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Of course, she goes to The Rothshield, instead of one of the other hundred tennis clubs in the city. I should have known this morning when she ran after her brother in that very specific white outfit.
The Rothshield is, without a doubt, the most prestigious tennis club in the city with obscene membership fees. It’s only the best for the Clairwaters, even when their business deals are dipped in shit. Frederic certainly doesn’t want to shine a different light on his life. He tries to uphold his status and reputation at all costs and definitely doesn’t want anyone to think less of the Clairwaters.
Let’s hope Evangeline isn’t as black-hearted as her brother. She doesn’t smell like it’s only shit flowing through her veins. It’s actually the opposite, which bothers me because it makes it impossible for me to ignore her.
Every little breeze blowing past makes my nose take in the faint vanilla scent. When she moves, I smell it, and when she doesn’t move, I smell it.
It’s terrible because she smells amazing. The word amazing shouldn’t be tied to someone who shares the same DNA as Frederic. Words like awful, rotten and horrendous should fit her perfectly. But the only way my brain thinks to describe her is gorgeous and bathed in an addictive smell. One I can’t resist.
It all started when I was forced to kiss her cheek. That soft, flawless cheek. That’s when it all went south. How can you ignore someone’s scent when your lips are smushed against her cheek? I couldn’t ignore it because it was overwhelming and soothing. The only thing I could smell was Evangeline.
This is bloody horrible because I have to suffer through lunch now, and I only have myself to blame. I should have just walked past her without so much as a greeting. Instead, I’m stuck sitting next to her with her scent surrounding me.
The only way I can escape this is to go home and maybe read over more development contracts to forget her entirely. Anything else would be better at the moment, and I can only hope this is the last I’ll see of her.
“Evangeline, you moved back from New York, right?” Moreen asks, moving a strand of hair out of Livia’s face.
“Yes. Just recently,” Evangeline answers, her lips twisting in a polite smile.
“But your brother, Frederic, moved back earlier?”
“About a year or so ago.” This time, the smile slips, causing me to wonder what exactly her relationship is with him.
“I thought so. And how was New York? I’ve been meaning to go for a very long time now,” Moreen asks, showing interest in Evangeline Clairwater.
Moreen wasn’t affected by Frederic’s awful plans a year ago, but she heard the stories. Still, she ended up inviting Evangeline for lunch. It has to be for one reason only, and that is to make my blood boil. Evil woman.
“It was great. A city that truly never sleeps. It’s diverse, fast-paced, and impressive. I loved every second of it.”
“Then you should have stayed there,” I murmur under my breath. It would have made my life easier. Not worrying about the Clairwaters showing up at my work again to ruin it or running into their horrible family members at 8 o’clock in the morning. If she hadn’t entered my life, if I hadn’t smelled her intoxicating scent, I would have slept like a baby tonight.
Evangeline inhales deeply, as if to prepare for our next round of verbal sparring. I’m curious to see how she’ll react this time. I've already lost one battle; I won’t allow this one to rule the rest of my day.
“But you know what… I’m delighted to be back in London. I missed its history, its beauty, and its people, and we now live in the most beautiful house.”
“How lovely,” I respond sarcastically, turning my head towards her. I couldn’t help but add a snippy remark to the conversation. I have an ego to protect. She’s already got in way too many jabs.
“I agree,” she says, shifting my way. A mocking smile is on her lips before she wipes it clean. Now that’s an impressive cold face. Evangeline is giving Moreen a run for her money.
“I bet the neighbours are wonderful,” I say.
“Meh. There’s this one man, and every time I see him, I want to hurl.” Her face is expressive, moving with every word she says. The hurl part fitted her mimicry perfectly.
“Oh, bloody hell no. What did he do?” I mock. Maybe not the smartest choice as I give her the chance to call me out for every ‘bad’ thing I did, but Evangeline already had her go at the way I live my life. I’m not particularly interested in what other assumptions she’s cooked up in her brain.
“He called me a liar after assuming I wanted to have a toss in the sheets with him. I’d rather stab my eyeballs with a fork.”
“Well, here you go.” I offer her said utensil. I don’t think she finds this conversation amusing. I don’t really either. Her eyebrows lower while her eyes pinch closed.
“Very funny, Chester. Now get that fork away from me or I’ll stab it straight in your throat.” For once, I believe her threat. She stares and stares with her eyes spitting fire at me. But I’m certain mine mirror hers. I don’t dare look away, but the longer I stare, the more twisted my thoughts become.
It’s not about her anger anymore or not giving in. It’s about how cute she looks with those red cheeks. And how much my fingers twitch because they want to move that strand of silver blonde hair out of her face.
“That, I want to see,” Prescott says, breaking the tension between us, and a second later, I look away.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one fighting for no violence?” I ask, my attention focused on Prescott. He’s the tough guy with the bouncer physique and the military buzz cut, but that man would never hurt a fly because he knows from experience, nothing good comes from him losing it.
“Of course, but I also want you to leave poor Evangeline alone.”
