Chapter 4
EVIDENCE FOR EVOLUTION
*Samantha*
The moment my eyes found his face, the rest of the world stopped rendering.
The sounds on the sidewalk, the traffic, even the pain from where my backpack strap dug into my shoulder, it all became muted and blurry.
Like being underwater with my eyes open.
I had the fleeting, irrational sense that maybe my heart had stopped, too.
My body took up the slack by flooding every cell and sense with a chemical soup that brought to mind the aftermath of a car accident.
For several long seconds, Andreas didn’t see me. He spoke to Dmitry, standing in profile in the sodium glare of the lights, looking exactly as I remembered.
Actually, no.
The funereal pallor that had been glued to his face in Paris continued to shadow his features.
His eyes seemed tired, darkened with circles beneath.
Andreas’s color was off and, judging by the sharpness of his cheekbones, he’d lost a little weight.
But his camel-colored cashmere coat was the same precise cut and shade I remembered, and it was open at the front, revealing a dashing navy cable-knit turtleneck sweater beneath.
Even with the new outward indicators of weariness, Andreas still looked elegant.
“Are you ready? Have you been waiting long?” He gestured as he spoke to Dmitry, gloved hands loose in the air, all the sharp edges and corners smoothed out by the effortlessness of their movement. Despite the signs of fatigue, he appeared pleased, relaxed at present.
Andreas was so close, I could see the seam on his left glove and the way his eyelashes cast little shadows on his cheekbone. My stomach pitched and rolled like a ship in high seas and I felt my internal organs rearrange themselves into a new configuration.
It seemed certain Dmitry would look over and see me. He didn’t. I wasn’t even a blip on the periphery of their conversation.
Dmitry shrugged, his posture loose and easy, and replied, “No, not at all. I just got here. Let’s go.”
I blinked my eyes hard once, just in case I was hallucinating.
Perhaps I was over-caffeinated or under-slept?
Maybe I’d had too many nights dreaming of Andreas—usually the kind of dream that left me wide-awake and staring at my phone, vibrating with a need to call him and then immediately being crushed by the memory of why I absolutely should not—that my brain had just started inserting him into my field of vision randomly during the day.
But then I saw the two of them smile at each other, in the kind of open, genuine way that implied they’d spent enough time together to be actual friends, and the wave of confusion and hurt that rolled through me was so overwhelming, I took a step back to maintain my balance.
I didn’t have a right to be hurt. I’d apologized to Dmitry weeks ago for my lie and he’d acted like it was no big deal. I’d told him the same story I told Nakita, Kendra, and Diya, and he’d said he understood.
Dmitry hasn’t betrayed me. He has no idea what Andreas did, because I didn’t tell him the whole truth.
I commanded myself to look away, avert my gaze and walk calmly toward the car.
If I left now, they would never know I’d witnessed their obviously scheduled meet-up.
Except, I couldn’t get my feet to listen to my brain.
I probably looked like I’d just been beaned in the head with a brick. I couldn’t move or even blink.
But then, abruptly, it was too late.
Andreas’s gaze lifted nonchalantly as though to absentmindedly scan the sidewalk, passed over me, then returned sharply.
The impact of it felt like a head-on collision.
His smile faltered, then fell completely, all the color draining from his face.
His eyes widened, his moment of recognition hitting me like a tidal wave, the force of it sending a hot, sudden spike of adrenaline straight down my spine and limbs.
I faintly registered that Andreas appeared just as surprised to see me as I was to see him, and the words I’d spoken to Diya over the weekend floated back to me. He doesn’t give a shit about me.
It was too much. I tried to turn again, this time with the singular goal of getting away before embarrassing myself further. Unfortunately, Dmitry was now facing me as well, his sharp eyes squinting, holding obvious but benign confusion.
“Sam?” Dmitry called, his accent coloring the syllable.
Both gritting my teeth and hammering on a small smile, I ripped my eyes from Andreas. “Hi. Sorry. You’re busy. I’ll catch up with you later.”
I spun on my heel, hiked the strap of my bag higher, and started walking as fast as my legs would go without breaking into an outright sprint.
“Samantha, wait—” I heard Andreas call from behind me, surprising me anew, and my entire body rebelled at the sound of his voice.
Stumbling on nothing, I quickly recovered, reminding myself to slow down. It was cold and the sidewalk was slick with patches of ice and rock salt. If I didn’t want to end up in the hospital with a concussion, I needed to measure my steps.
On the other hand, if I wiped out, at least I’d be unconscious for whatever came next.
Within seconds, the sound of shoes hitting the pavement at a jog signaled that Andreas followed me. I knew it was him. I didn’t have to look.
Why would he follow? What could he possibly want?
He cut in front of me, blocking my path, and I had to stop so suddenly that my backpack fell from my shoulder.
Andreas, his hands held out as though to catch me if I fell, stared at me, eyes wide and serious. “Wait. Where are you—do you want to—” He cut himself off and I watched him swallow thickly, his chest rising and falling before breathing out a whispered, “How are you?”
I ducked to the side and stepped around him, refusing to let him see the tears already stinging my eyes.
I hadn’t prepared for this. I’d prepared for seeing him at the shareholder meeting, maybe, in a suit and tie, with an entire legal team, a boardroom, his brothers, and a security buffer between us.
I had not prepared for this, for his voice, for his face, for the way just being near him could turn my brain into pudding.
He fell into step next to me, and this time, he sounded steadier. “Did you get Elio’s messages about Tobias? I tried to call you back on Saturday but—”
I interrupted, “I blocked and deleted your number on Saturday. Don’t call me. I don’t care about whatever new plot you’re hatching against your brothers.” My voice arrived shaky, which only served to piss me off.
I sensed him wince subtly and he was quiet for a second. I could feel the weight of his stare on the side of my face as we walked.
Then, gentle as a feather, “I am surprised it took you so long to block me. I assumed you already did, until you called me on Saturday.”
I kept my eyes on the Mercedes parked at the curb, a glimmering black escape pod with hazard lights strobing a silent SOS into the quickly darkening February evening. “I didn’t call you. Nakita did.”
He made a sound almost like a laugh, and I hated how warm it made my ears feel, even in the cold. “Yes, you said so. On Saturday.”
We walked in silence for a few paces, the crunch of salt and the slap of our shoes a percussion against the symphony of traffic. I willed myself not to cry, not to look at him, not to do anything that would betray just how completely out of control I felt in this moment.
Tara exited the car finally and walked around to the passenger side, arms folded across her chest, eyes on the front of the biology building at first, but then scanning the sidewalk after a moment.
She spotted me and her eyes widened with obvious surprise.
Almost at once, they narrowed when she saw who was at my side.
Andreas must’ve spotted her too, because he tugged at my jacket sleeve as though to bring me to a stop. “We should talk before the shareholder meeting.”
“No, thank you.” I yanked my sleeve out of his fingertips and continued toward the car, aiming for breezy but landing somewhere closer to openly hostile.
He didn’t seem discouraged by my brush-off. If anything—and perhaps I was imagining it—he sounded more desperate. “Have you found a proxy for your shares? If you need help, I have someone—”
Stopping so suddenly that Andreas nearly collided with me, I turned to face him and glared, hating that I noticed how his eyes darted over my face in a way that felt frantic, as though I might disappear. But this had to be wishful thinking.
“I don’t need your help.” The words came out slightly garbled by emotion, so I cleared my throat.
He inched closer, his body swaying toward mine. “I ask only for a half hour of your time. That is it. Please, let me help.” His words were low and urgent, pleading, making my chest expand and contract with heat and tightness.
I didn’t understand this. I didn’t understand him. No contact for months and now he was chasing me? Looking at me like I mattered to him? Saying please? What the hell was this?
Maybe he needs your help with his new scheme. Maybe you were such an effective pawn, he wants to use you again.
My chin wobbled, and I could see, from the way his own eyes flicked down to my mouth and then back up, that he noticed. His brows pinched together and he stared at me with a look of such concern that my heart shoved itself in his direction, painfully smashing against my rib cage.
I wanted to slap him. I hated him. I hated him so much for making me feel this way. Why is he doing this? What new game is he playing?
I needed to get myself under control. Why would I allow this person who didn’t care about me at all to dissolve my composure so completely?
Lifting my chin, I squared my shoulders and reminded myself that he’d never—not once—apologized. Not. Once.
He. Doesn’t. Give. A. Shit. About. Me.
“Don’t you have plans with Dmitry right now?” I gestured behind him, toward the spot where Dmitry still stood, pretending to check his phone. “And why are you now friends with my co-worker?” I asked, allowing my annoyance to pour out into the words.
Andreas stared at me for several seconds, his mouth opening, then closing, then opening again just to say, “I am using him to get close to you.”
I blinked, startled, certain I’d misheard him.
“You—you what? What did you say?”
“I am using him to get close to you. But Dmitry knows this and does not mind. He would like to help.” Andreas sounded calm, almost resigned, and for the first time in recent memory, I had no idea what to say.
I had . . . nothing.
It felt like the floor dropped out from under me. New tears stung my eyes. I didn’t know what to do with the words, or the way he said them, or the way he was looking at me. So, I did the only thing that made sense in the moment.
I exhaled a bitter, ugly laugh, then turned away and walked faster toward the car.
He followed, matching my pace. “Please, Samantha.” His voice sounded strained, choked with emotion. “Will you please—”
Tara finally moved to intercept, stepping between us with the efficiency of someone trained to stop professional linebackers and also dangerously tempting men in navy cable-knit turtlenecks. “Hey. She doesn’t want to talk to you,” she said, her voice measured and reasonable, but edged with a razor.
No steps followed. The relief that washed over me was so profound, I felt dizzy.
I heard Andreas exhale, a sound of pure frustration, before he said, “Tara. It has been a while.” The sudden change in his voice quality sent a shiver down my spine. He suddenly sounded so calm, calculated, lethal.
“Not long enough,” she replied, her tone echoing his.
Opening the back passenger door, I scrambled inside, shut myself in, and hit the lock button before I even had my backpack fully off. The interior was blissfully quiet, and as the world outside faded into a blur, I pressed my palms to my face and sucked in several shaky breaths.
I could feel the tears pricking again, building, a pressure behind my eyes that wanted so badly to break. But I was so tired of fretting over Andreas Kristiansen. I was done. I was not going to waste another second, another molecule of moisture or neuron signal of thought, on him.