The Million-Dollar Question
Kimberly Lang
The man with the money…Evan Lawford is the last person in the world ballerina Olivia Madison wants to ask for financial support – the humiliation of their last encounter has haunted her for years! He might be the one who got away, but for the sake of her art she’ll plaster on a smile – and a killer dress – and play nice…Except their chemistry is so insane that soon they’re bypassing nice and going straight to all night long! The trouble is, resisting Olivia’s charms has never been Evan’s strong point, and when a girl’s this intriguing there’s a fine line between a minor relapse… and a full-on addiction…
Evan’s kiss was everything she remembered and more.
Unhurried but hungry, it promised all kinds of pleasures to come, and pure want drowned out any caution from her higher brain functions.
He tasted like the whiskey on the rocks he’d been drinking earlier—only hot and far more potent. Then he leaned into her, pressing her back against the cool cinderblock wall, deepening the kiss and blocking out everything that wasn’t him.
And his hands … One was gentle against her cheek, but the other was strong against her hip—and both of them were caressing her, stoking the fire kindled by his tongue.
She slid her hands under his jacket to feel the hard muscles of his stomach hidden under fine cotton, then wrapped her arms around his waist to pull him against her.
A groan echoed off the walls and she wasn’t sure if it was hers or his. Evan’s lips were hot against her neck, sending shivers over her skin.
Dear Reader (#u5de8cc87-28c5-50d2-a2ea-7dc7a042a94b)
You may remember from my bio that I used to dance. Not at Olivia’s level, of course, but writing this book was, in many ways, a trip down memory lane—taking me back to some of the best (not to mention thinnest and most flexible) days of my life. Ballet was always my first love, and the first dream I chased, and it was so much fun to revisit that world. Thanks for indulging me in this!
Had I ended up with Olivia’s career, I like to think there would have been an Evan in my story, too. (Hey, if I’m going to dream I might as well dream big!) Evan … sigh. So cocky and sure, yet still haunted by his own insecurities. Plus, he’s hot and not threatened by Olivia’s success. Yeah, I fell in love with him pretty easily.
I hope you come to love Evan and Olivia as much as I do. As always, I’d love to hear from you, either through my website, www.BooksByKimberly.com (http://www.BooksByKimberly.com), or on Facebook or Twitter.
All the best
Kimberly
KIMBERLY LANG hid romance novels behind her textbooks in junior high, and even a Master’s programme in English couldn’t break her obsession with dashing heroes and happily-ever-after. A ballet dancer turned English teacher, Kimberly married an electrical engineer and turned her life into an ongoing episode of When Dilbert Met Frasier. She and her Darling Geek live in beautiful North Alabama, with their one Amazing Child—who, unfortunately, shows an aptitude for sports.
Visit Kimberly at www.booksbykimberly.com (http://www.booksbykimberly.com) for the latest news—and don’t forget to say hi while you’re there!
The Million-Dollar Question
Kimberly Lang
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
DEDICATION (#u5de8cc87-28c5-50d2-a2ea-7dc7a042a94b)
To Marilynn, Terri, Sunny, Angela, Stacey, Marbury, both Melissas, Anna, Andrea, India, Kelly, Buddy, Chris, Susan, Nelson and the whole ASFA dance department for all the stories that start with,
“There was this one time, during Nutcracker …”
Table of Contents
Cover (#ua838ca85-363c-5e32-8308-3d52c624f6ea)
Excerpt (#u98a47b2e-ea1e-57f6-b1d8-96e8a852bfd2)
Dear Reader
About the Author (#u7cb913de-66f6-5048-9f3a-3c538e61f64e)
Title Page (#ud3d05aae-ed38-5c99-a4fa-0947377fc972)
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
EPILOGUE
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u5de8cc87-28c5-50d2-a2ea-7dc7a042a94b)
“SOMEBODY’S GOT A hot date.”
It was hard for Olivia Madison to both roll her eyes and apply mascara at the same time, but she managed it—just barely. Rehearsals had run long today and she was now running late. She didn’t have time for this. “It’s not a date.”
Her roommate, Annie, flopped across the bed and examined the outfit Olivia had laid out for tonight. “Hmm … Silky top, the ‘good butt’ jeans and ‘take me’ boots. You curled your hair, you’re wearing makeup, and …” She stopped to sniff the air delicately. “I smell perfume. All signs point to a hot date. And it’s about time. I was getting afraid we’d have to get a couple of cats soon and the lease doesn’t allow pets.”
“First of all, neither of us is in Cat Lady territory just yet. Getting married and having babies is what your thirties are for. Second, it’s just dinner. Pretty much a business dinner, at that.”
Annie still wasn’t convinced. “In that outfit? Please. Did you shave your legs?”
Olivia had, but that was neither here nor there and had nothing to do with the person she was meeting for dinner. “It’s with my brother’s college roommate, for goodness sake.”
“Is he cute?”
Olivia had to admit he was. She’d looked him up online to see if he’d changed much in the past nine years, rather hoping to find that he’d developed a paunch or lost a lot of hair, only to be disappointed in that hope. If anything, the past decade had been quite good to Evan Lawford, maturing his features—and even the attitude he projected in the photos—light-years past the frat rat she remembered. The sun-bleached hair had turned darker, probably meaning he didn’t spend as much time on the beach as he used to, but the color offset his blue eyes nicely. The cheekbones and the jawline she remembered quite well, only the two-day stubble look was also gone. The difference between boy and man was stark and startling at first.
Objectively speaking, Evan Lawford was hot. Male-model-broodingly-advertising-expensive-suits-in-a-glossy-magazine hot. “It doesn’t really matter. He’s a jerk.”
“Which means he is a hottie, and that’s just wrong.” Annie sighed and rolled to her back. “Why can’t the really nice guys be drop-dead gorgeous, too? Is that really too much to ask?” she pleaded to the universe.
“All signs point to yes.” Olivia tossed the mascara tube back into her makeup bag. Jerk was a nice word for Evan. He was a cocky, arrogant, ego-ridden player. But he was a successful cocky, arrogant, ego-ridden player, and that was what was important at the moment. She’d have to suck it up and deal with the rest.
“So why are you having dinner with him then?”
Because I’m forced to sell myself out in order to further my career. That wasn’t entirely exactly true: no one at the Miami Modern Ballet Company expected her to actually sleep with someone for their money, but the trade-off still gave her icky vibes. “I need him to sponsor me.”
Annie’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “Like a twelve-step kind of sponsor? Are you okay?”
Olivia kept the sigh—and the smart-ass comeback—behind her teeth. It wasn’t all that unexpected of a speculation, and at least Annie was asking it from a place of concern. Olivia had left home at fifteen to spend the next decade in studios and on stages, driving herself to reach this point: a contracted principal in an established, prestigious ballet company. Therefore, everyone assumed that she had to have something wrong with her—drug habit, an eating disorder, or even just a flat-out psychotic break à la Black Swan picked up along the way. She nearly snorted. There probably was something wrong with her, only they didn’t have an official diagnosis for it yet.
And while she’d known Annie for only a few months—trading the privacy of having her own place for the opportunity to live near the beaches and nightlife of Miami, even with an unknown roommate—they were getting along very well. “Not that kind of sponsor. An actual please-donate-your-money kind of sponsor.”
Annie looked confused. “You’re fundraising?”
“In a way. Money is tight all over, and the arts are really feeling the pinch,” she explained, slipping into her jeans. Annie averted her eyes as Olivia dressed, but Olivia had lost any kind of modesty years ago through one too many quick changes backstage in view of the entire corps and stagehands. “Our state funding has been slashed, ticket sales are down and corporate sponsorship in general is not as strong as it used to be. So nowadays, rich people can adopt a dancer of their very own. In return, they get all kinds of perks—tickets, backstage passes, first dibs on tables at the En Pointe Ball and for the big spenders,” Olivia continued, as she pasted a smile on her face and added a chipper tone, “the chance to have their dancer appear at their corporate—or sometimes private—events.”
“That sounds cool.” Her forehead wrinkled. “But kinda creepy, too.”
“Tell me about it.”
“And you need one of these sponsors? I thought you had a contract.”
Annie, who worked as a Spanish-language interpreter for the city, was getting a crash course in the state of the arts in America these days. “I do, but my contract isn’t cheap. And while MMBC has the option to pick up my contract for next season, there’s no guarantee that they will—especially if I’m the only one without sponsorship to offset my cost. Sponsorship doesn’t guarantee anything either way, but it won’t hurt.”
“I see. So you’re hoping your brother’s college roommate has that kind of money?”
“I know he does. I haven’t seen Evan in years, but he and Jory are still real tight.” Why that was, she didn’t quite know. Evan had nearly succeeded in turning Jory into a carbon copy of himself in college, and while Jory had turned out okay anyway, she didn’t really understand what the two men could possibly have in common. “He’s got the money.” She frowned at the mirror as she finger-combed out the curls and sprayed her hair into place. “I just need to figure out how to ask him for it.”
“Why can’t you just ask him outright? It seems pretty straightforward, and it’s a tax deduction to boot.”
“Yeah, but it’s …” She wasn’t sure how to explain it, even if she wanted to. Which she really didn’t. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” Annie’s forehead wrinkled again, then smoothed out as understanding dawned. “Oh. That kind of complicated.”
“Let’s just say that it’s not complicated enough to keep me from asking, but complicated enough to make me want to handle the situation delicately.”
“If it’s going to be awkward, why not just call your brother instead? Get him to play middleman.”
“No.” No way. That was a can of worms she definitely wasn’t going to open.
“Then maybe your brother or your parents could sponsor you, instead?”
She knew Jory. Telling him she needed sponsorship—or any money, really—would lead him to opening his checkbook. He’d tell Mom and Daddy, and they’d want to do the same. And that was not going to happen. Jory needed to be investing his money into his own business, and Mom and Daddy needed to be saving for retirement.
Mom and Daddy were comfortable enough, but they’d sacrificed greatly over the years to support her dream. So had Jory, in fact. She wasn’t going to take another blessed dime from them. Any of them.
She shook her head. “They’re in Tampa, and the sponsors need to be local.” Even as she said it, she had no idea if it was true. The company probably assumed sponsors would be local—and that was how the donor rewards were structured—but she couldn’t imagine any company turning down money, regardless of the source. Still, it was a clean and quick explanation, and Annie accepted it at face value.
“That’s a problem, then.”
“And I’ve been in Miami for only three months. I don’t really know anyone else.” She paused in zipping up her boots to look hopefully at Annie. “Unless you happen to have thousands of dollars tucked away and a hidden, burning desire to support the arts in your community?”
Annie shook her head. “Uh, no.”
“Then I’m off to dinner with Evan.” She took one last critical look in the mirror, then turned to Annie. “How do I look?”
“Amazing, as always. And, as always, I kinda hate you for it. If you can’t win Evan over with logic or reason, you should be able to flirt his checkbook right open.” Annie rolled off the bed and got to her feet. With a cheeky grin, she added, “I won’t wait up for you.”
Olivia had no intention of flirting with Evan at all. She could be polite and friendly, but this was merely business. She’d flirted with him that one time, and the lessons learned stuck with her to this day. But she was older now, wiser, and she could look back on it for the educational experience it was, without feeling the pain or shame.
Much.
The restaurant Evan chose to meet her at was only about six blocks from the condo she shared with Annie, and Olivia elected to walk it. Eventually, she’d have to buy a car—an expense she’d managed to avoid for at least the past five years—but for now, Miami’s public transport could get her pretty much anywhere her feet couldn’t.
It might be November, but she didn’t need a sweater. However, she grabbed a pashmina in case the air conditioning in the restaurant was set on “Arctic.” After spending so many winters in more northern climes, it was so so nice to be back in Florida, with her winter gear shipped home to Tampa to the storage unit she kept there. The sun had been down for an hour, but the temperatures were still in the high seventies, perfect for a walk, but it was a little jarring for it to be that warm as businesses took down their Halloween decorations and replaced them with a mix of turkeys and Santa Claus.
She could come to really love Miami. MMBC was a highly respected company with a great mix of classical and contemporary in their repertoire. It may be not as prestigious as some in New York, but the trade-off was a lower cost of living and fewer up-and-comers nipping at her heels all the time. She could still do the occasional guest artist thing when the traveling bug bit her or things started to feel stale, but Miami was a great base.
And she needed to start thinking about the future, anyway. If all went well, she could get another six, maybe seven, years in before retiring, but she was feeling the effects of the past two decades already and her chances of injury increased each year. She needed to be building some kind of foundation, and Miami was ideal for that.
Plus, it was only four hours from home.
All this was great. Provided she could keep the job she’d worked so hard to get. The fact she was willing to turn to Evan Lawford proved how much she wanted her contract picked up for next season. That would give her time to build a reputation and network here in Miami and increase her chances of further seasons exponentially.
She just had to get through dinner with Evan and get his agreement first.
Easy-peasy, right?
Oddly, Evan hadn’t asked many questions when she’d emailed him, saying hello and asking if he’d like to get together. She’d provided her phone number, but he’d stuck to email, setting up the place and time with the minimum amount of communication necessary. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a not.
It had taken courage—more than she thought she’d need for something so simple—to email him in the first place, but he’d accepted so quickly that she’d only had forty-eight hours to figure out how to actually pull this off.
Evan and Jory were friends, practically brothers. Although she’d not been there to see it, she knew Evan loved her parents and had spent a lot of weekends and holidays at their house instead of his own. Her parents loved him. But that had nothing to do with her, and she couldn’t cash in on her parents’ kindness or Jory’s friendship like some kind of promissory note owed to her.
But they weren’t friends. They were just two people in Jory’s orbit, basically little more than strangers.
Okay, they were more than strangers. She just wasn’t sure where on the hierarchy of relationships to place her brother’s roommate when he was also the guy you lost your virginity to in what turned out to be only slightly more than a one-night stand.
Ugh.
While she’d felt hurt and used at the time, perspective could offer the balm that it probably hadn’t been personal. And realistically, he’d most likely saved her from making a similar mistake later on—when she would have been alone, surrounded by strangers, and even more vulnerable. Naïveté was a dangerous thing.
The truly embarrassing part was that she’d known exactly what he was going in to it. Hell, he’d taken Jory into his decadent world of wine, women and song, debauching him quite thoroughly. But with the arrogance only a teenager could have, she’d believed she was different. Special.
Combined with Evan’s combo of charm, good looks and raw sensuality, that arrogance had easily overwhelmed and shouted down anything she’d known merely intellectually.
That was the rational, reasonable part of her brain. The same part of her brain that turned that burn into something useful, allowing her to focus on her training instead of getting wrapped up in messy entanglements that could have complicated her life unnecessarily. So that was good.
Parties, boyfriends … all those things she’d been told she’d have to sacrifice for her career didn’t seem like so much of a sacrifice after that. Or at least not an overly painful one.
Her inner eighteen-year-old still held a grudge about it, but she’d need to keep that safely hidden away.
Even if Evan felt remorse over the whole sorry incident, she wasn’t sure that was something she could—or wanted to—play on, either. She’d look foolish and ridiculous and hopelessly naive—and petty and manipulative to boot.
Nope. That little lost weekend needed to stay lost.
She was an adult; he was an adult. This was a purely business transaction, albeit with a personal glaze. But there was no crime in networking the contacts you had, personal or not.
Be friendly. Be businesslike. Evan was a successful businessman. According to Jory, Evan’s advertising agency was growing in phenomenal leaps and bounds, and he should appreciate a professional approach. There was no need to jump right in with the request—a little pleasant small talk always greased the wheels nicely. She would put the sponsorship out on the table early, giving him plenty of time for questions and plenty of time for her to convince him. If all went well, she could walk out of here tonight with his commitment and the ballet’s business manager could get the good news by class tomorrow.
If all went well.
And there was no reason why it shouldn’t.
“Good evening, Mr. Lawford.”
The valet at Tourmaine opened Evan’s door and greeted him with a smile. Tourmaine was his go-to place for entertaining clients—modern enough to feel on trend without being trendy, music loud enough to hear and enjoy without hindering conversations, and, most importantly, good food and a staff that knew him—and his tipping habits—well. “Good evening, Brian.”
“Enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you.” A banal, basic exchange of pleasantries, but one that he needed to remind him that the world hadn’t, in fact, gone insane.
Because barring that, he had no idea why Olivia Madison wanted to have dinner with him.
He knew, of course, that she’d moved to Miami. Jory had been ridiculously proud of his sister’s accomplishment, and they’d had dinner back in the fall when Jory came to see Olivia’s first performance with her new company. But Olivia hadn’t joined them, and Jory didn’t bring up his sister unnecessarily.
Evan hadn’t seen Olivia since she was eighteen, and that was definitely intentional. The only thing that had ever come between him and Jory was Olivia, and they’d nearly come to blows over her, doing damage to their friendship that had taken time to repair. He didn’t know how twitchy Jory might be about it these days, but it wasn’t something he wanted to stir up—not until he at least knew why Olivia had contacted him in the first place.
Miami was plenty big enough for them to never come in contact with each other at all, and he assumed that was exactly how Olivia—and Jory, as well—wanted it.
So an email out of the blue from her with a dinner invitation had to be viewed with some level of suspicion, yet there was no way he could not have come. If only to find out why.
Yep, that was his story and he was sticking to it.
He was a few minutes early, but Olivia was already there, the unusual coppery-blond hair both Madison siblings inherited from their mother easy to spot in the small crowd of people around the bar. She was in profile to him, reading something on her phone, giving him the chance to examine her at leisure.
She’d been baby-faced at eighteen, but far more mature in some ways than others her age—by then, she’d already traveled and lived abroad, a professional in her career when most others were still figuring out their future. She’d said she’d wanted a taste of real college life, the same as anyone else, and there hadn’t been a good reason not to indulge her—and himself at the same time.
The baby face was now gone, replaced by chiseled cheekbones and winged eyebrows that gave her a classical, elegant look, emphasized by the impossibly good posture and movements that were effortlessly graceful—even those as simple as ordering a drink or walking toward him … which she was now doing, a hesitant smile on her face.
“Evan. It’s good to see you.”
While her tone sounded sincere, he doubted it was completely true. There was a moment of hesitation, then she leaned in for one of those air-kiss things. Her cheek touched his accidentally and she jumped back as if she’d been scalded. He wouldn’t deny it: it sent a bit of a jolt through him, as well. He cleared his throat. “And you.”
The initial pleasantries finished, they stood there in an awkward silence, and he wasn’t used to awkward silences. “You look good,” he managed.
There was a small tug of her lips that stopped short of a smile. “So do you.”
More silence.
Thankfully, the hostess arrived to save them. “Mr. Lawford, we have your table ready.”
Following Olivia to the table gave him another chance to study her, and goodness, she was thin. She’d always been on the slight side, a necessity of dancing, but wraithlike was the word that came to mind. It was a good thing they were in a restaurant, because the need to feed her something was nearly overwhelming. She was also taller than he remembered, just a couple of inches shorter than his six-two, and only part of that height came from the boots she was wearing.
Long soft curls hung to the middle of her back, and a gold chain belt hung loosely around her tiny waist. Mile-long legs ended at slightly turned-out feet, giving her walk an unusual cadence that was still somehow graceful and smooth. Chin up and shoulders back, Olivia had presence.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And that had gotten him in trouble before.
He shook his head to clear it. Of course the woman was thin and graceful. She had to be. That was a job requirement, and from what little he did know, Olivia Madison was good at her job.
Safely seated in the high-walled booth he favored for its privacy, the awkward silence that had started in the bar was easy to fill with menu discussions and ordering. He couldn’t stop his eyes from widening as she ordered a meal almost as big as his, and as the server walked away, she noticed. “What?”
“That’s a lot of food.”
She shot him a look. “If it’s a problem, I’m perfectly happy to pay for my own dinner.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
An eyebrow arched up. “Really? What did you mean then?”
Her tone could be called innocent and inquiring, but he realized the danger underneath just a second too late to pull the words back. “It’s … well, you …” He usually wasn’t foolish enough to bring up weight and diet with any woman, but he’d already stepped into it. “I guess I expected you to order a small salad with dressing on the side.”
She snorted. “Maybe for the first course. But I spent six hours in rehearsals today. I’m hungry.”
“Okay, a large salad, then,” he teased.
Olivia folded her hands primly on the table, and as she spoke, her tone clearly said this was a speech she’d given many times before. “I eat. I have to. I work my body hard, and my body needs fuel to do that work. I stay aware of my weight, but not in an unhealthy manner. Since I’m not obsessing over it, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t either. Okay?”
Duly chastised, he nodded. “Okay.”
Then she leaned forward. “And seriously, they put blue cheese cream sauce on a steak here. How am I not going to order that?”
“Fair enough.” She talked a good game, but he’d withhold judgment until he actually saw her eat something. He worked in advertising, for goodness sake. He knew about models and the things they did to lose weight, but he had to admit that Olivia wasn’t skeletal or starving—she was very slim, yes, but she didn’t have the hollowed-out sickly look. “It’s just surprising.”
She inclined her head, and reached for her water.
“But not as surprising as hearing from you.”
Olivia’s hand froze, making him suspicious all over again. She recovered quickly, though. “I’m just full of surprises then. Honestly, I feel I’ve been rather rude not getting in touch before now. My only excuse is that I’ve been unbelievably busy the last few weeks—getting settled, with rehearsals for the fall performance, and then straight into The Nutcracker and the winter special that’s coming up in January … I haven’t had time to even think.”
He’d known Jory for over twelve years, and his sister shared many of his mannerisms, making her somewhat easier to read than the average person. Olivia wasn’t fully at ease in this conversation, which wasn’t surprising. There were many reasons—beyond the busyness of her life—not to have been in touch before now, but there was no sense bringing those up just yet. That piqued his curiosity further, but he found that he wanted to make her comfortable, nonetheless. The past was bound to come up eventually, and it would be better to have a friendly footing before that happened. “But you’re feeling more settled in now?”
“Yeah. I’m not getting hopelessly lost every time I leave the house these days, which is good. And it’s nice to be home in Florida, where I can go to the beach anytime I want. Even in November.”
Via Jory, he knew Olivia had done recent stays in Chicago and Boston, where the snow would be enough to drive any Florida native to the brink of insanity. “Which beach is your favorite?”
Her mouth twisted. “I haven’t actually gone, yet. Like I said, I’ve been busy.”
“Are you some kind of workaholic?”
“I believe that when you love your job, it’s not exactly drudgery to put the time in.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I work a lot, and I like it. How’s that?”
“That’s a good answer. I might have to use that myself in the future.” He paused as the server brought their drinks. Then he lifted his glass to her. “And congratulations on landing the new job.”
She accepted his toast, a real smile replacing the hesitant one. “Thanks. It’s exciting. MMBC—the company—normally chooses its principals from inside, but they decided to open the search this time. I knew one of the company members from years ago when I first went to New York, and he brought my name up to the artistic director. All the stars just aligned perfectly to get me here.” She seemed as if she was just winding up, but caught herself instead, reaching for her wineglass and sitting back against the leather seat. “But what about you? Jory says your agency’s doing really well.”
“I can’t complain. We’re only three years old, and we still have some growing to do, but we’re good.”
“That’s great to hear. I’m happy for you.” Olivia stared at her glass, pondering the depths of pinot gris, and silence settled again. Then she looked up at him again with that smile he was beginning to think was definitely fake. “Jory’s coming down with my parents in a couple of weeks to see the performance.”
“I know. We’re planning to get together while he’s here.”
“Oh, good.”
“He says your parents are very excited.”
“They don’t get to see me in action very often because I’m usually so far away. I send videos and stuff, but it’s not the same for them. And honestly, I’m excited they’re getting to come, too. You know,” she added casually, “if you’d like to come with them to the show, I can get you a ticket.”
“Oh, hell, no.” The words slipped out before he could check them. Damn it. Insult the woman’s career. That’s always a great dinner conversation topic. “I mean, no thank you. I’m not really a fan.”
“Of The Nutcracker or ballet in general?”
“Both. No offense,” he added. “It’s just not my thing.”
“None taken. We like what we like.” She was being gracious, but he still felt as though he’d offended her. “Are you into the arts at all?”
He shrugged. “I used to have a membership to the art museum. I like the Egyptian stuff. There are a few local bands I keep up with.” Lord, he sounded like a cultural wasteland. He justified it by saying, “Getting the agency off the ground has kept me pretty busy.”
“I’m not judging.”
Her smirk implied otherwise. “Yes, you are.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, maybe a little. The arts celebrate what makes us human. They are the cornerstone of civilization and the heart of a community.”
He nearly laughed, but swallowed it at the last second. Olivia obviously believed what she was saying. “You should work in advertising. That sounds like copy straight from a fundraising brochure.”
She inclined her head. “That doesn’t make it less true.”
“That doesn’t make them less boring, either.”
Her eyes widened. “No offense intended again?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“You could still support them financially, you know.”
He shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” she asked innocently.
“Like I’m some kind of miser. I give to charity. I just lean toward the more practical. You know, like food, housing, medical care …”
“Those are all very worthy causes.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
“No. It’s hard to enrich the mind and soul when the body is hungry. I’m sure your philanthropy is much appreciated.”
Evan felt as if there was something else that needed to be addressed. An undercurrent he was missing. But they were interrupted by the arrival of their meals.
Olivia greeted the food with a genuine, “That looks amazing.” She inhaled the aroma with a blissful look on her face before taking a bite.
The steak with cream sauce was one of Tourmaine’s signature dishes, and rightly so. Olivia obviously agreed; chewing her first bite with her eyes closed while making little happy noises. “Oh, man. That’s so good.”
He swallowed hard. He knew that look. Remembered it as if he’d seen it yesterday. But Olivia hadn’t been eating steak with cream sauce the last time he’d seen it. He’d put that look on her face.
His blood rushed to his lap with a speed that left him feeling slightly light-headed. That one look had opened a floodgate of memories—memories he’d safely locked in a box to forget until just now. But that look …
He could practically feel those long, strong legs wrapped around him.
When she opened her eyes and saw him staring, she looked a little abashed. “I said I eat. I can’t eat like this all the time, though, so I enjoy it very much when I do.”
If she was going to enjoy her entire dinner like that, he’d be dead by dessert.
Thank goodness Olivia couldn’t read his mind.
CHAPTER TWO (#u5de8cc87-28c5-50d2-a2ea-7dc7a042a94b)
EVAN FOUND THAT concentrating on his food helped. Some. Tourmaine’s owner, Harry, came by, nicely distracting his attention as he introduced Olivia and she complimented everything from the steak to the music. Harry was duly flattered and invited her back to try everything on the menu.
By the time it was just the two of them again, Evan had himself basically back under control, thankfully.
They ate for a little while, the conversation carefully kept to the simple topics of the excellent food, Jory’s successes, her parents and the weather. It was oddly easy. Even fun, at times. There was the occasional overlong pause, but they didn’t last. He’d nearly forgotten how smart and funny Olivia could be, and that had only improved in the intervening years. They had very little in common—no overlapping tastes in music, TV or movies, and some widely differing stances on politics and social issues—but that worked in their favor, keeping the conversation moving and interesting. And while he might be shallow, this was what had actually tipped the attraction all those years ago and made him risk Jory’s wrath.
And it was almost enough to let him ignore that little voice nagging him now.
Almost.
When he decided they’d had enough of the small talk, he charged ahead. “Well, you seem to be settling in fine, so you don’t need anything from me in that area, everything is okay with the people we have in common, and,” he couldn’t help but say through a chuckle, “I don’t want to buy season tickets to the ballet. Care to tell me why we’re actually here?”
She chewed, but he figured that was more of a stalling tactic than anything else. Finally she swallowed. “To eat dinner?”
“Come on, Liv, you’ve been in town since when? August? If you’d wanted my company for dinner, you’d have called long before now.”
“Therefore, I must have nefarious reasons to do so now?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily assume your reasons are nefarious, but you must have at least one above and beyond a free meal.”
She shrugged a shoulder again.
Fine. There’d been two elephants in the room and Olivia had been talking around them both for over an hour now. If she wouldn’t address the specific why of this dinner, he’d simply address the problem he did know. He leveled a look at her across the table. “After all, the last time we spoke, you called me a cold, heartless bastard.”
She blinked, somehow caught off guard by the blunt statement. “True. I was mad and my feelings were hurt.”
At least she was honest about that much. “So why would you want to have dinner with a ‘heartless bastard’?”
“I’m trying to make my home here. I thought it’d be nice to expand my network of people outside just the dance world, and you are the only person in Miami—outside my roommate and the company members—that I know. Since I’m not the same person I was nine years ago, I’m assuming you aren’t either.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “I guess I’m hoping you outgrew that.”
“Not really,” he said, causing her to choke slightly on her wine.
“Wow.” She cleared her throat and thought for a minute. “Well, at least you’re honest about it.”
“Those aren’t exactly bad qualities to have in my line of work.”
She thought for a moment, and then nodded. “If that’s the case, then we just won’t do this again. It’s okay. You’re friends with Jory and that doesn’t automatically include me simply by extension. You have a life, and I can’t just intrude upon that.”
Well, now he felt like a heel. And the one possibility he’d been steadfastly ignoring as implausible was beginning to win out: Olivia had wanted to see him. He’d hurt her and yet she’d still gotten in touch after all this time. It was equal parts flattering and mystifying.
It was also extremely complicated. Jory had put his sister firmly off-limits nine years ago. Not that Evan blamed him. He’d been seriously messed up back then, not nearly good enough for Olivia. Hell, he probably still wasn’t what someone like Liv needed, and he had to assume that prohibition was still in place. Of course, Olivia didn’t know about any of that. It put him in a very awkward situation. There was a huge difference between an eighteen-year-old and a twenty-seven-year-old, but she was still Jory’s sister.
Maybe she was just lonely and in need of a friend. Just because he was having flashbacks to happier, more naked times, there was no reason to assume she was, as well. And while he’d broken a major tenet of the Guy Code by sleeping with her before, there was an equally important tenet of the Code that required him to look after a friend’s sister when she was new and alone in a big city. There were as many possibilities as pitfalls here. “Well, I guess if you’re fully aware I’m still a heartless bastard and are willing to accept that, then there’s no reason we can’t be friends anyway.”
Olivia’s eyes widened at the baldness of his words, but he could rest easy either way knowing she was coming in with her eyes wide open. The ball was in her court, and he was frankly very curious to find out how she’d play.
Because she couldn’t say he hadn’t warned her.
You’re a coward. A fool. A screaming idiot who should be kept on a leash for her own safety.
Olivia stared at herself in the mirror of the ladies’ room and frowned. She’d had such clear, simple goals for this dinner, and she’d failed to accomplish even one.
Instead, she couldn’t have made a bigger mess if she’d tried.
In a just and fair world, anger and hurt feelings would not fade enough over time to allow the person who caused those feelings to have the same effect on her that had gotten her into the situation in the first place. Instead of being hit with all the things about Evan she’d hated him for, she’d been overwhelmed with all the things that had sucked her into Evan’s bed in the first place.
It was easy enough to say he was charming and good-looking, but it was another to face that head-on. The way that baritone slithered through her insides, turning them to jelly; the way those blue, blue eyes could make the most casual glance feel like a caress. It was even more devastating because he wasn’t trying to seduce her. That was just his default setting, a natural part of his personality that made him catnip to women.
It was humiliating. She might not have Evan’s legions of former lovers, but she wasn’t an innocent anymore either. She’d taken lovers, had flings and summer romances, so why was Evan able to reduce her to a simpering virgin again?
Mercy.
She’d been rattled and ready to run for the door the minute she’d laid eyes on him. She should have known then that the whole idea was insane, made her excuses and left instead. But no, she just had to try.
Wandering up to a random stranger on the street and asking if they wanted to support the MMBC and adopt a dancer might have been less nerve-racking and equally as successful. And she’d probably like herself a bit more afterward than she did right now.
It hadn’t been a completely crazy idea, just one that worked much better in theory than in practice. Regardless of how sensible it sounded on the surface, she hadn’t been able to shake that uneasy feeling that swirled underneath, and she was now very glad she hadn’t followed, though.
Maybe I’m not a coward. She was a decent human being who’d got carried away for a minute, but pulled back in time. Points for that. And she’d made it through dinner without making a complete fool of herself, so bonus points could be awarded, as well.
Thank goodness Evan could be so blunt, or else she might have tried to pull off this stunt—which she was now viewing as pretty gauche and tacky. She was now going to say good-night and go home, thanking her lucky stars she wasn’t leaving in shame.
She’d sort out the other confusing stuff later. Much later, and when she was alone. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Time for a dignified end to this farce of an evening.
Evan was waiting for her out front. “Thank you for dinner,” she said. “It was good to see you.” Handshake? Air kiss?
“And you. Do you have your valet ticket?”
“I walked.”
“I’ll drive you home, then.”
“It’s only six blocks,” she protested, but it sounded weak even to her own ears.
“It’s about to rain.” As if to punctuate his words, a raindrop landed on her shoulder. So much for dry Miami Novembers. It felt like revenge for her tackiness.
Was it worth a standoff? Probably not, and she’d look foolish wanting to walk home in the rain. She was just feeling ashamed of herself in general and didn’t want to drag this out any further. Of course, they could stand here and continue to argue, but the ridiculousness of that would only exacerbate her foolishness. “Okay. Thanks.”
The timing bordered on eerie, as the moment the words left her lips, a car coasted to a stop at the curb and Evan was reaching for the door. The man had to be half genie.
This car was a far cry from the beat-up, perfect-for-trips-to-the-beach Jeep he’d driven in college. Black, low-slung and convertible, it looked expensive and classy, and it suited this adult Evan perfectly.
She wasn’t surprised that the valet knew Evan’s name—she’d gotten the feeling at dinner that he was a regular here—but the fact Evan knew the valet’s name did surprise her. Her experience with rich donors had proved that most of them couldn’t be bothered with the little people. He couldn’t be entirely selfish if he remembered the names of valets and servers.
His car proved that Evan definitely had money—regardless of his modest “we’re still growing” comments and it was almost enough to make her rethink her original, now aborted, plan.
No. Now she had her mother’s voice in her head, reminding her that anything she thought might be a tacky or bad idea probably was, and she bit her tongue as Evan put the car in gear.
“Which way?”
“Left at the light,” she answered absently. The traffic was bad and the streets were crowded, slowing their progress to a crawl. She definitely could have walked home faster than this. Her original refusal seemed less foolish now, as she was trapped in a small, enclosed space with Evan, his hand only inches from her thigh as he shifted gears.
It created an intimacy she wasn’t quite prepared to face at the moment, and in the small space, the silence rapidly gained weight.
When Evan sighed, she knew he felt it, too. “Liv …”
No one but Evan had ever called her Liv. Jory called her Livvy sometimes, but Liv sounded more grown-up and more intimate, somehow. And all things considered, “Liv” carried a lot of baggage straight into the conversation.
She tried to keep it light, nonetheless. “Yes?”
Evan turned his head toward her, but his face was unreadable. “Just so you know, I’m sorry for what happened. Particularly the way I treated you.”
She had to swallow her shock. That certainly was the last thing she’d ever thought she’d hear. She’d given up hope of an explanation or apology years ago. “Thank you,” she managed after a long pause.
He seemed genuinely surprised at her response. “For what?”
“For saying that. It means a lot.”
He shrugged a shoulder as he changed lanes. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but I can still regret my behavior. The apology may be years too late, but it is sincere.”
It was oddly much easier to have this conversation side-on, instead of having to look directly at him. She kept her eyes front and said, “For an admitted bastard, that was a nice apology.”
She cut her eyes toward him just in time to see the corner of his mouth twitch as if he found that funny. “Thank you.”
I won’t ask for details. Asking would sound pathetic and whiny. And there was a very good chance she wouldn’t like what she would hear. “Can I ask why things ended the way they did between us?” she said, wincing even as she did.
“Beyond the fact I’m cold and selfish?”
This time, she did turn to face him. “You’re saying there’s not one?”
He looked at her as though he was sizing her up and coming to a decision. Then his eyes went back to the road as traffic began to move again. “Not that I’m willing to share.”
“Like that’s not going to drive me crazy now,” She muttered, really not caring what it might sound like to him.
“If I tell you it was genuinely me and not at all you, would that help?”
He sounded sincere, and something panged inside her, reminding her of the sweet side of him she’d seen and gone cow-eyed over in the past. Jory had been uncharacteristically closed-mouthed about Evan’s background, but she’d known his childhood had been difficult and that he spent time at her parents’ house because he was estranged from his own family. She easily painted him as wounded, and being naive and smug and influenced by too many romantic movies, she’d cast herself as the woman who’d heal the misunderstood bad boy’s heart. “Maybe. But—”
A skater shot out in front of them, nearly invisible in the mist and dark, and Evan jammed on the brakes, throwing her against her seat belt. His hand flew out at the same time, landing painfully on her chest, and the effect of both managed to knock the breath out of her. The skater didn’t even look back as he sped away.
Evan cursed, then asked, “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She purposely looked down to where Evan’s hand was still pressed against her chest, pretty much copping a feel. Evan moved his hand quickly, without comment and without the decency to look even a little abashed or surprised at where it ended up. She, however, felt branded, the imprint of his hand seeming to linger. In hindsight, she should have worn a bra tonight whether she needed it or not. “Dude has a death wish,” she said to break the tension she felt even if he didn’t.
“You were smart to walk. Traffic down here is abysmal.”
“It’ll clear some once you turn.” The sudden stop had sent her purse into the floorboard, and she leaned over to gather the contents back up. Her lipstick, though, had rolled under the seat and she had to contort herself to get to it. Realizing the solution to both her physical and emotional situation, she gave one last stretch and got it, then sat up and said briskly, “I can walk from here, save you some time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
So much for that idea.
As she promised, the traffic was thinner on her street, and Evan pulled up in front of her building a minute later. “These are nice condos. I’m glad you’re not doing the starving artist thing.”
“I ate half a cow covered in cream sauce for dinner, so I think we’ve already covered the ‘not starving’ part,” she said with a laugh. “And I have a roommate to help cover the rent. It’s a great location for me. It’s fifteen minutes on the bus to the studio, and I can walk pretty much everywhere else.”
She had her purse over her shoulder and a hand on the door, and that horrible how-to-end-the-evening tension returned. Evan’s face was partly shadowed and unreadable, giving her no help there. Not a date, not friends, not business associates…. She didn’t know the protocol.
To her ever-loving surprise, Evan got out of the car and walked around to open her door. Her jaw was still hanging open as he extended a hand to help her out.
For someone who purported to be selfish, he’d been raised right when it came to good manners.
That shock, though, caused her to stumble as she climbed out, pitching herself straight into Evan’s arms. He caught her easily, his arms strong and solid around her. He was warm, and damn it, he smelled good. Her heart jumped into her throat.
Over her head, she heard Evan chuckle. “That was graceful.”
Kill me now.
He set her back on her feet. “You okay?” Evan asked.
“I’m fine. Just clumsy.”
His eyebrow went up. “Maybe it was the wine.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Shaking it off, she rushed ahead with forced cheer and casualness. “Well, thanks again for dinner. And for the ride home.”
His lips twitched. “Take care, Liv. And if you ever need anything, give me a call.”
Oh, the irony. “Good night.”
Evan waited until the security door closed behind her before driving away. It had been a really, really strange evening, where nothing had gone as planned, but it hadn’t been bad either. The beginning and end hadn’t been fantastic, but the middle part, like the over-dinner chitchat, had gone pretty well, all things considered. Had she not gone into it with a specific agenda, she’d have called the evening a success.
But even with that failure, the evening still wasn’t a total disaster. She did live in the same city with Evan, and they might run into each other on occasion; having a truce in place made good sense. And when Jory came to town, he wouldn’t feel as if he had to divide his time so precisely. All good things, she thought, as she climbed the last few stairs to her floor.
Everything else could just be ignored.
Annie was sprawled on the couch, flipping through TV channels, but she sat up when she heard her come in. “How’d it go?”
“Not bad.”
“So he’s going to sponsor you?”
“No.”
“He turned you down? Jeez.” Annie went to the counter and got a wineglass, filling it and handing it to her. “That sucks.”
Olivia accepted the glass gratefully and sank into the cushions on the opposite end of the couch. “He didn’t have to turn me down. I didn’t ask.”
“What? Why not?”
With a sigh, Olivia ran through the evening, all the small things that added up to tip the scales in the direction of keeping her mouth shut. She glossed over her rather disturbing reactions to him, because, for her own sanity, that was best left unexamined.
“I can’t say I blame you. I see where you’re coming from, and I’d probably feel the same way. But,” Annie continued, as she cocked her head, “what, then, did you say to explain why you suddenly wanted to have dinner after all these years?”
“New in town, don’t really know anyone …”
“Olivia, really?” Annie sighed. “He’s going to think you still have the hots for him.”
“What? No. Not likely.”
“You said he has an ego.”
“He does.”
“Then he will. It’s actually the only logical conclusion he could come to, to explain it.”
“He might think I’m insane now, but that’s about all.” And he might not be wrong. She stood and handed her glass to Annie to finish. “I’m going to bed. I’ve got Pilates at eight tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Me, too.”
It was a shame, but there was always plan B. Plan B involved making sure that everyone from the chairman of the ballet board all the way down to the stagehands loved her and working her butt off to prove her value to the company. She’d also talk to the business office to see if they had any ideas of how she could land sponsorship—and to suss out how important that sponsorship really was.
That’s what I should have done in the first place, she told herself as she got ready for bed. That was a far more sensible idea than a half-baked plan to talk Evan into it. Hell, plan B should have been plan A. Too bad she didn’t think of it first.
At the same time, she didn’t regret their meeting. It would make things easier for Jory when he came to town. She didn’t know exactly how much Jory knew about her and Evan, but her brother had made it very clear he considered his roommate off-limits to his little sister. He’d been unhappy and grumpy about it. She hadn’t asked him to take sides, but he always seemed uncomfortable bringing up Evan around her after that, giving the whole thing a patina of awkward wrongness—at least to her mind. That, as much as anything else, had led to making it a thing—which, now at least, she realized it really didn’t need to be.
So, in that sense, dinner wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.
The wine, the food and a long day—both physically and mentally—were catching up with her, and the bed beckoned.
As she climbed in and pulled the covers up, she realized she’d gotten distracted by the near miss with that skater and hadn’t followed up on his mysterious “genuinely me, not you” statement.
What could he have possibly meant?
The next morning, just outside Boca Raton, the sudden blaring of “Born This Way” caused Evan to swerve dangerously in his lane.
What the sweet hell? The news program chattered on from his car speakers, but that was undeniably Lady Gaga coming from … under the passenger seat?
Pulling off onto the shoulder, he searched under the seat until he found the source: a phone that went silent about the time he got hold of it. It had an overly sparkly rhinestone case, and when he pressed the home button to wake it up, Olivia and Jory smiled back at him.
He couldn’t figure out how Olivia had managed to leave her phone in his car, but now the question was what to do with it. The screen had a long list of missed calls from “Annie” and “Theo.” Presumably those calls were Olivia using her friends’ phones to locate her own. But the phone was locked, so he had no way of calling back.
Based on the sheer volume of calls, though, if he waited another thirty minutes or so, Olivia would be calling again. Sliding the phone into his shirt pocket, he pulled back out onto the interstate.
Last night had certainly been odd. And while he still didn’t have a good explanation for why Olivia had contacted him, he didn’t regret it. He just wasn’t sure what, if anything, it meant, and what, if anything, he should do about it.
It wasn’t a feeling he liked. In fact, he intentionally avoided these kinds of situations. Everything needed to be up front and clear, without mystery or games or prevarications. Jory was a straight-up, no games, kind of guy, so he’d assumed Olivia would be the same. Why then did he feel so bothered at the idea she might not be?
He snorted. Maybe because he wasn’t sexually attracted to Jory.
Of course, the next question was if Olivia was still attracted to him? He’d like to say yes, and there had been moments, but that could be wishful thinking on his part. But she had left her phone in his car … accidentally or intentionally?
He was pulling into the parking lot of Riley Construction when Olivia’s phone rang again. “Hello?”
“Hi.” There was great relief in her voice that didn’t sound fake. “My name’s Olivia, and you seem to have my phone.”
Accidentally. That knowledge came with unexpected disappointment and made his words sharper than intended. “Because you left it in my car last night.”
There was a pause, then a confused, “Evan?”
“Who else?”
“I thought I’d left it at the restaurant or something. I didn’t even think to call you.” He heard her sigh. “I’m so glad you have it, though. My life is in that phone.”
“I know how you feel.”
“We should be breaking for lunch soon. Can I meet you somewhere and get it?”
“I’m in West Palm Beach for a meeting and won’t be back until later this afternoon.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Well, let me know when and where would be good for you.”
“I can drop it by the studio later, though, on my way home,” he offered for some reason.
“That would be awesome. I’ll be here until around five-thirty or so. The studio is in Wynwood.”
“Then I can find it.”
“Thanks, Evan. I really appreciate it.”
He silenced the phone’s ringer before putting it in his briefcase. Although Olivia would quit calling her phone now, other people might, and he really didn’t want that annoying song blaring out during the meeting. If he was remembering correctly, the MMBC studio wasn’t too far out of his way home, and he could swing by easily.
But, jeez. She was at the studio already and would be there until five-thirty? When Olivia said she worked her body hard, she hadn’t been kidding. Granted, he knew next to nothing about the subject, but he would have guessed the job would be part-time at best. How long could it take, really? He had to assume she knew all the moves; putting them in a specific order for a performance shouldn’t take all that long.
She’d said yesterday that she’d been in rehearsals for six hours. He’d assumed that was either an exaggeration or at least unusual. Six or seven hours in a dance studio couldn’t be easy, much less doing that every day. Or maybe she didn’t dance the whole time? He had no idea. A six or seven hour workday didn’t seem like much, but then Olivia wasn’t exactly sitting at a desk.
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