Survival of the Fiercest (12 page)

After Tone gives a short instructional lecture, he switches to personal critiques, moving from canvas to canvas, giving tips and encouragement. From my vantage point, I can see all the unfinished artwork and am impressed by some of the talent in the class. One of the kids hooks up his phone to a little speaker, and there is a lot of dancing and laughter.

My notepad is full of notes, and I get more and more ideas as I watch. My head is down and my pen is in motion when I hear the heavy security door open and close. Evan enters with a box in his hand and gets a warm greeting from the kids. With a huge smile, he greets them back, reaches into the box, and holds up an iPad mini in each hand. The class roars.

My heart is pounding. Seeing him feels like the sun has broken through my cloudy day. I keep very still as Evan hands out a mini to each kid and checks out their work. He’s wearing a cream sweater, jeans, and camouflage sneakers. Why does he have to look so delicious all the time? Any moment he is going to see me. I bite my lip, trying to think of something to say.

I’m spotted. Evan stops midstep, then continues on. He turns away from me, but we lock gazes when he looks over his shoulder in my direction.

“Yo, man! I heard you are doing a porn star,” one of the kids says, holding up his hand for a fist bump.

“Don’t read those stupid sites. It’s not true,” Evan throws out. I pray a bullet hits me.

When Evan is finished handing out minis, he stands in front of me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. He looks so mad at me.

“Learning to draw,” I say in a weak voice. Evan starts walking away. I jump out of my seat after him. “I’m sorry,” I call out. “That’s not why. Evan, please listen.” Evan shoves through the security door, and I follow him onto the blacktop outside. He whips around and stands with arms crossed, his gaze angry.

My mouth just starts going. “I’m here because I want to write about Tone and this program. I want to fix any damage I’ve done to you and Josie. I took the piece down. I’m hoping my boss doesn’t notice.”

Evan’s eyes are stone-cold as he nods and turns to walk away.

“Wait! Please let me explain.”

He sighs, turning back to me. “Fine. Explain.”

“I don’t really work for Viper yet. My parent company is trying to sell Fierce to them, and if I don’t get their contract, I lose everything—I have to start over. Before committing to a contract, they wanted to test my audience, and me, I guess, to see how the site would do if it added celebrity gossip. Viper wanted me to write about Josie and Jared having an affair. That’s why I was sent to Muse—to pump you for info.”

Evan is looking at me like he is sick. Since he already hates me, I figure I might as well just get it all out.

“When I told them Jared and Josie weren’t together, they still pressured me to write it. Before last night, I was going to write about Josie being with a mystery lover. When I thought you had lied to me, I posted it as you. It was horrible, and I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about these kids.” I gesture behind me. “And I want to make up for it.”

“Lex, my reputation aside, I’m angry because I trusted you. And you lied to me. Now I find out this whole thing was concocted to implicate Jared and Josie in an affair?”

I close my eyes against the pain of the truth.

“I really like you, Lex. But I can’t trust you. There is nowhere for us to go from here.” Evan gets into his car and drives away. I stand defeated, knowing he is right. There is nowhere for us. I chose my path, and it leads toward Fierce.

* * * *

Back at the hotel, I write for hours. My fingers fly over the keys as I take my notes from Paint the Town and structure it into a two-page feature about Tone and the kids. I even throw a few paragraphs in there about Evan and his love of art. I read it again and again, making sure it represents everything the real Fierce, my Fierce, would be proud to post. I have a feeling it will be the last original idea I’ll be allowed for a very long time.

I attach it in an e-mail and send it to my copy editor. Then I send it to Tone. I’d like his approval before I post it tomorrow. Transparency is my new thing.

Closing my laptop, I swivel in my chair and am met with a very large, quiet room. Now what? I check my phone to see if I have any messages. Zero. My thumb rolls over my last text to Evan, which is unanswered. God, he looked gorgeous today. He has every right to be mad, but I wish he wasn’t. I wish he was naked in my bed again, and we were cuddling instead of fighting. Things happen for a reason, right?

I start to text Randy and stop with a sigh. He’s on a date with some guy he met while hanging out in the lobby. Maybe I should go to the lobby? I could get cute and have dinner…by myself. No. Searching the minikitchen, I dig into a bag of chips, open a miniwine, grab the remote, and plop onto the couch. The TV flickers on. Housewives…no…sci-fi…ugh…
Anna Karenina
, which I love, but I’m depressed enough. I turn off the TV.

Maybe I should meditate, get some balance back into my life.

Maybe I’ll start that book about vulnerability.

Maybe I’ll go to the gym.

Naaah.

There must be some e-mails I have to respond to. With a heavy sigh, I flip up my laptop and scan a sea of bold e-mail subjects. I click on a response from Tone. It says:
Dope. Let me know when it goes live.

I guess this means he liked it. There is another e-mail with a forward indicator, but I don’t recognize the handle. I frown and click. It says:
You’re a good writer
. The lone “E” at the end makes my chest hurt. I reach for my phone, but I pull away. I couldn’t handle it if I text again, and he didn’t respond. Instead I hit Reply and write:
I’m really sorry.

Like a crazy person, I stare at the screen…and wait…and stare…and wait…and nothing comes back. Closing my laptop, I grab the bag of chips and tip them into my mouth. The crunch of my comfort carbs are the only sound in the room until my phone starts ringing. OMG. Evan’s name shines at me on the screen. I swallow hard and run into the kitchen for a sip of water. Deep breath, blow it out.

“Hello?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

“I liked your article.”

“Thank you.” I pause. “Those kids really inspired me.” I bite my lip.

“Yeah…um… I appreciate you writing about them.”

“Evan, I meant what I said. I’m sorry. I broke your trust, and I hope you’ll let me try to earn it back.”

His heavy sigh comes through the phone. “This is our first fight,” he says, and I thank God when I hear a smile in his voice.

“Hmmmm… I think it’s the second. We fought a little the first night we met.”

“Then we are overdue for a make-up. Have you had dinner?”

I glance at the crumpled chip bag in the trash. “Nope.”

“Good. I’ll come get you in an hour.”

Chapter Fourteen

An hour and fifteen minutes later, I step into the lobby and spot Evan chatting with the concierge. He does a double take as I come toward him, making the forty minutes I spent straightening my hair worthwhile. It’s sleek, shiny, and well past my shoulders, brushing seductively against the sleeveless black leather dress I’m wearing. Unsure of where we are going, I went for simple but deadly.

Evan gives a distracted nod to the concierge when he sees me. I curve my deep red lips into a small smile.

“Wow. Stunning as usual,” he says. He pulls me in and kisses my cheek, lingering just a bit. I close my eyes and inhale his scent.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” He’s elegant in an eggplant cashmere V-neck sweater that brings out his eyes, and waxed dark denim jeans.

“Shall we?” he asks with a head jerk. His hand goes to the small of my back as he leads us toward the exit.

At dinner, Evan is attentive and engaging. It seems I’ve been forgiven, and I stay clear of any mention of Fierce or Viper or Josie. We clink cocktail glasses and smile. I’m thankful that we are friends again, or should I say more than friends? I could say friends with benefits, but I can sense a shift between us. There is something more, and although I know better, I’ve caught myself fantasizing about a future together. Nothing crazy, just little snippets of us walking hand ’n hand through Soho or watching movies on my couch. And the comparisons I make to Pete seem never ending.

These thoughts are dangerous. Once my contract is signed, there is no more reason for me to stay in San Francisco. I could be gone as early as tomorrow night. Our time is running out, and it makes my heart ache a little.

As we eat—we got a porterhouse for two—Evan wants to know everything, every minor detail of how Fierce works. My page views, my staff budget, annual revenue, ad sales, statistics, and where I think the profit went. It’s Evan the lawyer in action, and it’s hot. Really hot.

“I’m not that sold on the idea of celebrity gossip, but I don’t have a choice,” I confess.

“What’s so great about Viper that you would compromise your vision?”

Put like that, I have to pause. “Stability, I guess.”

“In this market? No one is stable, hence your situation. Stability comes from being in control of your own future. You could get private funding or a business loan and run the site from your home. You don’t need all that overhead.”

He’s right, I think, taking a sip of my wine. Then I shake my head. “A parent company is like a business manager. I know how to create clickable content, not sell ad space and deal with payroll.”

“Hire an accountant and a PR person.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“Maybe I could help.”

“You want to pay for my accountant and PR person?” I tease.

“Seriously. I could introduce you to some investors.”

I spear a piece of steak and contemplate his offer. As much as I appreciate his interest, I’m embarrassed to admit that I feel unstable in my career for the first time in, well…ever. My career always fell into place. My love life was the thing that I never got right.

“No, this will work out. Let’s change the subject,” I say.

When I ask about the club, Evan talks about some new deals he is working on. He tells me about his friend Andrew, the head of an investment firm in New York, who is helping him scout locations for another gallery there.

“I could be in New York a few times a month,” he says softly.

“Yeah? Starting when?”

“Soon, I hope. But just getting an appointment to see these places is a bitch. The real estate market there is so fucked.”

“Tell me about it.”

Evan sips his wine, and his gaze falls over my lips. “So when are you going back to New York?”

“It depends on work, but probably in a couple of days.”

His brow wrinkles. “That soon?”

“Yeah.” I nod. We blink at each other before hunching back over our plates.

“If I came to New York, would you let me take you out to dinner?” Evan asks.

“I think I’d be a little mad if I found out you were in town and didn’t at least have coffee with me.”

“Then expect a call. I can’t have you mad at me again. It’s bad for my reputation.” His dimple pops when I slant him a look, and my mind shifts to the unspoken thoughts that hang between us. Will we keep in touch? How often? Should we just say good-bye now?

“What are you thinking?” he asks with a solemn look on his face.

“I’m thinking I might want dessert.” I half smile.

“I definitely want dessert,” he says softly. By the way he is looking at me, I’m pretty sure his idea of dessert includes a bed. So does mine, but the crack in my heart would do better with chocolate cake. I grab my clutch and rise from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

After emerging from the ladies’ stall, I retouch my lipstick in the mirror, then smooth out my dress. Staring at my reflection, I tell myself that things happen for a reason, but I find no comfort in these words. My time with Evan has a limit. The sooner I accept that, the less it will hurt when I leave. My life is in New York. Finding a guy like Evan back east won’t be easy—all the more reason to indulge now. Turning, I give myself one last look. I’m ready for dessert.

When I get to the table, Evan stands and pulls out my chair. He buries his nose in my neck as I slide forward.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he says.

The table is decorated with an assortment of sweets that Evan has ordered for us, and I taste them all—a red velvet cake, pecan pie with black pepper ice cream, banana pudding with vanilla wafers, and a chocolate cheesecake that Evan devours. I polish off the cake and pie, washing it down with a glass of Lambrusco. When we finish. Evan asks for the check and leans back in his chair.

“What’d you think?”

“It was absolutely delicious. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His gaze makes my insides go liquid.

The minute we get in the car, Evan’s lips crash onto mine. “You’re too sexy,” he groans. His words make me smile, as his feelings seem to mirror my own. His hands are everywhere: my hair, cupping my face, sliding down my side to my ass. Pushing forward, I lean closer, but the control panel interferes. We are both breathing harder when I break the kiss.

“We need a bed,” I breathe.

“Put your seat belt on.” He kisses me again and then tears out of the parking lot.

* * * *

We burst through the door of his apartment, and I am in his arms in one fluid motion. Nothing else matters as we rip at each other’s clothing. Evan strips off my leather sheath and stops to appreciate me in my bra, heels, and silk side-slit shorts that flutter when I walk. Nothing makes me feel sexier than these little shorts—except Evan’s gaze on me.

“You blow my mind,” Evan says, his breathing heavy. “I’m like a teenager about to come in my pants.”

Discarding my bra, I walk to the bed in my heels and lounge on his white duvet. “I’d rather you came inside me.”

His clothes are off in two seconds, and his muscles ripple when he moves toward the bed.

“Spread your legs,” he says in that throaty tone that makes my insides melt. I smile and slowly wet my lips.

Evan stares at me for a long moment, his smoldering gaze traveling up my thighs, over my breasts, my mouth, and then locking on my eyes. I hold his stare, spread my legs, and slide my hand beneath the black silk of my shorts. I rub my pussy in invitation.