Carolina shrugged. “I’m biased in this regard because Gray is my brother and he’s a giant pain in the ass, but I love him. And I think you do, too. So what did he do that was so terrible?”
“You knew he was at the suite the week of the convention, didn’t you?”
“Yes. But he didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you worrying about him being hurt when that was your big week.” Carolina’s eyes widened. “That was it? That’s why you broke up with him?”
Hearing it from Carolina made her sound petty and selfish. “I could have handled it, you know.”
“You’d have been a basket case. Hell, you were a basket case even without dealing with Gray and his injuries. So he was being thoughtful and you kicked him to the curb.”
Evelyn twirled the glass of iced tea around with both hands. “You make me sound like such a heartless bitch.”
Carolina laughed. “Not at all. Honey, I’m sorry. It’s just that I think you’re so afraid of love and commitment and what it might mean for your future goals. Come on, take a chance. My brother’s not a bad guy, you know.”
Her head shot up. “Of course he isn’t, Carolina. God, do you have any idea how much I love him?”
“Well, no, I don’t. The question is, does he have any idea how much you love him?”
Tears pricked her eyes. “Oh, you bitch. Now look what you’re doing to me.” She fished in her purse for a tissue.
Carolina’s lips curved. “Oh, you’re melting, you’re melting. What a cruel, cruel world . . .”
“So not funny.”
“Give it up, Evelyn. You’re in love. Throw your lot in with my big bad brother and see how it goes.”
She sighed. “You’re right. I have to throw in the towel. In the midst of this utter chaos, where I’m surprised I can even remember to put my underwear on the right way every day, I still can’t get him out of my head. Or my heart.”
“Dammit. Now I’m going to get all weepy.” Carolina held out her hand, and Evelyn passed her a tissue.
Carolina was right, though. She had purposely evaded the one person she loved, had put that road block up so she wouldn’t have to deal with being in love with him, when there was no avoiding it.
And now she had to face it—face him—and finally do something about it.
THIRTY-ONE
FINDING A WOMAN ATTACHED TO A SENATOR IN THE midst of a presidential campaign was a lot like finding a lost contact lens in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
They were like moving targets, rarely in one place for long before picking up stakes and heading into new territory.
Fortunately, Gray had a pretty good “in” with the vice presidential candidate, so he called his dad and found out they were in D.C. for the day, but they’d be heading out the next afternoon for Colorado.
Travel sucked, but at least he was off the crutches now and in a walking cast, and his ribs had healed enough that he could more or less breathe again without feeling like ten swords were simultaneously stabbing him.
His dad told him that Evelyn was either at the campaign headquarters or at her apartment where she sometimes worked when she needed quiet time. Gray wanted to surprise her, so he tried the campaign headquarters first. Since it was late afternoon, he figured he’d find her there, but one of the staffers told him she was working at home today. So he climbed back into the private car he’d hired and gave them the address to her apartment.
Taking a deep breath—or as deep as he could take with his fucked-up ribs—he rang the bell to her apartment.
“Yes?” she answered at the speaker.
“Hey.”
“Gray?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, my God. Come in. Do you need help?”
“Just buzz me in, Evelyn.” Though he was really happy she was on the first level and not the third.
She buzzed and he moved to open the door. She was already there, opening the door for him.
“What are you doing here?”
She was in her suit, though she’d removed the jacket, leaving her in a pencil skirt and silk blouse, very similar to the first time he’d met her. Her hair was pulled up and she looked professional—and gorgeous.
“Thought I’d drop by. If that’s okay.”
“It’s very okay. Come in and sit down.”
She shut the door and he made his way to the most comfortable-looking chair in her living room.
“No crutches?”
“No. I hated those damn things,” he said as he put his leg up in the reclining chair.
“I harassed the doctors into getting me off of them as soon as possible.”
“I’m glad. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water would be good.”
She hurried into the kitchen—she seemed nervous, which kind of made him happy since he was nervous as hell.
She brought him the water, which he downed in about three gulps. God, his throat was dry. This was like his first date all over again. He set the glass on the table next to the chair.
She took a seat on the small sofa and clasped her hands together.
“Been busy?” he asked.
“Very. You?”
“Not at all.”