Chapter 7
LEXI
C arlee slides on her high heels, holding the back of the couch for balance.
Over the last five days, I’ve applied for a handful of jobs, and I’m waiting for interviews.
Carlee graciously offered to cover the portion of rent that I didn’t have, and I promised to pay her back as soon as I could.
But tonight, she insisted that we go out, her treat.
I think she senses I’ve not been feeling like myself lately.
To be honest, I haven’t been myself since I learned my ex was a cheating bastard.
“Have you thought any more about your screenplay?” Carlee asks, flipping her straight brown hair over her shoulders.
“Yeah, a little. I think I want to write about a tragedy. Something that’s like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet . Everyone dies in the end.”
“That sounds depressing as fuck.” She grabs a pair of earrings and puts them on. “So, are you not going to tell me about you being with Calloway at Central Park?”
My cheeks immediately burn. “How did you know?”
“Lexi, there are pictures of you two together splashed all over the internet! What were you even talking about?”
“It was a normal conversation about authentic people and how I won’t kiss his ass.” I stand up and stretch. “Trust me, we weren’t hanging out. I was reading, and he interrupted me.”
“Damn, girl, you look hot,” she says, nodding her head. “Tonight, I’m using you as bait to reel in the gorgeous men, and then I’ll go in for the kill.”
This makes me laugh as I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing black slacks, dark red heels, and a black V-neck shirt that shows enough cleavage to tease. My hair is down, and my lips match my shoes. I do feel pretty for the first time in a while, and I appreciate the compliment.
“Thank you. I’m happy to help.”
I reach for my phone to check the time, and Carlee’s rings.
Her face contorts after she answers. “What do you mean?”
“What?” I whisper, not liking how her demeanor has shifted.
“Who did?” She’s staring at me. “You didn’t get his name?”
The conversation continues.
“Okay. Well, thanks. Yeah, no problem.”
She shoves her phone in her back pocket. “Someone paid our rent for the year.”
“Wow,” I say, trying to act surprised. Guess he wasn’t joking.
“This has your scent all over it. What did you do?” she asks.
I hold back a smile. “Easton Calloway offered to pay it if I forgave him for having me fired.”
She shakes her head, not believing it. “Oh my God! Tell me you forgave him?”
“No, I didn’t. He can’t buy me, Carlee. The man walks through life, getting whatever he wants. It stops here.”
I explain how I was reading and how he magically appeared. I keep some of our conversation to myself, but I don’t know why. I have no reason to protect this man.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t. It’s safe with me, even though I’d blow my blog up if I released a firsthand account.”
“Please. I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself. If it’s on your radar, it’s already an issue,” I say. Not wanting any of this.
“I promise. It’s for my entertainment only. Wait, did you say you have his number?”
“Yeah.” I unlock my phone and turn the screen around to show her.
“You programmed him in as ASSHOLE?”
This makes me laugh. “No, he did that.”
She snorts. “So, he has a personality. Girl, what are you doing? Call that man right now . Give him a proper thank-you.”
Just thinking about talking to him has me ready to combust. “And say what? Thank you for following through after nearly ruining my life ?”
“That’s a start. Or you can offer your sincere appreciation and ask him to join us tonight. It might be fun.”
I meet her eyes, knowing she can’t be serious. “That wouldn’t happen. He’d deny the invitation. We’re not his crowd, Carlee. Trust me. He’s filthy rich, and he probably eats placentas for breakfast or something super evil.”
I think about that boyish smirk and how it felt to hear him chuckle.
She lifts a brow and places her hand on her hip. “Want to put some money down on it?”
I shake my head. “I’m not betting you. I’m already broke enough, and I owe you so much.”
She pulls a one-hundred-dollar bill from her bra and straightens it. “Mr. Franklin could be going home with you tonight. All it takes is one phone call. And if he denies the invitation, I will never mention him to you again. We’ll pretend like none of it happened.”
The thought of speaking to him makes my throat dry. “You’re making me want to drink. I’m sorry, I can’t call him.”
“I should contact your mama right now and tell her how rude you’re being. Not even a thank you to a man who spent eighteen thousand dollars on you like it was nothing?”
“On us,” I say with a groan. “Sometimes, you’re really annoying.”
“Only when I’m right. Show me those Southern manners.”
I slowly take in a deep breath and look down at his contact. ASSHOLE. My phone is heavy in my hand, like I’ll drop it. Calling him feels personal, but he deserves a thank-you, even if that’s where this ends. I’ll quickly make the call, get it over with, and put my protective walls back up.
“You can use my room,” she says, lifting her hand toward it.
“Do I have to do this?” The thought gives me hives.
“Yes.”
She pushes me down the short hallway and into her room. There’s only enough space for her bed, a small table, and a standing mirror. I look down at my phone as she clicks the door closed. It’s the most privacy I’ll get.
“I can do this,” I whisper and click on his number.
It immediately rings, and after the fourth one, I hang up and meet her in the living room.
She grins. “Well?”
“He didn’t answer,” I explain with a shrug. “Ready to go?”
Her brows furrow. “Did you leave a message?”
“No, that wasn’t part of the deal. If he calls me back, I’ll pick up.”
We take the stairs down the four flights of our building. The evening chill hits my cheeks when I push open the door.
As I look out to the street, I stop mid-stride.
There he is, standing in a gray three-piece suit with a black tie.
He’s leaning against a white Mustang Shelby GT500 with black racing stripes down the hood—1967, if I had to guess, and I think I’d be right.
Pure muscle and Americana. He’s holding a bouquet of yellow roses as the ghost of a smile plays on his luscious lips.
As my foot hits the bottom step, he moves forward and hands them to me.
“For you,” he says.
I look at him like he’s lost his mind.
Carlee looks over at me. “I think I forgot something upstairs. I’ll be right back.”
“Carlee,” I say between clenched teeth, not wanting her to leave me alone with him.
She’s out of sight before I can say anything else.
I turn back to Easton. “What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t you call me?”
My mouth falls open and closes. He has a point.
“I did. I wanted to say thank you. Also, thanks for the roses. We’re heading out for the night.”
The roses smell incredible, and I can’t remember the last time anyone bought me flowers.
I meet his gaze. “I thought I told you the next time you decide to stalk me, wear a mask?”
This makes him chuckle. “I wasn’t stalking you. Was in the neighborhood.”
“Really? You hang out in Harlem often?”
I know he paid our rent, so it’s more than likely true.
His deep blue eyes scan my body from head to toe, then he gives me a boyish grin. His hair is a wild mess on his head, messier than usual. “Join me tonight.”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Carlee.
Carlee
GO OUT WITH HIM NOW!
Carlee
NOW! I WILL SURVIVE.
I look over my shoulder and see her standing at her bedroom window, shooing me away. I glance back at him. He’s patiently waiting, looking so damn sexy, as the sun sets in the distance.
“Are you denying me?” he asks, his voice a deep husk.
“Yes,” I whisper, nearly drowning in his eyes, knowing I can’t do this.
His smile widens as he takes a step forward. “Do you want me to beg?”
“You don’t seem like the kind of man who’s ever begged anyone for anything.”
He lifts a brow. “I’m not . But I’d make an exception for you.”
“After this, will you promise to leave me alone?” I ask, resting a hand on my hip.
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” He looks down at his watch. “Trust me when I say, we can’t be late.”
“That coming from your mouth doesn’t surprise me.”
“Alexis Matthews, I’d be honored to be in your presence tonight,” he says, opening the car door and presenting my carriage.
Inside are red leather seats, the dashboard, and the steering wheel. It’s a standard, and I can’t deny that shiny Cobra logo in the middle.
I bring my attention back to him. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“Oh, so you’re into negotiating. I fucking love it. Continue,” he says, returning to the smart-ass I know.
“I’ll join you if you let me drive.”
“Mmm,” he growls. “I don’t let anyone drive my vehicle.”
I hold out my palm, waiting for the keys. I want and need this. “That’s my condition. Agree, or good night, Mr. Calloway.”
“Hardball. Fuck ,” he whispers. “ You’re perfect. ”
Easton pulls the keys from his pocket and holds them above my hand, meeting my eyes before dropping them into my palm, which is exactly how I handed him his watch. “You’d better make it worth my while.”
“I’m thinking the same damn thing.” I go around the back, my fingers sliding over the slick white paint, and climb inside behind the steering wheel. I set the flowers in the back and adjust the position of the leather bucket seat.
As he buckles in, I bend over, remove my heels, and place them next to the flowers. After I push in the clutch, I turn the key and listen to the car roar to life. It’s ferocious.
The steering wheel in my grasp makes me smile as I rub my hands across the smooth leather. “Wow.”
“I guess we’re on the same brain wave tonight,” he says. “Want directions to where I’m taking you?”
I nod, glancing down at the stick of the four-speed. I shift into first gear and it lurches forward. I didn’t expect that much power, though I should’ve. It’s a GT.