The Billionaire's Gamble

Chapter 9

I wakeup late on Saturday morning and spend close to ten minutes just staring up at the ceiling. I don’t think. I’m in a meditative state that I really don’t want to leave. Sweet nothingness where weakness doesn’t exist and emotions don’t dare tread.

But try as I might, I can’t keep Evie’s beautiful blue eyes, wide with concern, out of my mind.

I groan with the force of a cannon’s blast, turn over, and squeeze my eyes shut. I’d really bared my soul on that park bench last night. I have no idea what came over me. Talking about Jack? About my dad? My childhood? All those memories, not exactly secrets, but definitely not something to be shared, had just come rushing out of me with honesty people usually reserve for therapists and priests.

All she’d had to do was ask, and I was completely hers.

I don’t allow other people to have that kind of power over me. Especially not women. Especially not women who technically work for me. And despite all these rules, I know for a fact that if Evie hadn’t ended the night early I would have thrown her over my shoulder and carried her back to my apartment for a wild fuck that would have lasted all night.

Instead, she’d been smarter than me, and now I have to wake up faced with the reality of my own obvious weakness for this woman and a half-hard cock that’s getting stiffer the longer I think about her.

I reach beneath the covers and grab my length. Evie… Her smile… Her eyes… The way she’d run through St. Mark’s holding my hand… Her laugh as she kicked my ass at Skee-Ball in high heels and a party dress… Her ass in that party dress… The feeling of her lips brushing my cheek with feathery softness…

I come hard, grunting as I fuck my hand and wish that it was her. Then I lie back, not nearly as spent as I should be, still tense and agitated. Like it or not, fantasy will never be able to satisfy me. I need the real thing. Am I only going to be able to get back to myself if I fuck her? Doubtful. I’m certain that once I get a taste of Evie I’m going to be coming back again and again like an addict.

And we can’t fucking have that.

I pull myself out of bed, shower, dress in a dark gray suit, and go out to hunt for a different problem to distract me. Thankfully there’s always one close at hand.

Jack is sitting on my couch, looking hungover and watching a cartoon.

“Aren’t you a little old for Saturday morning cartoons?” I ask with a grunt.

“It’s Rick and Morty,” Jack says, like I’m supposed to know what that is.

“Never heard of it,” I say. He doesn’t rush to fill me in.

I walk around the side of the couch and look at him. His eyes are red. Of course he’s high. I’m not sure why I’m surprised.

Jack knows I’m watching him, but his eyes stay fixed to the screen. I grab the remote from the coffee table and switch the flat-screen off.

“Man!” he says, throwing up his hands. “Why’d you do that?”

“We need to talk,” I say, crossing my arms.

His face falls. “Look,” he starts, “I’m sorry I wasn’t up front with you about last night.”

I wave him off. “I don’t care,” I say.

“We had a really good time,” he adds. “Thanks a lot.”

I also don’t care about that, but I’m not so much of an asshole that I say it. Instead I ignore it and say, “Now you’re going to have to fill your end of the bargain. I want you to have a job by Monday.”

Thatgets his attention. He sits up straight, almost stands but then looks at my expression and thinks better of it. “Monday?” he repeats. “I can’t get a job by Monday.”

“Yes, you absolutely can,” I say. “Start going door to door. There are a ton of restaurants within a single subway ride. One of them will hire you with your experience.”

“Yeah, washing dishes,” Jack complains. “You know serving jobs are too competitive in Midtown.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with washing dishes,” I say. “We both did enough of it at Dad’s. It’s not exactly backbreaking.”

Jack pouts, looking for an angle. “Aren’t you embarrassed of me doing that? What if your billionaire buddies find out?”

“Don’t give a shit,” I say. “There’s nothing embarrassing about an honest paycheck. And if you really hate it, you can use it as an in-between while you look for another, better job.”

“I don’t have to stay here, you know,” Jack says. “I’m eighteen now.”

I snort. “How are you my brother and this bad at negotiating? You do realize that if you leave you’ll still need to get a job, right? Maybe two if you want to stay anywhere close to Manhattan. And you can forget about a doorman and a view too.”

Now Jack stands, flushed. “I didn’t have either in Jersey.”

“Fine,” I say. “Leave. Be my guest. But I’m not asking for a dime in rent. I don’t tell you when to get home. I think my demands are very reasonable.”

“Of course you’d think that.”

My face is set and I say simply, “You’d be stupid to walk out that door.”

We glower at each other for a moment. But then Jack caves and slumps back to a seat on the couch. “I’ll start looking,” he mutters.

“Good,” I say. I almost start in on GED classes, but then decide to save that battle for another day.

I check my watch. It’s almost 11. Time to head into work. I’m not usually this late, but at least I accomplished something this morning other than jerking off.

“I’m going to work,” I say. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Jack doesn’t respond, still sulking in front of the black television. It isn’t until I’m literally about to walk out the door that he stops me.

“Wait.”

I hesitate and reluctantly turn back.

Jack peers at me over the back of the couch. He looks defensive, as if he already knows my reaction isn’t going to be good. “I’m going to visit Dad tomorrow. Will you come with me?”

It’s a good thing I have so much control over my emotions. I manage not to look surprised, but just barely. Jack hasn’t tried to get me and Dad alone in the same room since he was a kid. He’d quickly learned that it doesn’t go well. Why he’s suddenly trying again is beyond me.

“Why?” I ask bluntly. “He doesn’t want to see me. I don’t want to see him.”

“I know that… But, like, it doesn’t change anything?” Jack asks hesitantly. “You know… Now that he’s answering for his crimes and shit.”

“He’s only there because he got caught,” I remind him. “And besides, the crimes I care about aren’t the ones he’s being punished for.”

Jack can’t argue with that. I think the matter’s settled, but then he looks down and says, “This is the first time I’m visiting him.”

That’s news to me. “You haven’t gone yet?” I ask, my brow furrowing.

“We talk on the phone once a month or so but…” He trails off. “I… I didn’t want to see him in there.”

“It would be weird to see him without a cigar in his hand,” I say.

“Or a drink,” Jack replies with a slight smile.

Jack hasn’t said it, probably because the men in my family all have the sensitivity of a bag of sand, but it’s pretty clear that he wants me to come along for emotional support. I want to remind him that of all things, comfort is the very last thing I should be turned to for. I’m just not good at it. But still… I look again at the kid’s face. He looks miserable. I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale through my teeth.

“Okay, fine,” I say. “I’ll go. If,” I say as his face lights up, “you show me some finished applications.”

“For sure. Thanks, man,” Jack says.

I head for the door and, with my body halfway in the hall, I turn back and point a finger at him. “But I’m not going into the same room with him. I’ll go with you and that’s it.”

He nods and I let the door swing shut, wondering how long it’ll take for me to regret agreeing to this.

An uneventful day.That’s what I pray for as I sit behind my monstrous desk. A calm day where I’m the only one in the office, working on emails and planning for appointments later in the week.

But before I can even sit down for a full ten minutes, a knock sounds on the glass at the far end of my office, shattering any hope of peace.

It’s Evie, and she wants to come in. She gestures emphatically for me to unlock the door.

I frown. We’d agreed to be friendlier in the office, but this is a few steps too far. Isn’t it a red flag that she would so quickly take such liberal use of my good favor? My defense mechanisms start to rise, as they always do when someone tries to get too close to me.

I consider just ignoring her; if it were important she would have called. I wouldn’t accept this kind of behavior from anyone else. Why is it that I can forgive it in Evie? Why can’t I control myself around her? The vulnerability is equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

Evie knocks harder in the face of my indecision.

I press the button on my intercom and say, “What would you like, Ms. Davis?”

The formality of my words doesn’t deter her.

“Let me in!” She sounds out of breath, like she ran here.

There better be some fucking zombies in the hallway. I buzz her in.

Evie jogs down the long carpet that leads to my desk. It’s a striking difference from the frosty, trying-not-to-be-intimidated Evie who’d come to pitch to me a month ago. She’s dressed professionally in a red blouse and black pants. I can’t help but stare at her breasts as they bounce down my aisle.

Goddammit, when exactly did I regress into a horny teenager?

Speaking of which, my dick, sensing that Evie is nearby, is starting to perk up and sniff the air. “Down boy,” I mutter.

“This better be important,” I say icily when she’s within earshot.

“Kara Kon,” she says. Now that she’s here I can tell that she’s panting. “Wants to meet. In. Twenty minutes.”

Immediately all thoughts of annoyance (and my dick) are forgotten. The centerpiece of our launch plan, Ms. Kon has proven rather tricky to track down. It’s the reason why I hate working with celebrities. They can be incredibly fickle, and it’s not in my nature to cater to anyone.

But my pride has to take a backseat today.

I jump to my feet. “Why didn’t you call?” I demand.

“I tried!” she says.

I curse and grab my phone off the desk. It’s dead. This is why I don’t stay out late on random nights. Fuck with my schedule and I forget to do something as important as charge my damn phone. I might have missed this opportunity if Evie wasn’t within running distance.

For now glossing over why she was here at all, I grab my suit jacket off the hook and together we head downstairs, Evie filling me in as we make our way to my private car.

“As you know, I’ve been getting yanked around by her manager, but I managed to track down her personal phone number this morning.”

“I’m not going to ask,” I say, trying not to smile.

“I wouldn’t,” she confirms. “No reason for both of us to be liable. But anyway, I called it, not even thinking it was going to work, but she answered!”

“And she actually talked to you?” I ask, surprised.

“No,” Evie says. “She hung up pretty much instantly after telling me to delete her number and also something I could do to my asshole if I felt so inclined.”

“So…” I start.

“So I texted her,” Evie says.

We pause when we reach my car. My driver, Horus, practically lives behind the wheel. He pauses his latest HBO binge and starts to get out to open the car door for us. I wave him back and open it myself, trying hard not to stare at Evie’s ass as she climbs into the high seats.

“And make it fast,” I say after Evie tells him the location, an address in Brooklyn. “Time is crucial.”

Horus doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes off from the parking spot with a squeal of rubber on cement.

“So you texted her?” I ask, turning to Evie.

Evie is distracted by the car, her fingers feeling the leather of the seats like she’s never been in one this nice before. “Huh?” she asks, looking up quickly when she realizes I’m staring at her expectantly.

“You texted?” I prompt again.

“I texted,” she confirms, her fingers still feeling the leather. “And what I texted was what we were prepared to offer.”

“And then?”

“Well, then she sent me this address and said if we got here within a half hour she’d know we were serious.”

I roll my eyes and look grouchily out the window. I’m not used to being rushed, especially by twenty-one-year-old DJs with rainbow hair.

“I hope she doesn’t expect me to grovel,” I say.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Evie says. “I can do all the talking and you can stand behind me and brood.”

“I don’t brood,” I say.

“That’s what you said when we first met,” Evie reminds me. “And as someone who works outside your office, I can now say with authority that if brooding were an Olympic sport, you’d win gold.”

“Well maybe if you’d stop causing me so much trouble I wouldn’t have so much to brood about,” I say.

“I’m causing you trouble?” she says. “I’ve never fled for my life before last night, and I think we know whose fault that was.”

I can’t stifle my grin as I remember punching that douchebag in the face. The running wasn’t really my style, but it had been exhilarating.

“Let’s just both promise no trouble today,” I say. “You’re sure there’s no viable backup to Kara Kon?”

Evie shakes her head solemnly. “I mean, sure there are others. People like L’l Liz and Hornburger and Otto the Wolf.”

“These are musicians?” I ask. None of the names sound even remotely familiar.

“Yes, Grandpa,” Evie says with a slight eye roll. “But none of them would make this a full-on event like she would. Like it or not, she’s the hot new thing and she’s taking full advantage of it.”

“Well hopefully she’s not stupid enough to turn down this amount of cash,” I say.

“We’ll see,” Evie replies.

Horus makes short work of the drive, and we screech to a halt in front of the address. I stare out the window, trying to make out what kind of building it is. To be honest, the area we’re in isn’t the greatest.

Evie and I get out. My eyes scan the storefronts, drifting from a smoke shop, a liquor store, a pawn shop, and then another smoke shop before realizing I missed it. The address is sandwiched between the liquor store and the first smoke shop. There are no windows, only a narrow metal door and a sign that reads “Bogart’s”.

“What is it?” Evie asks doubtfully.

“I think the polite term,” I say, already bracing myself, “is ‘gentleman’s club’.”

Evie flushes at the words, looking up at me with her mouth half open in surprise. I meet her eye and then we both look away, embarrassed. God, this is not the environment that is going to keep things friendly and professional between Evie and me. And what the hell kind of person is this Kara Kon girl anyway? Who’s at a strip club at noon on a Saturday?

“For the Seafarer,” Evie says resolutely. She throws back her shoulders, puts on her game face, and strides toward the door like nothing in the world could hold her back. I follow much more reluctantly.

The door opens and I wince as that familiar strip club smell smacks me in the face. It’s the smell of alcohol and body spray and cigars that just barely overpowers the scent of sweat. I hate strip clubs, partly because they’re not my scene and mostly because my dad loved them. He used to drag me along all the time when I was young, probably concerned that I didn’t have the same interest in women that I had in my grades. His buddy owned his favorite joint and so people looked the other way at a thirteen-year-old kid, trying not to make eye contact with the stripper giving his father a lap dance. The smell of these places still makes me a little sick to my stomach.

The bouncer looks suspiciously at Evie and me. We look like we should be getting a business lunch at the Waldorf and not schlepping into this seedy club.

“Kara Kon?” Evie demands of the bouncer.

He wisely chooses not to question her and points down the long, narrow room to the back.

The strip club is not crowded, nor is it any fancier on the inside. The usual motley crew of aging men are seated around a pink-lit stage on which two tattooed and bored-looking strippers lazily gyrate to the beat of low-budget techno. Why a multi-millionaire like Kara Kon is choosing to hang out here is beyond me, but I also have never claimed to understand the young.

The strippers perk up slightly at the sight of me. With the desperation of tipped workers on a bad shift, each tries to outdo the other in beckoning me to their sections.

It is pretty difficult to embarrass me, and normally this wouldn’t throw me off my game so hard. But the thought of Evie beside me as these strippers make “come hither” gestures my way as they shake their ample tits is definitely far from ideal. I try not to look at them as we make our way down what has to be the longest room on the planet.

“Aw,” Evie says, tugging on my sleeve and forcing my eyes toward the stage. “You’re disappointing them.”

The strippers are making pouty faces. One pretends to dry a tear with a dollar bill.

I can’t help it. I flash a grin down at Evie and say, “The day probably passes faster when they’ve got an attractive customer.”

Evie groans and rolls her eyes. “More like they smelled money the second you set foot in here.”

“Hey,” I say defensively. “There’s more to me than money.”

“Not to them,” she replies. “You can test the theory,” she adds. “After we talk to Kara, let’s see if you can get a free lap dance.”

There’s only one woman in this place who I’d like to see grinding her cute little ass on my cock. The thought of Evie in fishnets, bending over, combined with this sexually charged environment threatens to make me hard. I try desperately to think unsexy thoughts as going into this meeting with an erection straining my suit pants isn’t quite the power move it sounds like it would be.

Kara Kon and her entourage are in a VIP section in the back of the club. The music is significantly quieter here, and there aren’t any strippers hanging around. Small miracles.

A literal giant is standing in front of the velvet ropes with his hands clasped behind him, sunglasses on. He’s four inches taller than me and frowns at the sight of us. The latter I’m used to, the former I’m not. I let Evie do the talking for now.

“Hello, we have an appointment,” she says in the same tone she’d use if she were at the check-in desk of Goldman-Sachs.

The bodyguard eyes us up and down and then turns around. It had been pretty hard to see around him, and when he moves I get my first up-close look at Kara Kon. She’s petite, much smaller than she’d appeared on stage. The rainbow in her long braids is still present, and she’s dressed in neon green and pink, which I can only assume is the height of fashion in a world I’ve never stepped a toe into. She’s talking to a tall man with dreadlocks who’s reclining on the couch next to her and looks up when she notices the bodyguard’s eyes on her.

“They say they know you?” the bodyguard says doubtfully.

Evie takes this moment to say, “Ms. Kon? I’m Evie Davis. We spoke on the phone.”

Kara’s eyes narrow slightly and she says something under her breath to the man next to her. They both look suspicious, and Kara doesn’t rush to welcome us. But then she nods at the bodyguard.

“Let them in, Carl.”

The VIP section immediately takes me back to last night. Everyone in Kara’s posse looks like they’ve just graduated high school. That being said, Kara is twenty-one so maybe I’m just getting old. There are about eight people other than Kara there, and although they’re pretending to be preoccupied, it’s obvious that everyone is watching us.

There isn’t anywhere for us to sit and nobody moves to make any. Standing in the center of the ring of couches feels like being in an arena surrounded by hostile spectators. None of this fazes me; I’ve been in the business world for too long to be intimidated by these kids.

“Thank you for meeting us on such short notice,” Evie says.

Kara Kon ignores Evie. Her gaze is trained on me. “So you’re Nick Madison,” she says. She leans back on the couch and looks me up and down slowly. “You’re cute.”

I could say the same about her. She’s too young to be my type, but I can admit that she’s very striking. The footage I’ve seen hasn’t captured her best feature: large dark eyes that carry a surprisingly perceptive glint and make her look older than her years.

I don’t engage with Kara’s flirt. I doubt it’s more than a opening jab to throw me off my game anyway. Instead, I just say, “Your reputation has preceded you as well, Ms. Kon.”

“Call me Kara,” she says. “And besides, it’s Kara Reynolds when I’m doing business.”

“And we’re doing business here?” I ask mildly. I smoothly step to the side to avoid Evie’s discreet elbow aimed at my stomach. I may not have disagreed with her in my office when she said she’d do the talking, but I have no intention of staying silent. It isn’t in my nature to let anyone else take the lead in a meeting, even someone as skilled as Evie.

“If you don’t like it, you know where the door is,” Kara says casually. She examines a finger hosting a long acrylic nail. “I have men in suits banging on my door all day long. There’ll be another along soon enough.”

I grind my molars. “Not all suits are created equal,” I say. “And I think you agree, otherwise you wouldn’t be meeting me.”

Kara’s eyes find mine again, her face still impassive. “Maybe,” she says. It’s noncommittal. “Question is if that number your girl there sent me is accurate.”

God I hope I cleared the number Evie came up with. We can’t show division now.

“I did,” I say calmly.

“That’s why I had to get you down here and see if you’re as crazy as you sound,” she says with a short laugh. “Because I know you’re not serious about paying me ten million dollars to play a damn cruise ship.”

I don’t balk at the figure, though it’s at the high end of what we’d budgeted and doesn’t leave much room for negotiating.

“That’s right,” I say evenly.

Kara glances at the guy with dreads who’s sitting next to her. I can’t read either of their expressions but they seem to be having a silent debate. The man mouths something and Kara shakes her head.

Finally she turns back to us. “This is Dalton,” she says. “My business manager.”

Dalton stands and shakes my hand and Evie’s before sitting back down.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, relieved. Dalton’s introduction is a sign she’s at least considering my offer, though it’s surprising her manager is also her age.

Kara gets right to the meat of the matter: “I don’t play cruise ships,” she says.

“Maybe,” I repeat her earlier line. “I don’t think you’d be seeing me if you couldn’t.”

“It’s not that I couldn’t,” she says. “It’s that I shouldn’t. You’ve heard of me. You’ve probably even seen me on the news. I have a reputation to uphold. And, no offense, but cruise ships are boring and lame.”

“That’s precisely why we’re here, Ms. Reynolds,” Evie cuts in. “Because we’re looking for an artist like yourself who clearly telegraphs that this is not your grandparents’ cruise ship. This is a top of the line exclusive event. A chance to party nonstop for ten days on some of the most beautiful islands in the Bahamas with one of the hottest artists of the year.”

“The hottest artist of the year,” Kara corrects.

“Of course,” Evie replies smoothly.

“And who would you get if I say no?”

Evie hesitates.

“L’l Liz has shown an interest,” I say, hoping it sounds like I didn’t just hear that name for the first time today.

Kara scoffs and her scorn is immediately echoed around us by her friends. “L’l Liz?” she repeats. “That bitch can’t get people to show up to her birthday party. You’d be hosed if you counted on her turning people out for a booze cruise.”

“Our analytics suggest differently,” Evie says, lying her ass off. “This voyage is packaged entirely around the headliner and they will be getting the full push of our advertising budget, which is a significant amount. You’re our first choice, but we’re pretty positive that we can push a lesser known artist like L’l Liz to new heights.”

Tricky, tricky, Evie. Implying that the massive campaign we’d launch might create a worthy competitor is a real threat in a market where one-hit wonders frequently stay amber-trapped in their biggest single’s summer.

Dalton leans over and whispers something in Kara’s ear. Her face is flat and unyielding as she listens. Then she says, “I make good music. That’s all the advertising I need.”

“Of course,” I say. “Your numbers are self-evident. But everyone needs advertising, and you’d be getting the best in the business with my colleague here. Not to mention that all of it is completely free to you.”

Kara doesn’t jump to commit, but she also doesn’t ask us to leave. She continues to examine us, weighing the opposing angles in her head. Then she says, “Okay, say I’m interested. What are the details? What’s the commitment?”

I allow Evie to take point and she launches into the figures. “A two thousand square foot luxury suite for you and rooms for all of your staff and friends. You have first say in all the openers and day acts. Obviously all the food and alcohol will be covered. You’ll have the use of the upper deck pool for your own personal use. The cruise is ten days, and you’d be required to stay on board for the full length of the cruise. No helicoptering back to New York. You’ll play shows every night either on the ship or on a beach. If you enjoy the experience, we’ll be open to rebooking you, though after a renegotiation of salary. Additionally that ten million would obligate you to perform one night on the ship in July as it circles Manhattan to advertise the launch and sell tickets.”

Kara nods along as she talks. She doesn’t look thrilled when Evie mentions having to stay on the ship, but she doesn’t interrupt. When Evie finishes, Kara asks, “You have a recording studio on that ship? ‘Cause I’m not stopping my album for this.”

“We can put one in,” I say. Looks like we’ve found what’s going in the daycare center.

Kara chews on the inside of her cheek. I sense Evie is about to speak again but I lightly touch her arm to stop her. Kara has the facts. Now she needs to decide.

I’m certain she’s about to say yes, but then, suddenly, Kara shakes her head.

“I don’t know, man,” she says, leaning back again. “Don’t get me wrong. I like the song you’re singing. The money’s good, the perks are great.”

“Then what’s the problem?” I ask, trying not to sound testy.

“Honestly?” she says. “It’s you.”

“Me,” I repeat. Now it’s Evie’s turn to nudge me. And even though I’m edging toward furious, her touch is still enough to send a shock up my arm and straight to my heart.

“Yeah, no offense,” Kara says, “but you look and talk like a stuffy rich guy. I get to choose who I work with, and I like to work with fun people. You don’t seem that fun.”

I clench my jaw to stop from making a sarcastic comment. Fun? This is business. It’s not supposed to be fun! If all I cared about was having fun, I’d still be washing dishes at my dad’s bar.

“Respectfully,” I say, “you don’t really want me to be fun. Fun means irresponsible and irresponsible means badly managed. I may not be someone you’d want to go clubbing with, but I’m reliable and I get shit done.”

“Are you implying that I’m irresponsible?” Kara asks. “Or that I don’t get shit done? Or that I’m unreliable?” She sounds annoyed herself now, and Evie rushes to try to fix things.

“He means in our area of work being too lax can be a liability. Obviously a creative like you needs to be out there living life and getting ideas.”

“My job is hard and I put in a lot of hours,” Kara fires back. “I have fun not because it automatically is, but because I choose to have a good time with it. And a huge part of that is liking the people I see every day. And I don’t know if I’d like to see you two every day.”

Ironic considering that I’ve spent so many days this month waiting eagerly for Evie to clock in. And maybe Kara would find Evie just as charming if she had some time to get to know her. Me, on the other hand, she’d probably never get along with.

Dalton gestures for Kara to listen to him and she does, albeit reluctantly. I hope to god he’s talking some sense into her. Opportunities like this don’t come around every day.

When he leans back, Kara no longer looks like she’s about to ask us to leave, but she’s also still not inviting us to sit down. She chews the inside of her cheek again and then says bluntly, “Dalton says I’d be stupid not to say yes.”

Fuck yeah. I’m starting to like him already.

Unfortunately, Kara continues. “But I also stand by what I said. I’m not here for the money. I’m here for the experience and I’m not signing any contract to promote your business and deal with your people unless I know you two can hang.”

Oh god, if last night at the club was any indication, I absolutely cannot hang, and it wouldn’t take too long for Kara to figure that out.

“What did you have in mind?” Evie asks, her voice a bit strained. In my own panic, I’d forgotten that Evie isn’t exactly a partier herself, even though she can rock a club dress.

I expect Kara to invite us to a show in the city, or maybe to a party at her penthouse. Instead what she says is enough to make my jaw drop.

“I’m playing shows in Paris and Ibiza over the next two weeks. We’re leaving tomorrow. You two can come, and if we get along, then I’ll sign on the line. Sound good?”

No. Oh no. Sounds bad. Getting dragged around Western Europe with a bratty pop star? Hanging out in gross clubs with tattooed assholes? All of it is so far beyond what I consider a good time. And even worse, despite all my instinctual resistance, a small part of me surges at the chance, the excuse, to spend time with Evie. Walking the streets of Paris hand in hand, seeing the sunset from the sandy shores of Ibiza. I want it with a surge of desire that threatens to stagger me. And that, more than any other reason is why I shake my head firmly.

“Absolutely not,” I say. “I have a business to run here. Ms. Davis is planning the launch of a huge investment in just a couple months. As enjoyable as a vacation sounds, we have responsibilities that can’t just be flung aside at a moment’s notice.”

Kara doesn’t look disappointed even though I can clearly see that Dalton is nudging her frantically with his knee. She just shrugs and relaxes back onto the couch. “Then it looks like we’re done here,” she says.

“It does,” I say through gritted teeth. I’m beyond furious. What kind of demand is that anyway? An impossible one, something she probably knew I’d never agree to. Something to get us out of her rainbow hair without pissing off her manager.

I turn on my heel and stalk toward the door, ignoring the calls of the strippers and focusing just on getting the fuck out of here. What an embarrassing waste of time.

A hand on my arm causes me to whirl about on the person in anger, thinking one of the strippers has gotten particularly brazen.

Evie quickly lets go of me and raises her hands. “I come in peace,” she says.

My eyes soften instantly, but then harden again as I see Kara and her group watching us from down the room.

“What do you want?” I ask. “We can talk in the car.”

“If we leave now they might not let us back in,” Evie says.

I scoff. “Back in? I wouldn’t ask to come back in this place if this was the only goddamn strip club in town.”

Evie raises an eyebrow. “Like strip clubs that much, huh?”

I roll my eyes and feel the back of my neck heat up. “You know what I mean,” I say crossly. I put an arm around her and try to guide her toward the door. “Come on, let’s just get out of here. They’re watching us.”

“No,” Evie says simply, side-stepping out of my arm like a boxer. “We need to talk about their offer, and I’m not risking getting locked out once you change your mind.”

I’ve been impressed by Evie’s insolence in the past but now that respect is starting to run thin.

“This is not the place for that,” I hiss. “They are watching us down there. How do you think this looks?”

“It looks like I want her,” Evie says. “And I do.”

“And you think they won’t try to leverage that?” I respond. “If we look desperate — which we fucking do right now — then they’ll milk us for every penny they can get.”

“If we agree to go with them, they’ll already see that we’re desperate,” Evie shoots back.

“Which is exactly why we can’t do it,” I say.

“No,” she replies. “It’s why we have to do it. Because we are desperate. Anyone else we get will take a hell of a lot more time and planning to fit the model my team has planned. By the time that’s finished, it’ll add up to a lot longer than a week or two in Europe.”

I hesitate. That’s not a bad point. But still I shake my head. “I have a business to run, Evie,” I say. “I can’t just abandon it to go traipsing around Europe.”

“Why not?” Evie challenges. “This isn’t 1902. We have phones and Zoom calls and email. You don’t have to be physically present in your building to run things.”

But I do, I want to protest. Logic stops me. She’s right, of course, but I still don’t want to admit it. I’ve gone into the office every single day since I started renting space close to a decade ago. It’s a part of my DNA at this point, my routine that is so important to my success. What happens if it all falls apart because I got complacent? Because I allowed this woman to get me all mixed up?

On the other hand, the odds of things falling apart get a lot more likely if this goddamn cruise ship doesn’t make a metric ton of cash.

I glance back at Kara. Dalton is talking to her, probably telling her again that this is a good deal. But he won’t convince her to back down; I recognize the look in her eyes. She’s flying high, full of youthful defiance, and in the unique position to not have to make compromises. In five years, she might come to regret it, but right now nothing will change her mind except me agreeing to her terms.

“Going won’t even guarantee that she’ll work with us,” I remind Evie. “She wants us to be fun. And I think you know how that will go.”

Evie smiles with half her mouth. “I don’t know,” she says. “I think you’re pretty damn fun. I had a good time last night.”

I pause, wanting to lie, but then I can’t disappoint her. “Me too,” I say. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Kara might not find us fun at all.”

Evie’s smile just widens. “Don’t worry about that,” she says. She nudges me playfully. “Come on. I think you could charm her if you wanted to.”

I know she can. As for myself, I have no clue. Twenty-one-year-olds have always found me uptight, even when I was twenty-one. But maybe with enough alcohol… And Evie being there won’t hurt…

Am I really considering this? I must be. I’ve done a lot for this company, but this would go down as the strangest.

“Fine,” I say at last. “But the second anyone tries to get me to dance I’m out of there.”

“No worries, baby,” a stripper says. “We can do all the dancing for you.” She shimmies her tits at us, and Evie squeaks trying to suppress a laugh. I just wipe my face with a hand.

What am I getting myself into? The goal was distance from Evie, and now we’ll be closer than ever. And, most worryingly of all, despite all my protests, deep down I can’t wait to spend more time alone with her.

I feel like I’m riding a wave that’s growing beyond reason or control. I can’t get off, I can’t change course.

All I can do is fight to keep my head above water.