Chapter 11 #2
A man like Evers would never fall for a girl like me.
He was wealthy. Gorgeous. He'd grown up in high society and had a job like an action hero.
I'm a normal suburban girl who's just pretty enough, just smart enough, to get by.
I like my job and I make good money, but when you get down to it, I'm a glorified assistant.
Not a good match for James Bond. I knew the clock was ticking the whole time we were together. Eventually, he'd get bored and wander away. Finding out that he stuck around to keep an eye on me for his friends was too humiliating to bear.
He'd been a jerk, and I'd wanted more than I could have. Simple as that. I needed to get over it.
I finally tracked him down by the pool. If we were over, if he didn't matter, then why did the sight of Cynthia in his arms make me want to vomit?
They didn't hear me when I came in. One of the doors was already open, and whatever they were talking about, they were engrossed in each other.
Cynthia must have been swimming because her tanned skin gleamed, rivulets of water still streaming down her legs, in between her breasts, across her flat stomach.
I knew how hard she worked for that body and didn't want to do any of it myself, but I couldn't help my envy.
Cynthia was older than me, even a few years older than Evers, but it didn't show.
Every inch of her was sleek and toned except for the full breasts straining the minuscule fabric of her white bikini.
Only a woman with a spectacular body could pull off a bathing suit like that. Cynthia didn't just pull it off. Through the envy in my heart, I had to admit she looked spectacular. Her platinum hair was piled on top of her head to keep it out of the water, and her makeup was perfect.
She was photo shoot ready, leaning into Evers, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest. As she murmured in his ear the bitter flavor of jealousy coated my tongue.
I cleared my throat and said as neutrally as I could, "Excuse me."
Cynthia turned to look at me with a smile, but Evers started and stepped back. He would have extricated himself from Cynthia's embrace if she hadn't tightened her fingers on his shirt, keeping him in place.
My brain blanked out. Her red nails against his white shirt, the perfection of Cynthia and all the gorgeous that was Evers—they were a supernova of beauty, incinerating everything in their path, including me.
I stood there, staring, and all I could think was that they looked like some glamorous, perfect version of Barbie and Ken. Cynthia was the kind of woman who could claim a man like Evers. Not me. Never me.
Cynthia raised an eyebrow. "Summer? Did you want something?"
I cleared my throat, realizing that I was standing there with my mouth open, staring at both of them like an idiot.
What did I want? Why was I here?
I'd walked in, seen them together, and every cell in my brain had shorted out. Clearing my throat again, I said with a stutter, "I, uh, um, wanted to give you an update on the party."
I'd rather hide in my office until I forgot the burn of seeing Evers with Cynthia, but I did have to update her on the party, and I might as well do it while I was standing there like a fool.
Evers stepped back, gently removing Cynthia's hands from his shirt. He looked at me for a long moment before he said, "I'd better get back to work," and strode from the room.
I watched him go, noting that the abrasions on his neck were perfectly camouflaged by the collar of his shirt. I wanted to follow him, ask how he felt, if it hurt, if he was okay.
Cynthia also watched him go, her eyes on his ass. When he cleared the door, she let out a low whistle of appreciation, then shrugged one perfect shoulder and lay down on the padded lounge chair beside her.
I cleared my throat again. "Bad timing. I'm sorry."
Cynthia waved a hand in the air "It's fine. I'll get to him later. Now, update?"
Back on familiar ground, I ran down the list of things I'd done to get the party organized. Cynthia smiled in appreciation when I finished.
"Summer, you are a miracle worker. I knew you could make it happen. And music? What are we doing about music? I don't think I want a full band, but I don't want a stuffy string quartet or something like that."
"I figured that, and I found a small group, no vocalist, that does popular covers. Mostly oldies. Some new stuff. All of it upbeat and lively."
"That sounds perfect."
She lay her head back against the lounge chair and closed her eyes, for a moment looking like she was about to take a nap. Faint shadows lurked beneath her eyes, showing through her almost flawless makeup.
"I'll get back to work—"
"You and Evers know each other, don't you?" Cynthia interrupted, her eyes popping open, her clear, green gaze focused on me. Before I could answer, she said, "Oh, that's right, your friend is married to his brother."
Glad for the simple explanation, I agreed. "Yes. We met a few years ago."
"And that's it? You're just friends because his brother married your BFF? You never…"
"We're just friends," I said, hoping Cynthia would buy it. I wasn't a very good liar, and I couldn't think of any way to explain my relationship with Evers that wouldn't open a door into a conversation I didn't want to have. Not with my employer. Not with anyone.
Cynthia tapped one red nail against her raised knee and turned her eyes to the door through which Evers had so recently disappeared. "You don't mind if I make a run at him?"
Her eyes flashed back to me, reading every nuance of my expression as I struggled to hide my feelings. Pasting a bland smile on my face, I shrugged a shoulder and said, "Sure. He's a big boy."
"That he is," Cynthia agreed. "We had a thing, a long time ago. Nothing serious, but I wouldn't mind doing it again. For old times’ sake. He might be just what I need."
The thread of sadness in her last words pulled at me. I found myself asking, "Are you okay about Clint? That he's here?"
Shutters came down over Cynthia's bright eyes and she studied her nails, buffing a nonexistent smudge. "I wish he'd just give up already. He keeps emailing me. Leaving messages. He says the relapse was a lie. That the press made it up."
"And the girl?" I asked, softly.
"He swears that was a lie, too. She was looking for publicity and set the whole thing up."
"Do you believe him?"
"I don't know," Cynthia said, her voice small and sad.
Suddenly angry at Clint, I reminded her, "Calling you is breaking the terms of the restraining order. If you turn your phone records over to the police and report him—"
Cynthia's eyes flashed up to me and the sadness in them made me want to give her a hug. I held back, sensing she didn't want that kind of sympathy right now.
"I don't want to call the police on him, Summer. I want my husband back, but the man I married is gone. The man I married didn't have a drinking problem. He didn't do drugs. He didn't sleep with half of L.A. to hurt me. Now I just want it to be over."
"Hopefully, soon it will be. Then you can move on," I said, torn between wanting Cynthia to be happy and feeling sick at the idea of her finding that happiness with Evers.
As if conjured by my thoughts, Evers strode through the open door, his eyes on alert, face blank. I recognized that look. Something had happened.
"Cynthia, I need to borrow Summer. Griffen is in charge of the staff. He's got everything under control, and you'll be fine until we get back."
"What happened?" I asked. It couldn't have anything to do with Cynthia or he wouldn't need me. Which could only mean it was…
"There's been a break-in at your father's place."
My stomach sank. A break-in at my father's place could be a coincidence. Or it could be further evidence that Evers was right, and my dad really was in trouble.
"Evers, can't someone else handle it? If it's a break-in, can't you just call the police?" Cynthia asked, her eyes studying both of us.
"No, we can't," Evers said without further explanation. "Cynthia, I mentioned this might happen. We'll be back later. Until then, Griffen has everything under control." Looking at me, he raised an eyebrow. "Summer? Let's go."