Page 8 of All The Ways to Miss You

Smiling, I survey her purple patterned tights and cheery pineapple sweater. “Maybe a little less color for the meeting? Less fringe? Oh, and less glitter.”

“At least I’m not wearing the colors of death every day.” She glares at my black skirt suit, one of ten I own.

“Just tone it down for the presentation. For me, please?” I bat my eyelashes.

“Fine, but you owe me.” She huffs.

The remainder of Friday is spent revising the presentation booklet, returning emails, making calls, and coordinating Aggie’s boring outfit for the meeting. She’s only slightly cheered at the prospect when I suggest shopping for something new. At three o’clock, I show several commercial properties in the West Loop to a small graphic design firm before returning home late in the evening.

At the top of the stairs, I pause at my open apartment door and sigh, remembering my water issues. My tense shoulders lift and lock close to my ears. I’ll have to deal with Evan again, and I’ll need a drink to do that.

After dropping my things on the counter, I select a wineglass from the cabinet and pour myself a glass of malbec. I take several sips, allowing the alcohol to warm me before heading down the hall. I lean against the doorjamb and peer inside the bathroom, noting the same scene from last night—water everywhere, my good towels soaked on the floor, and ass crack.

“Please tell me it’s fixed.”

Evan glances over his shoulder. “Welcome home, Kitty Cat.”

“Two days without water seems extreme. Am I getting a break on rent?”

“You’ll have to negotiate with Linden, but if I had to guess the outcome, I’d say no.” He leans back on his haunches and rubs his hands down his jeans, over his strong thighs.

Linden fiercely protects the financial well-being of his family’s empire. During my first week at work, he fired an intern who used too many napkins in the company kitchen. He’s never given me much trouble, but I walk on eggshells in his presence. The stress of losing my job—and my apartment—remains in the back of my mind, like all the other whispers telling me I’m not good enough.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing away a forming headache.

“Hard day?” Evan asks.

“Long.” I peer down at him. “But there’s one thing you can tell me that will make everything better.”

“No can do, Cat.”

“Come on,” I say with a moan. “You’re killing me here.”

He stands and stuffs a rag into his back pocket. “My offer stands. You can use my shower.” His eyes twinkle. “Or we could use it together.”

I stiffen at his offer. I know he’s joking, but when his brows give me a naughty wag, an unexpected scene emerges behind my eyelids. An image of us showering together.

“Cat?” Evan snaps his fingers, bringing me back from my racy daydream.

I jolt and blink to find his curious eyes searching mine. A mental image of us wet, naked, and entwined sends a blaze of heat from my cheeks to the tips of my ears. I look away from his questioning gaze as if focusing on the floor will save me.

Evan’s head falls back and a full, throaty laugh booms from his open mouth, like he’s read my mind. He grabs his stomach and bends forward with uncontrolled glee.

“It’s Cait, you idiot.” I shove him away and berate myself for allowing my mind to go there, even accidentally. I stomp down the hall, needing to add distance between us and this unfamiliar fluttering in my belly. I won’t allow myself to be attracted to Evan. I blame Aggie for putting the thought into my head.

His laughter follows me into the living room. Apparently, he’s unwilling to let my humiliating moment pass.

“You better have this fixed tomorrow.” I drop into the armchair with my wine. Taking a long gulp, I finish it.

Evan has to see my discomfort, the rigidity of my posture, but he’s still grinning as if my mortification is the best gift in the world. He nears and scrutinizes my empty wineglass.

“What?” I snap, not wanting to give him the chance to hurl another one-liner my way.

“Nothing. Just didn’t peg you for the drinking type.” He shoves his hands into his pockets with a shrug.

“And what type did you peg me for?”

He smiles as if I’d just played into his hands, and presses his lips together. “An uptight, prissy princess who’s never done anything remotely risky in her life. Drinking included.”