Survival of the Fiercest (8 page)

He is just over my shoulder, and his laughter ruffles my hair. I fleetingly wish things weren’t so complicated.

“Former model, and she muttered something about health codes and the lack of seating.”

I laugh. “Well, I like it here, and this isn’t a date, so you don’t have to worry.”

Grabbing the belt loops of my jeans, Evan whips me around and gives me an intense look. I think he is going to argue with me, but his mouth just forms a thin line.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“I don’t know if you can handle what I want,” I tease.

“I’m dying to handle you,” he murmurs, and I imagine him handling me by pumping furiously between my legs.

“Two steak tacos with a corn cob and a Corona,” I say quickly.

“Nice,” he says with a wink and walks to the counter.

While Evan waits at the window, I grab us two seats at the end of a picnic bench and pull out my phone. There is a text from Tina that she loved the Muse piece. I text her a quick thank-you back. I glance up and see Evan watching me with a discerning eye. I’m about to put my phone away when a message pops up from a 415 number.

No texting unless it’s to me. Sexting is allowed.

I glance up, but Evan is staring out into the street. I hide my wide smile and text back.

Why are you texting me when I am ten feet away?

A breeze takes my hair into my eyes, but I battle it back. I’ve been fighting the wind ever since we got to the Mission District. I bet I look like a Wookiee.

Because you look beautiful.

Smoothing a hand over my hair, I hide my blush with my curls in case he is watching. I feel like a teenager on my first date—anxious about how I look and eager for a small touch or a kiss. Evan is coming toward me with a tray of food when another text from Tina buzzes through.

Lou said you are working on a piece about a football player and a porn star?

The teenager in me dies.

I hate Lou
, I text back and stash my phone.

It’s dusk when we take a slow walk back to the street where we parked the car.

“Anywhere else?” he asks, holding open the car door for me. I’m surprised he’s still willing to chauffer me around.

“No. I should really get back to the hotel. I have some writing to do.”

He gives me a curt nod as I climb in, and I watch him move around the car to the driver’s side. The engine roars, and he punches a switch on the radio. Alicia Keys surrounds us.

We ease onto the road, but I notice he’s taking it easy. The odometer is barely registering sixty mph, though there isn’t much traffic now. Alicia is singing about doing the unthinkable, and I feel like she’s crooning my every thought. I let out a sigh. Evan glances at me, his eyes still unreadable.

“Tired?”

I nod and yawn at the same time.

“Don’t sleep until later. Your body needs to get used to the time change.” The word body sizzles in the air like a flame.

“What should I do to stay awake?”

His head whips toward me. I laugh. It sounded innocent enough in my head. “Never mind, I’ll figure it out.”

“Come to the club tonight.”

“I don’t want to be up
all
night.”

“Then just come by for a drink.”

“Maybe.” I shrug and let the music take over in my head. The thought of lounging in his office with him is tempting.

We pull up to the hotel, and, after waving away a bellman, Evan helps me out of the car. We stand facing each other on the curb.

“Thank you for today. I had a lot of fun,” I say.

“I did too.” He smiles.

I’m about to utter a good-bye when Evan’s arms wrap around me, and he locks his mouth to mine. My body responds with a glorious heat that I haven’t felt in, well, I can’t remember when. It isn’t like this with Pete, ever.

It’s the kiss from the night before but sweeter, fuller, hotter. Evan’s lips are smooth and warm, reducing my thoughts to naked bodies, heat, and sweaty sex. His hand travels to the nape of my neck and winds its way into my hair as his tongue teases into my mouth. His muffled groan reverberates in my ears just as his palm tightens upon my lower back and pulls me even closer. The frantic thump of his heart echoes my own.

He nibbles and sucks along the column of my throat. My head falls back to give better access, and I slide my hands through his hair. A small gasp escapes me when he palms my ass, giving a small squeeze before sliding his lips back up my throat, stopping at my ear. “Let me come to your room,” he whispers.

My body has lost all its weight, and I dig my fingers into his shoulders, very aware that my nipples are as hard as diamonds. All I want to do is wrap my legs around him and ride into the sunset.

But I can’t. Lawsuit or not, I am very aware that I will have to write something about Josie—his friend. Encouraging Evan, as good as it feels, isn’t a smart idea. I move to step out of his arms, but he holds on.

Okay, that’s sexy.

“I don’t think so,” I whisper.

Evan admires my face for a second before dropping a kiss on my lips and releasing me, but he holds on to my hand and pulls me in to his side. That move alone puts my body into a perpetual hum.

“Is it because I said I’d sue?”

“Well, it didn’t help.” I smirk. “But no.”

“Because I’m white?”

“Don’t be crazy,” I say with a rapid head shake.

“It’s the boyfriend.” His voice drops an octave, and he grips me little tighter to his side. It was a statement, not a question.

“It’s because of a lot of things that have to do with me, not you.”

His slow nod seems to mask a conversation in his head. “We are having a soft opening for the gallery tomorrow,” he says. “Come. A lot of the art came from the Mission District. It would be great if you could write about it.”

“I’ll try,” I say, knowing I won’t go. “Good night.” I slide my fingers from his, and I head through the lobby doors.

Sexual desires aside, I am doing the right thing. If tomorrow goes as planned, I’ll have a contract from Viper, and Evan won’t want to see me again.

Chapter Ten

An invitation to the Muse gallery opening is sitting on my desk when I get to the office the next morning. Inside is a handwritten note.

Don’t forget your glasses. Bikini optional.

A lone
E
is scrawled underneath, and I smile a little at the thought of him wanting to see me again. But that will change. After uploading my flash drive, I pull up the piece I put together for Viper.

Caught Creeping! Porn star Josie Pink is spotted snuggling up with a new boo. Where’s Big Skinny?

The picture I took of Josie and Evan graces the page with a three-sentence caption underneath. I left out Evan’s name, but I’m sure the story will be enough for him to hate me. And slap me with a lawsuit. I have to put myself first in this situation. It’s my career on the line.

I’m posting the piece as a draft into WordPress when Lou pops his head into my cube. It’s only eleven a.m., and he’s so wired his eyes are bulging. Viper must be putting him through the wringer.

“Well?” he asks. “Is it finished?”

“Good morning, Lou. Did you have a nice weekend? I did, thanks for asking,” I say with sweet sarcasm. Apparently common courtesy was laid off with the rest of the office. I turn back to my computer.

Lou takes a deep breath. “Alexandra. I’m sorry. Good morning.” He comes around to my side of the desk. “How did you do with the Jared Waters stuff?”

“Actually, I didn’t find anything on him. I went with the porn star.” I turn my monitor and show Lou the piece. His face scrunches.

“What happened to the football player?” he asks, his voice rising.

“She’s not seeing him. She’s seeing some other guy.”

“So who’s the guy?”

I shrug. “Not sure. All I got was a pic.”

“This is all you got?” Lou’s face is red, and he tugs at his tie.

“She’s cheating on Big Skinny,” I say, my voice rising an octave. Lou looks like he’s about to explode, and I can feel my contract slipping away.

“Who cares? She’s a fucking porn star. She probably fucks five random guys a day. The football player is the story!” Lou slams his hands on my desk and pauses to steady himself.

I roll my office chair back a few inches and take a hard swallow. “You know, Lou, making up stories about celebrities isn’t why I built Fierce. There has to be another company out there that will appreciate—”

“Get it through your head. It’s Viper or nada.” He sputters, and I swear his eyes flip to red before turning back to gray. He practically spits when he speaks again. “Now, you can fix this by Photoshopping that football player in next to the porn star. Randy!” Lou calls out.

Wide-eyed, Randy appears with a notepad in his hand. Lou snakes an arm around him and brings him toward the computer. “Randy, Alexandra needs you to Photoshop a picture.”

“No. I won’t do that,” I say, motioning for Randy to have a seat. “I’m going to go with this piece, and Viper can give me their feedback.”

“This piece is nothing without knowing who she is sleeping with,” Lou screams and points at the “mystery” guy beside Josie.

“But it’s Ev—” Randy starts. My look cuts him. I shouldn’t have told him!

“Everyone’s going to wonder who it is,” I say quickly covering. Randy shrinks. “It will generate mystery, but if you really think we need to know who this is, then I may have a lead.” I hold up the Muse invitation. “Josie will be here tonight. It’s possible her man will be too.”

Lou takes a deep breath and composes himself. “Fine. I’ll tell Khan you need one more day.” He leans on the desk so his face is level with mine. “You will find out who this guy is and post it tomorrow. It better be good.” My anxious nod satisfies him, and he walks off.

“That man has lost his mind,” Randy says.

“I know. Sorry I cut you off, but I can’t have Evan’s name in here. He promised to sue, and my conscience is needling me. It’s complicated,” I whine.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet, but I have to show my face at this opening now.” I rub my eyes and go limp in my chair.

* * * *

The entrance to the gallery is in the middle of a dark, dank alley. Very Warhol. After I flash my invitation, the lone bouncer waves me in and points me down a long, dim hallway. The black-gloss walls are like mirrors, and I check my dress. It’s the one Randy calls “
the hotness
”— a red one-shoulder with an asymmetrical hem that hits high on the right thigh and cuts a little past the left knee. I slow down and check that my dress isn’t too tight on my booty. It is, but if I don’t walk too fast, sit, or breathe, it will be okay.

My dark curls are dramatically pulled up at the sides to cascade down my back. My dangling gold earrings are sparkling, and my nude lips are shining. I tell myself I didn’t dress for Evan, but the shimmer lotion I put on my legs busts that out of the water.

Truth is I love when he calls me beautiful, and I’m feeling a bit like a teenager trying to get the attention of a boy. More truth is that our kiss kept me up all night, and I was kicking myself for not letting him come to my room. I masturbated twice before finally falling asleep.

On the way here, I made a deal with myself—look but don’t touch.

The hallway leads to an enormous white industrial space with concrete floors, skylights, and a temperature of about sixty-five degrees. My skin tightens into goose bumps. Low track lighting throws a romantic veil on the crowd, and each piece is highlighted by spotlights from the floor. I have to swivel my head to take in the large, stone sections of salvaged wall mounted throughout the room. Each slab, of varying materials, is covered in incredible graffiti.

Minglers silently peruse the art with flutes of champagne and little tapas in hand. I don’t see Evan, but I see a few of the girls from Viper PR. I nod and smile, knowing they will report back to Khan, and turn the other way. I make my way to the bar in the corner and grab a flute, then walk a path to each work of art. Following along the wall, I study each angst-filled landscape. They are cracked and chipped, making them look like 3-D puzzle pieces glued back together, leaving them with a gritty, almost ghetto feeling. I continue into another large room—a gray open space with more huge stone chunks carved and painted. I’m wondering at the time and effort it takes to create something this amazing when I hear a deep voice behind me.

“I knew you’d change your mind.”

Instantly, I’m brought back to the first night we met. I rein in my wide smile and will my heart to slow down. “You say that to all the girls,” I throw over my shoulder before turning to face him. He is edible in a white button-down shirt, a black tuxedo blazer, jeans, and mirror high-tops.

Dayum.

He smiles, and I watch his gaze roam appreciatively over my dress. “You are stunning,” he says. “I’m glad you came.”

“Well, I received an invitation, so why not. Looks like a good turnout.”

“Yeah. We’ve sold some of the big pieces already. Have you been here long?”

“No, not long.”

“Good,” he says, leaning closer. “I can give you a personal tour. Each instillation has a story.”

“Tell me about these,” I say, turning back to the wall.

“These were on a few buildings down the street that were being demolished, so we had to go in and fish out the pieces to put it back together. Some we could actually cut out; others were a hunt-and-gather process.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” My voice trails off as I follow the depictions of life, happiness, pain, and death along the wall. “
Feel the art
”—my fine arts professor’s words fill my head. Finally I know what those words mean.

Evan leads me through the labyrinth of rooms, and I wander from piece to piece, the echo of his slow footsteps never far behind. Stopping at a canvas painting, I glance at Evan and find him studying a black-and-white photograph. His long legs are slightly apart, his arms are crossed over his chest, and his brow is furrowed. My lingering gaze rests on his mouth, and I recall our kiss at the hotel.

Lost for a moment, I watch his lips curve into a small smile. I slide my gaze up to meet his. Mortified, I turn and slip around a floor-to-ceiling installation. Suddenly I am alone in the back of the room, staring at a monochromatic billboard-sized painting of a man and woman making love.