I frowned, the idea that Evan might end up behind bars was undeniably disturbing. But at the same time, the idea that he was cool enough and smart enough to avoid that net … well, I couldn’t deny that just thinking about it got my blood pumping. Like playing chicken on the train tracks or surfing on the roof of a car. Or even like snagging a pair of crappy earrings from Neiman Marcus.
She laughed. “Oh, man, the look on your face. You are so busted.”
I grimaced, but I didn’t deny.
“At any rate,” Kat continued, “all of this is beside the point.”
“I’ve completely forgotten what the point is.”
“The point is that you have to go for it. If you’re really moving to Washington—and I know the way you are with your dad, so I’m not even going to try to talk you out of it—then you need to go for it.”
“Go for it, as in what?” I asked, even though I knew damn well what she meant—and was only a hairsbreadth away from agreeing.
“Take a chance, Angie. You don’t have to be in Washington for a few more weeks, right? So work your magic and get Evan in your bed. If you don’t do it once, you’re going to regret it forever.”
She was right. Not only would I regret it, but I wasn’t sure that I could get through the next few weeks. That I could keep myself pulled together as I moved through the condo that had once been so full of Jahn’s laughter and conversation. As I packed to move to a city I didn’t want to live in for a job I wasn’t sure I’d even like, but that I knew Gracie would have loved.
The nightmares would return in full force. Hell, I could already feel them poking at me, like jabs from behind a dark curtain.
Could I take three weeks of this without needing to break free?
I could if I was in Evan’s arms—I was certain of it.
Without him, though …
Without him, I was terrified of simply crashing.
But that wasn’t the only reason that Kat’s proposal enticed me. The truth was, I simply wanted the man. Wanted him, and was certain that he wanted me, too.
I remembered the way I’d felt when he’d stood close to me in the elevator, the way the air had vibrated between us. The scent of him. The presence of him.
And then I remembered the way he’d shut me down. The way he’d shut us both down.
I shook my head. “I don’t know …”
“What’s not to know? It’s not like you’re going to get arrested—though you may end up on a surveillance tape.”
“Oh, like that’s an enticement?”
She ignored my half-assed protest. “And since he’s already said no once, if he says it again, you’re in the exact same place. And if he says yes, you’re golden, right? I mean, honestly, Angie, what have you got to lose?”
I remembered the feel of his hands upon me in the alley, the way my body had fired and opened to him.
I remembered the smell of cocoa when he handed me the mug, and how the soft glow in his eyes had warmed me even more than the liquid. I remembered the way I’d come awake the next morning, clear and crisp and nightmare free.
What did I have to lose?
That was easy—nothing.
Nothing, that is, except my heart.
It turns out that the whole “go after Evan Black” plan was a little more complicated than I’d anticipated, primarily because I had no idea how to get in touch with him other than through his office. I’d done that, leaving a message with his assistant through the automated voicemail system. Since I didn’t immediately get a call back—and I fully expected him to ignore the message—I decided to scour the entire condo in the hopes of finding his personal cell number. Then I’d cross my fingers and hope he’d answer.
Too bad for me, I found diddly-squat. Not one single number for Evan, Cole, or Tyler. I did find the mother lode of family photo albums in the bottom drawer of Jahn’s bedside table, and I spent two solid hours sitting on his bed and thumbing through them, soaking up the memories and feeling melancholy.
Most of the pictures were of people I vaguely recognized but didn’t know by name. Grandparents who’d passed away before I was born and third cousins I’d met only at various graduations, weddings, and funerals. But two of the albums focused on my little corner of the family. There were pictures of me and Gracie at the Kenilworth house. Me and Gracie on a sailboat in the middle of the lake. Me and Gracie at Disneyland.
My mom and dad were in all of the pictures that featured me and Gracie, but there were earlier pictures, too. Pictures without either of us that looked old enough to be from before even Gracie was born. My mom was in all of those photos, my dad in very few. In some, Jahn stood beside my mother, his arm around her as she leaned against him, smiling and radiant.
I wondered if my father was the one behind the camera, but I had a strange feeling that he wasn’t. Instead, I had the feeling that I was a voyeur. That I’d stumbled on something I wasn’t supposed to know about.
Feeling melancholy, I closed the albums, put them back in the drawer, and made a mental note to mail them to my mom.
I poked around a bit more in Jahn’s bedroom and found a battered address book that included Evan’s name, but when I dialed, I heard only the message that the number had been disconnected. I would have called the office and talked to Jahn’s secretary, but it was Saturday, and this hardly seemed like the kind of thing I should bother her at home for.
I was about to ditch the whole thing and give Flynn or Kat a call, when I realized there was one more place I could check. I reached for my phone, searched the Internet for Destiny, and dialed.
“Destiny,” a woman’s voice crooned. “Where your fantasy is our pleasure.”
“Um, yeah. Hi.”
“How can I help you?” She sounded perfectly polished while I sounded like an idiot.
“I’m looking for Evan Black. Could you tell me if he’s there right now?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t expect Mr. Black for another hour. Can I have him return the call?”
“Oh. Um, no. Thanks, but I’ll just call back.”
I stabbed my thumb on the button to end the call feeling a bit like I’d just done espionage. I did, however, now have a plan.
I glanced down at myself, and realized I was still wearing yoga pants and the Northwestern T-shirt I’d bought my freshman year. Not exactly appropriate attire for a strip club. Then again, I had no idea what one wore to a so-called gentleman’s club, and though I’d had the chance to find out in college, I’d manage to completely blow that opportunity.