. The con he played on me.
I shove the list at Chloe. “Trevor’s a much better choice than some man I’m not sure I ever knew.”
“On paper, maybe, but I recently read this dating advice column where the author said that love is fickle and makes no sense. That just because someone has all the traits you deem important, it doesn’t mean you love them. That only the heart decides that. Sound familiar?”
I lower my eyes, pulling my lips between my teeth. “Maybe.”
“So tell me…” Chloe places her hand on my arm. I lift my head. “What does your heart say about Julian?”
“That none of it was real,” I answer in a quiet voice, my throat pained.
“I think it was as real for him as it was for you.”
I shake my head, refusing to believe it. “This entire thing taught me that life is better when you stick to your plan. Trevor was my plan. I should never have let a pair of beautiful blue eyes and a smooth-talking mouth stray me from that. Not only do I have to live with the knowledge I messed up, but I also destroyed any chance I had at making Trevor realize he made a mistake.”
Chloe glares at me before sighing and standing. “He came to see me.”
“Who? Trevor?”
“No. Julian.” She pulls on her jacket, securing it with a belt. “When you refused to talk to him, he reached out to me. You know what he told me?”
I remain silent.
“That even if you never speak to him again, he doesn’t regret what he did, not when you gave him the greatest gift imaginable.”
“Guaranteed sex?” I quip back sarcastically, but it’s missing my usual bite.
“No. He said you taught him how to love.” She pauses, allowing her words to linger. “But I think he gave you an even greater gift.”
“And what’s that?” I ask hesitantly.
“He taught you how to live. If he had to lie to get you to stray from this picture-perfect life you imagined for yourself, from constantly making lists of pros and cons of every decision, from micromanaging everything, I’m grateful he did so. And I think if you looked hard enough, you’ll realize you feel the same way.”
Chapter Forty
I lounge on the couch in Chloe’s living room, glaring at the envelope Viv gave me earlier while It’s a Wonderful Life plays on the television in the background. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best movie choice, considering I’m currently going through my own internal crisis. I wish I had a guardian angel who could come down and show me what my life would look like had I never met Julian Gage. Would it help matters any?
Always a glutton for punishment, I grab the envelope off the coffee table and lift the flap. I’m most likely going to regret looking at this. Then again, I did just wish for a guardian angel. Maybe that’s Viv. Unexpected and impractical, but so was Buster Poindexter as the Ghost of Christmas Past in Scrooged.
My stomach tenses as I pull out the magazine and flip it over. When I stare into a pair of familiar blue eyes, my throat tightens. I haven’t seen Julian since Sonia’s funeral, and even then, I kept my distance, disappearing before the end of the service so he couldn’t approach me. At one point, whenever I peered into these eyes, I saw a man willing to take a risk and love me. Now all I see are his lies.
As Jimmy Stewart begs Clarence to take him back to the life he’d wanted to end, I thumb to the page Viv marked with a sticky note, landing on the featured article — August Laurent: Unrobed. The initial two-page spread is a combination of photos of him along with the text of the article I’d poured everything into the past several months.
I peel the note off and read it.
E,
I made a few adjustments to the final draft you submitted. Mr. Laurent requested additional information be included to give the reader greater insight into why he does what he does. This piece will still run, regardless of what decision you make, but I hope I won’t have to change the byline. The ball’s in your court.
- Viv
I shift my eyes to the caption beneath the title, running my fingers over the glossy page.
By: Guinevere Fitzgerald, Assistant Editor
Contributor: Chloe Davenport, Columnist
It’s strange to see my full name in print. I’ve always gone by Evie Fitzgerald. In a way, it’s satisfying, like I’m turning over a new leaf, starting a new life. No longer writing about the best condoms for maximum pleasure, but about subjects of value.
Encouraged by George Bailey shouting about wanting to live again, I turn my attention to the opening paragraph of the story I pitched on a whim, thinking nothing would come of it. I can’t help but smile at how wrong I was. In more ways than I care to admit.
When I first pitched the idea of getting the inside scoop on the man who, over the past decade, has become one of the country’s most sought-after escorts, I selfishly did so because a story about a male escort would appeal to a large percentage of female readers. I envisioned the cover in my mind... A man dressed in a suit, tie draped around his neck, white shirt unbuttoned revealing chiseled abs, head cut off to keep the mystery alive.
I suppose that’s how I assumed this man’s story would be. All eye candy. No substance.
Well, dear reader, you’re in for quite the ride, just as I was.
August Laurent’s tale is one you can’t truly appreciate until you have the full picture. I confess, I didn’t have that until now. I assumed he was a womanizer, a heartbreaker, a philanderer… Someone who had no qualms about taking advantage of women for monetary gain.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
My heart squeezes as I zero in on that one line. When I first wrote it, I believed it with every fiber of my being. Has any of that changed because I know who August Laurent is? Maybe I’m wrong about him again.
Bringing my eyes back to the article, I lose myself in the world I spent my summer living. But it’s better now, the pieces Chloe contributed adding another dimension. Now, instead of being a story that seemed to focus on the women August helped, I’m left with a tale of a boy forced to become a man when most kids his age only cared about the latest video game. A boy who had to say goodbye to the only family he had when the rest of us were at an age we wished our parents would disappear. A boy who refused to get close to anyone because he didn’t think he deserved to be loved.
But that didn’t stop him from giving love when it was needed, despite his insistence that he didn’t know how to love. He did. In giving that love, he helped so many women realize their true worth. Some of them just wanted to feel secure in their decision to focus on their career instead of getting married and having kids. Others needed to feel as if they were worthy of love after being with someone who took them for granted. And others needed him to save them, just as he was saved. Regardless of the fact that it was strictly a business arrangement, he still made them feel beautiful, made them feel worthy, made them feel loved.
He did the same thing for me, too, but as Julian.
Can I learn to look past his faults because of the way I felt when I was with him? The way I still feel when I hear his name, look into his eyes, recall the heat of his hands on my skin? I want to. God, I wish I could run into his arms and start over again, like he’s begged me to do over the weeks that have passed. But this is a man who’s made a living out of giving the women who’ve hired him the fantasy they need, learning how to read them and tell them what they need to hear. How do I know anything he’s told me is real?
I’m so consumed with indecision, I barely register the sound of the buzzer, thinking it’s the apartment next door. When I hear it again, I shoot my gaze toward the door, holding my breath as I stare. I’ve ignored that buzzer for weeks now, reg
ardless of Julian’s pleas from the front stoop to talk to him. A few hours ago, I was happy to continue to ignore him. Now, I wonder if I can give him the second chance my heart urges he deserves.
Placing the magazine on the coffee table, I stand, taking measured steps toward the entryway, my pulse increasing the closer I get. I place my hand on the knob, able to feel the electricity. When I open the door, I expect to stare into pleading blue eyes. Instead, the eyes looking back are hazel.
“Trevor…” I wrap my arms around my stomach, warming myself as I walk out onto the front step, remaining out of the rain. “What are you doing here?” I hug myself, Julian’s SUNY sweatshirt providing me with warmth.
He shoves his hands into his pockets, nervously rocking on his heels. “I, uh… I was in the Village for a meeting with a client and thought I’d stop by to see how you’re doing.”
“How I’m doing?”
I haven’t seen Trevor since my final weekend in the Hamptons at the Farewell Gala, which he attended on Theresa’s arm. And I haven’t spoken to him in even longer, both of us happy to ignore each other all summer. Truthfully, it wasn’t a conscious effort on my part. Julian’s presence consumed me to the point that I ignored everything else…including the ex-boyfriend often standing only a few feet away.
“No plans with Theresa tonight?”
“We broke up around Thanksgiving.” He laughs slightly. “Mom and Dad came to visit, like they do every year.”
“And how did that go?”
“Let’s just say it made me realize how different Theresa and I are.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He lifts his eyes to mine as he shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”
I part my lips, about to argue with him, but snap my jaw shut. “You’re right. I’m not.”
“I deserve that, especially after the way I handled things.”
Neither one of us says anything for several long seconds, an awkward tension building. I used to feel comfortable around him. This is a man with whom I had no qualms, even sharing all the dirty details of my period…much to his chagrin. Now I don’t know how to act.
