It’s strange to see my full name in print. I’ve always gone by Evie Fitzgerald. In a way, it’s satisfying, like I’m turning over a new leaf, starting a new life. No longer writing about the best condoms for maximum pleasure, but about subjects of value.
Encouraged by George Bailey shouting about wanting to live again, I turn my attention to the opening paragraph of the story I pitched on a whim, thinking nothing would come of it. I can’t help but smile at how wrong I was. In more ways than I care to admit.
When I first pitched the idea of getting the inside scoop on the man who, over the past decade, has become one of the country’s most sought-after escorts, I selfishly did so because a story about a male escort would appeal to a large percentage of female readers. I envisioned the cover in my mind... A man dressed in a suit, tie draped around his neck, white shirt unbuttoned revealing chiseled abs, head cut off to keep the mystery alive.
I suppose that’s how I assumed this man’s story would be. All eye candy. No substance.
Well, dear reader, you’re in for quite the ride, just as I was.
August Laurent’s tale is one you can’t truly appreciate until you have the full picture. I confess, I didn’t have that until now. I assumed he was a womanizer, a heartbreaker, a philanderer… Someone who had no qualms about taking advantage of women for monetary gain.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
My heart squeezes as I zero in on that one line. When I first wrote it, I believed it with every fiber of my being. Has any of that changed because I know who August Laurent is? Maybe I’m wrong about him again.
Bringing my eyes back to the article, I lose myself in the world I spent my summer living. But it’s better now, the pieces Chloe contributed adding another dimension. Now, instead of being a story that seemed to focus on the women August helped, I’m left with a tale of a boy forced to become a man when most kids his age only cared about the latest video game. A boy who had to say goodbye to the only family he had when the rest of us were at an age we wished our parents would disappear. A boy who refused to get close to anyone because he didn’t think he deserved to be loved.
But that didn’t stop him from giving love when it was needed, despite his insistence that he didn’t know how to love. He did. In giving that love, he helped so many women realize their true worth. Some of them just wanted to feel secure in their decision to focus on their career instead of getting married and having kids. Others needed to feel as if they were worthy of love after being with someone who took them for granted. And others needed him to save them, just as he was saved. Regardless of the fact that it was strictly a business arrangement, he still made them feel beautiful, made them feel worthy, made them feel loved.
He did the same thing for me, too, but as Julian.
Can I learn to look past his faults because of the way I felt when I was with him? The way I still feel when I hear his name, look into his eyes, recall the heat of his hands on my skin? I want to. God, I wish I could run into his arms and start over again, like he’s begged me to do over the weeks that have passed. But this is a man who’s made a living out of giving the women who’ve hired him the fantasy they need, learning how to read them and tell them what they need to hear. How do I know anything he’s told me is real?
I’m so consumed with indecision, I barely register the sound of the buzzer, thinking it’s the apartment next door. When I hear it again, I shoot my gaze toward the door, holding my breath as I stare. I’ve ignored that buzzer for weeks now, regardless of Julian’s pleas from the front stoop to talk to him. A few hours ago, I was happy to continue to ignore him. Now, I wonder if I can give him the second chance my heart urges he deserves.
Placing the magazine on the coffee table, I stand, taking measured steps toward the entryway, my pulse increasing the closer I get. I place my hand on the knob, able to feel the electricity. When I open the door, I expect to stare into pleading blue eyes. Instead, the eyes looking back are hazel.
“Trevor…” I wrap my arms around my stomach, warming myself as I walk out onto the front step, remaining out of the rain. “What are you doing here?” I hug myself, Julian’s SUNY sweatshirt providing me with warmth.
He shoves his hands into his pockets, nervously rocking on his heels. “I, uh… I was in the Village for a meeting with a client and thought I’d stop by to see how you’re doing.”
“How I’m doing?”
I haven’t seen Trevor since my final weekend in the Hamptons at the Farewell Gala, which he attended on Theresa’s arm. And I haven’t spoken to him in even longer, both of us happy to ignore each other all summer. Truthfully, it wasn’t a conscious effort on my part. Julian’s presence consumed me to the point that I ignored everything else…including the ex-boyfriend often standing only a few feet away.
“No plans with Theresa tonight?”
“We broke up around Thanksgiving.” He laughs slightly. “Mom and Dad came to visit, like they do every year.”
“And how did that go?”
“Let’s just say it made me realize how different Theresa and I are.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He lifts his eyes to mine as he shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”
I part my lips, about to argue with him, but snap my jaw shut. “You’re right. I’m not.”
“I deserve that, especially after the way I handled things.”
Neither one of us says anything for several long seconds, an awkward tension building. I used to feel comfortable around him. This is a man with whom I had no qualms, even sharing all the dirty details of my period…much to his chagrin. Now I don’t know how to act.
“How’s Julian?”
I hold my head high, doing my best to maintain my composure at his question. “We’re not together anymore.”
“I figured as much.”
“You did?” I arch a brow.
“You were both at Sonia’s funeral but didn’t acknowledge each other. I wasn’t aware you were friendly with her.”
“I could say the same about you,” I shoot back, not wanting to discuss the fact that my connection to Sonia is actually through Julian’s alter ego, August Laurent.
“The firm represents her.” He pauses, then corrects, “Represented her.”
All I can do is nod, silence falling between us once more.
“Can I come in?” Trevor finally asks, his eyes imploring me as he hunches his shoulders, trying to shield himself from the rain. “Just for a minute. I just… I just really want to talk to you. If you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll leave and never bother you again. Okay?”
I study him in quiet contemplation. After the way he ended things, I don’t owe him anything. But my curiosity gets the better of me.
“Fine.”
Turning from him, I enter the apartment, the warmth thawing my cold fingers. After shaking the water off his coat, Trevor leaves it in the entryway, then follows me into the living room. I grab the proof copy of the magazine off the coffee table and shove it back into the envelope, keeping the identity of Julian’s alter ego a secret for now.
“Do you know what today is?” Trevor asks.
I scrunch my brows together, wracking my brain, but nothing comes to mind. A few months ago, I would have been able to remember every anniversary we shared. Now those memories have faded.
“December fifteenth?”
“Exactly.” He steps toward me, a heat I haven’t seen in years crossing his expression. “Do you remember what happened on December fifteenth twelve years ago?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“We were at a football game. But not just any football game. It was a momentous game, and not because of any Bowl placement for the Huskers. Something else happened at that game. Do you remember what that was?”