Except for the way he’s the only one not clapping, simply assessing everything about me.
He’s sitting by himself at a table in the corner, away from the regular Thursday evening revelry. While this isn’t a complete dive bar, he still seems out of place with his Armani suit and Tag Heuer watch. Needless to say, I’m intrigued. Who is he? Why is he peering at me in a way that makes me feel like he can see straight through the mask?
“What are you going to do about your living situation?” Nora asks once the laughter and applause die down.
I snap out of my daze and lower myself back to my chair. My limbs are jittery as I take a deep breath, unable to shake the heat of a pair of blue eyes staring at me.
“I’m not sure.” My voice is distant. “He said I didn’t have to move out right away. And maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe Trevor needs some time to realize what a mistake this is.”
“You honestly think it’s a mistake?” Chloe presses, obviously annoyed.
“He is under a lot of pressure with that big trial coming up. If this one goes well, he could be on a fast track for junior partner. I think…” I toy with the stem of my glass. “I’m sure he’ll eventually come to his senses. I mean, if he didn’t want to be with me, why wouldn’t he insist I immediately find somewhere else to live? He knows I could crash on the pullout in your den. Instead, he told me to stay as long as I need.” I’m probably grasping at straws, but I’m not ready to give up on Trevor yet. Maybe he needs to know that. “Perhaps if I’m still living there, he’ll be reminded of exactly what he’s throwing away.”
“Oh, I know what you should do!” Nora exclaims, her eyes brightening as if having an epiphany.
“What’s that?” I ask. “And no. I am not putting up a profile on Tinder.”
She laughs. “No. I wasn’t going to suggest that, although there is nothing wrong with meeting someone on Tinder. I was going to suggest you hire August Laurent.”
I pinch my brows together, shaking my head. “August Laurent? Who’s that?”
“He’s this guy…” She looks at Chloe. “I’m not sure how to explain. He provides a…boyfriend experience, so to speak.”
“Boyfriend experience?”
“Yeah,” Chloe answers. “Women pay him to pretend to be their boyfriend for however short or long a time as necessary.”
“So…an escort,” I scoff.
“Not just any escort.” Nora smirks, her eyes dancing with excitement. “He’s, like, the most sought-after escort on the East Coast, if not the country. And he lives right here in Manhattan. Women line up to hire him.”
“Sorry, but I don’t need an escort. Or to pay someone for a ‘boyfriend experience’. I have an actual boyfriend.”
Chloe lifts a finger. “Had.”
“Yes. Had. But like I said, my situation with Trevor is just temporary.”
“This guy specializes in that kind of thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s one of the biggest motivators out there?” Chloe narrows her gaze.
I stare blankly at her.
“Jealousy, Evie.” Nora looks at me like I’m a complete idiot. I’ve just been out of the dating world for so long. True, my job entails doling out relationship and dating advice on a regular basis, but I’ve never had to play any of these games myself. The mere thought exhausts me. “I’m sure hiring a ridiculously hot guy to pretend to be your boyfriend would have Trevor banging down your door in no time.”
“So he takes advantage of women who’ve had their hearts broken?” I bring my glass back to my lips, inhaling the oaky aroma of the whiskey before taking a sip. “Real stand-up guy.”
“People swear by him.” Chloe arches her brow. “For what it’s worth. They say he helped them realize their true value. Helped them feel worthy of being loved again, whether it be by their ex or someone new.”
“He must have a magical penis.” I laugh, wavering a little in my chair. “Super penis.” I snort, amused at the image I’ve concocted in my head of a penis wearing a cape. “Faster than a premature ejaculation,” I joke, coming up with his superhero tagline. Ideas for a feature in my column swirl in my head.
Martini spews out of Nora’s mouth as she chokes on the sip she had just taken. I swipe at my face, removing a few droplets.
“Didn’t that super model hire him?” she asks Chloe once her coughing settles down.
She nods. “Holly Turner.”
“Holly Turner?” I repeat. “Why would she have to hire an escort? The woman’s stunning! You’d think she’d have a line of men vying to take her ex’s place.”
“She refused to confirm she did, in fact, use this guy’s services,” Chloe explains, “but she did admit that had it not been for the help of a ‘dear friend’ during her separation and eventual divorce, she never would have realized how unhappy she’d been. This ‘dear friend’ made her feel beautiful again.”
I straighten my spine, finishing my drink. “I don’t need someone to help me feel beautiful again. And I certainly don’t need to hire some escort to pretend to be my boyfriend. I’ll handle Trevor on my own. I just need…”
“Yeah?”
“I just need to celebrate my thirtieth birthday and forget that Trevor ruined the day for me.”
Chloe and Nora pass a devious grin to each other. I have a feeling I’ll regret this tomorrow, but for now, I need a night with my two best friends.
“You got it, Evie.” Chloe signals Aiden. A line of shots appears in front of us within a few seconds.
“Here’s to thirty.” Nora raises her shot, Chloe and me mirroring her, gulping down the liquor.
Just as I take a sip of the water Aiden’s thankfully placed in front of me, a body brushes against mine. A shiver rolls down my spine, making me breathless. I glance behind me to see Mr. Armani Suit walk toward the door. Everything tells me to look away, to return my attention to my friends, but the tipsy version of Evie doesn’t listen, keeping her eyes glued to his tall physique instead. This is the best suit porn I’ve seen in a while and can’t get enough.
As he’s about to walk out the door, he stops. My heart skyrockets to my throat when his gaze locks with mine. A blush builds on my cheeks as I snap my eyes forward, doing everything to pretend he didn’t catch me ogling him. But he did. And the smirk on his full lips confirms this fact.
Bastard.
Chapter Three
Sun streams through the windows, bathing the room in light, rousing me from unconsciousness. I squint, having difficulty adjusting to the brightness. I don’t remember my bedroom being this bright, considering it faces west. Then again, the last thing I probably thought about last night when I stumbled back to the apartment was closing the drapes.
Rubbing my eyes, I try to shake off the cobwebs, my tongue feeling like sandpaper. Thankfully, drunk Evie must have predicted I’d wake up with a hangover to rival all hangovers and left a water bottle and a couple aspirin on the nightstand. Drunk Evie really is thoughtful.
I reach for the pills, pop them into my mouth, and chase them with a huge gulp of water, practically downing the entire bottle to dull the fire. After returning the bottle to the table, I collapse back onto the bed, the cool, silky sheets comforting against my skin.
As I stare at the ceiling, I exhale a long breath, the reality of yesterday slowly trickling back. Trevor really did break up with me. On my thirtieth birthday. Because I’m not serious enough. I’ll show him how wrong he is. I just need to nurse this hangover, then I’ll begin Operation Prove Trevor Wrong. If he wants a serious girlfriend, I can be that. I can tone down the jokes. I can stop making snarky comments. I can even write some different articles for the magazine. Less raunchy, more smart humor. What I can’t do is throw away over a decade of our relationship because he doesn’t think I’m the type of girl he can be with if he wants to make partner. I’ve always been a problem solver. Right now, this issue with Trevor is simply a problem I vow to fix.