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“How are your accommodations at the Four Seasons?” Tanya asked as Evan took her call.
“Just fine, thank you. The jet landed in Carlsbad a little ahead of schedule, and it was a quick limo ride here. I appreciate the amenities you had delivered to the villa.” Including a fruit and cheese platter.
The Four Seasons Aviara was a residential rental property. As upscale and meticulously appointed as the brand suggested, but with a bit more of a homey feel that Evan preferred when he was on a grueling tour, with back-to-back lectures, book signings, and social engagements…and little time in between to return to his New York residence.
He’d be living out of his suitcase for the next two weeks, with the exception of the jaunt he’d make back to Manhattan for two surgeries on his calendar. A thirteen-year-old female gymnast with Olympic potential, save for the fact that she had delicate anklebones prone to snapping if she didn’t hit her dismounts spot-on. And Regina Hines, the supermodel who’d been forced into an early retirement from her runway career because she’d suffered numerous hairline fractures from her ridiculously tall shoes and had never once had them treated. She now had difficulty moving her toes. The woman was only twenty-three.
Which made Evan particularly hot under the collar when Tanya told him, “The CEO of Staci Kay Shoes is still trying to reach you.”
“That woman does not give up.”
“You were legitimately unavailable each time she phoned. But I see she’s emailed you as well.”
“Yes, I saw that, too. My guess is that she’s looking for some sort of sound bite from me regarding Regina’s injuries, which Miss Kay likely believes she can somehow denounce publicly, in the name of fashion and for the sake of her industry’s reputation.”
“I don’t know,” Tanya said with a hint of hesitation. “Wouldn’t her PR people be the ones to make that sort of call? And she has expressed a sense of urgency.”
“Which completely ties in to the fact that I’m operating on a runway model with severe numbness in her feet because of the heels she’s been wearing. Staci Kay has some nerve contacting me.”
Christ, it went far beyond that. And his agitation grew.
Evan shook his head at how easily he’d been duped. Not something he was accustomed to. And it grated even more that, because of his intense, burning desire for Liz, he’d gone against personal convictions and had embraced all the risks inherent to one-night stands.
He’d had to have her. It had been as simple as that.
And it was just as complicated. Because everything about that encounter stuck with him, even though it shouldn’t have. Seeing her breathtaking face on his computer screen and now knowing how to contact her, how to see her again, made it so much worse for him.
In every sense, she was the enemy. The opposition in his professional fight to heighten awareness about the types of shoes she purported as empowering for—not debilitating to—women.
So yes, he was damn pissed off at her for what he presumed to be her locked-out-of-her-room ploy. Even more pissed off at how gullible he’d been—for falling all over himself from that very first look at her.
“Well, anyway,” Tanya continued, not knowing the true or full source of his contention when it came to Staci Kay, “for what it’s worth, she did sound a bit distressed that she couldn’t speak with you. It’s entirely possible she has something important to say.”
Evan shoved a hand through his hair in a
gitation. He was in desperate need of a haircut, but couldn’t find the time.
That wasn’t his most immediate, pressing issue. Nor was Staci Kay.
Evan had plenty of professional initiatives to focus on. The least of his concerns was a proponent of six-inch heels wanting to defend her product to him.
He dealt with the aftermath on a regular basis. High-society women pounded down his door every day, pleading with him to cure their aching feet so they didn’t have to give up their beloved shoes. Unfortunately, Evan never gave them the news they were dying to hear after he ran X-rays and determined they experienced more than sore arches, bunions, and corns.
The human foot was simply not designed to spend endless hours at a ninety-degree angle. Toes were not meant to be pinched by pointy-tipped shoes. But none of them wanted to accept this. And he was certain Staci Kay—Liz—was just like all the rest of them!
“Look,” Evan said as he reached for the decanter of scotch at the fully stocked wet bar, “if she calls next week, tell her I’m completely unavailable for the month. That’s not untrue. I honestly don’t have time for her. She’ll get the hint and move on. In the meantime, I’ve got to finish my speech for tomorrow’s convention.”
“Of course. I’m sorry to upset you.”
Now he felt like an ass. “Tanya, it has nothing to do with you.” He splashed the amber liquid in his glass. “She’s the problem; I’m the solution. No need for us to interact. And that’s not your fault or concern. Just politely inform her once more that I’m indisposed. I’m juggling plenty of cases along with giving lectures on new, cutting-edge treatments. I can’t lose my focus or be distracted by someone who merely wants to refute my stance on the dangers of stilettos.”
Evan would never discount the fact that the shoes held a certain allure…but at what cost? In his mind, they just weren’t worth it.
Case closed.
Chapter Seven
