3. Eva
Chapter 3
Eva
I was so close to the end of the work day that I could smell relaxation off in the distance. It was the smell of something greasy and fatty, washed down with something full-bodied and red. It was only Thursday, but already it had been a long and busy week. I was ready for an evening built around a bottle of wine.
A knock sounded on the door before Sophie’s blond head appeared in my office. “Are we still on for happy hour at The Mayflower?”
I nodded a little more eagerly than I should, but sometimes a girl just needed a little time with her girls. “Long day?”
Sophie nodded. “Long week. I’ll tell you all about it over cheap cocktails?”
I flashed a smile. “My favorite kind.”
“Sounds like a plan. Six thirty?”
I glanced at the clock on my computer screen and nodded. That gave me a good forty-five minutes of work before locking up for the day. “Meet you there.”
Sophie nodded and tapped on the door frame. “Try not to work too hard. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
I laughed. “That’s just my killer sense of style.”
“If you say so.” Sophie’s voice rang out over the sound of my laughter and I laughed even harder, this time at her need to always have the last word.
“I do!” I called after her about a second before her office door clicked shut, proud at the fact that the last word had been mine after all. A chime sounded and I looked first to my phone to make sure I hadn’t forgotten a meeting with a client or a live social media event, but the phone was blank. The computer showed a reminder alert and it was for Oliver’s podcast. “Oh, good god, what now?”
Unable to help myself, maybe because I’m some kind of secret sadist, I clicked the link. I watched as the screen filled with his chiseled face. With his blond hair, golden scruff adorning his jaw, blue eyes bright and shining and lips curved up in amusement, he really was too handsome for any sane woman’s peace of mind.
I shook off thoughts of Oliver March’s model-gorgeous good looks and got back to work, listening to his macho schtick with his meat head du jour while I updated social media accounts and sent out press releases.
“Romance is a sham and everyone knows it. Just look at all the responses I got just for telling men the truth about what women really want.” Oliver leaned back in his chair, tossed his head back and laughed. “They’re outraged!”
He went on and on, bashing dating and love and romance. Relationships and marriage, too. Nothing pertaining to love was safe from his vitriol.
Not even Time For Love. I froze when he mentioned the name of my company. And when the disparaging remarks came, I saw red.
I seethed.
I fumed.
I packed up my bags and marched toward The Mayflower, working up a good mad just in case I ran into the jerk this evening. When I stepped inside the bar, Olive and Sophie were already there with a pitcher of margaritas on the table between them. I marched over purposely, dropping my bag in one chair before claiming the final one for myself.
“Uh oh.” Olive’s eyes went wide and she filled the only empty glass to the brim before sliding it across the table in front of me. “Drink this and tell us what’s wrong.”
“Who said anything is wrong?”
Sophie barked out a laugh. “The way you stormed in here like a bat out of hell, and marched over here like a general commanding her army. Sit. Talk.”
I glared at my friend and business partner. “Should I beg, too?”
“Not until after you tell us what, or who, has your panties twisted in a bunch.”
I sucked in a breath and growled at her. “Oliver March has no effect whatsoever on my panties. Got it?”
Sophie held her hands up defensively. “Whatever you say, Eva.”
After picking up the glass and taking a long gulp of lime margarita on the rocks, I told her about the podcast. “He wasn’t just bashing romance this time, ladies. He bashed us. Us!”
Sophie spoke first, but worry was written all over Olive’s face. “Sweetie, I thought you were going to let this Oliver thing go. He’s entitled to his opinion, same as the rest of us.”
“Even if his opinion is how Time For Love is a total sham? Or that we sucker unsuspecting men into forking over hard-earned cash just to get a little tail?” I folded my arms and nodded. “You’re right. He is entitled to his opinion, and I’m totally letting it go. Totally.”
“Letting what go?” Officer Tara Beechum, who I’d known since we were teenagers, stood at the front of the table waiting for someone to catch her up.
“Oliver said something to make Eva mad. Again.”
Tara laughed and shook out her thick brown waves before she claimed the seat occupied by my bag. “What did he do now?”
Before the others could put their spin on his misdeeds, I told her the whole story. “Can you believe he did that, name checked us like that? So publicly?” It was completely unforgiveable.
Tara nodded. “I agree, it might be a step too far.” She sighed and shook her head, green eyes glowing with mischief. “Or you two could just screw, and get it over with.”
“Not happening,” I growled, not even amused by her suggestion. Just as I finished off my first margarita, The Mayflower’s wooden doors opened and the enemy himself walked inside with Stone Lawson, buff personal trainer and Sophie’s best friend. “Oh, hell, why me?”
All three heads at our table, plus the rest of the bar, swiveled in the direction of Oliver and Stone, both handsome in their own right, as they made a beeline right for our table. “Buck up, buttercup, we’re women,” Tara said. “We don’t crumble at the sight of men. We make them crumble.”
“Evenin’, ladies.” Stone stopped closest to Sophie and put a hand on her shoulder. “What are we drinkin’?” His Cajun twang was thick and alluring, making me wonder how Sophie resisted his considerable charms.
“Margaritas,” she told him with a gentle smile. “Here to eat your weight in wings?”
Stone shrugged. “And nachos. I had five sessions today,” he grumbled, as if he didn’t love owning the gym where he trained his clients. Torturing people for money. “Gotta refuel.”
“Ladies,” Oliver said, flashing his flirty smile.
“You’re not welcome here.” My words were flat and loud, filled with sincerity.
Oliver’s blue eyes blinked in surprise and he shrugged when he realized I was serious. “Sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry? You trashed our business to the whole damn Internet, and now you’re sorry? Keep your stupid apology and just get out of my face!” Yeah, sure, my tirade had drawn a few stares, and I was vaguely aware that I was making a scene, but I was beyond caring. This was my career. My livelihood. “Go!”
For the first time probably in his whole charmed life, Oliver March was speechless. Silent. Shocked. He stared at me like I was the crazy person, and in that moment, I probably was—but Oliver had gone too far.
“Right.” A quick flash that might have been hurt crossed his face, quickly replaced with his patented smug smile and shrug. “It was good to see you ladies.” Then he walked off like nothing had happened. In his mind, I guess, nothing had.
“That was a little harsh, don’t you think?”
I shook my head. “Olive, you’re far too forgiving. Do you know what he said on his podcast? Did you actually hear the words? With your own ears?” She shook her head and I reached for my phone, pulling up the video before sliding the device across the table. “He called us a fraud by name. By name!” It wasn’t right. It went against the rules of small-town living. It was just plain wrong. “This means war.”
Tara choked on her margarita. “War? I’m always down for the cause girls, because you know my Aunt Betty will tar and feather me if I don’t have your back, but don’t forget I am an officer of the law.”
“Don’t worry, Tara, this war is purely psychological. Maybe financial, if I can swing it.” It was one thing if Oliver wanted to give up on love and let some of his readers follow him down that sad, pathetic path, but it was quite another to trash my business.
“Are you even listening anymore, Eva?” Sophie’s annoyed tone snapped my attention from the notes I’d started typing on my phone and I looked up.
“What? No, sorry, I zoned out.”
“Food. You want any?”
I looked around and realized the waitress was at the table and everyone was waiting for me. “Yes. Sure. Mozzy sticks, please, with spicy marinara. Stuffed mushrooms. And another pitcher, please—this time, make it strawberry.”
“You got it, Eva.” With a wide smile, the waitress sauntered off, leaving me with three friends who stared at me like they were afraid I might have a breakdown.
Well, I wasn’t having a breakdown, just a perfectly normal response to professional sabotage. They didn’t see it, but that was all right—I did, and I would fix it.
“Where’s Winslow?”
Olive shrugged nervously at the mention of her no-good boyfriend’s name. “He’s having a dinner meeting with a very important client, which they gave him because they want to make him partner.”
“Why aren’t you with him?” Sophie kicked me under the table and I frowned at her. “What? It’s a perfectly reasonable question. That is definitely a meeting where wives and girlfriends are expected.”
Olive sighed. I knew this topic stressed her out, but the guy was a first-class jerk and I wanted her to see that before she got her heart broken. “I have standing plans with you guys on Thursdays.”
Sophie put a hand on Olive’s shoulder. “We would have understood, honey. This is his future and if he’s who you want, it’s your future, too.” Sophie arched a gloating brow at me as if to say, See? There are other ways to skin a cat .
“Those meetings are so boring; I’d rather be here with you girls.” She shook her head as if trying to convince herself that whatever she was about to say was the truth. “These late nights will all be worth it when Winslow makes partner. Then, we’ll get engaged and we can start our lives.” The poor girl had stars in her eyes, but with my out-of-character behavior where Oliver was concerned, I wasn’t exactly the voice of reason at the moment.
“For your sake, Olive, I hope so.” I didn’t believe it, but she was my friend and I would be there for her. No matter what.
“Looks like you girls have an admirer or two.” Our waitress Tonya returned with a tray filled with shot glasses instead of a pitcher of margaritas.
“We didn’t order these,” I told her with a frown.
“That’s why I mentioned the admirer.” She nodded her head toward where Oliver and Stone sat with a pitcher of beer between them. “From Oliver. He says—and I’m just quotin’ him here, mind you—this ought to loosen you up a bit.”
“Thank you, Tonya.” Oliver thought he was so funny and so clever, and he was. But so was I. “I have an order to send back,” I told her with a wide, devious grin.
Two could play this game.