Go big or go home. Wasn’t that what she’d always told him? Jennifer? With her innocent eyes and her not-so-innocent mouth?
But she’d never gotten the chance.
And now here he was, thirteen years to the day since that goddamned hellish night. And Jenny was dead, and he was standing in a fucking spotlight wearing Armani and living her dream.
How fucked up was that?
“I lost you somewhere,” Evelyn said. “Let’s head to the bar. I think you could use another drink.”
Damn right he could, but he shook his head. “I was just thinking.” He gestured with his hand, indicating the whole area, including the city beyond the rooftop. “This really is where dreams come true.”
But only an unlucky few—like Lyle—knew how many nightmares hid inside those bright, shiny dreams.
He forced a smile for Evelyn’s sake. “I’ve been here for almost two hours. I’ve been effusive and charming and a team player. I’ve done everything they’ve asked. Officially, anyway,” he added wryly, thinking of Frannie’s overtures. “That should at least earn me a cookie, don’t you think?”
She crossed her arms, shifting her weight as she looked at him. “Depends on what kind of cookie you’re looking for.”
“I’m leaving—”
“Dammit, Lyle.”
“Do I ever cause you problems? Do you have to run interference for me? Do I not live up to my damned golden boy reputation?”
She said nothing.
“Make an excuse for me. Anything. I don’t care.” For just a moment, he let his mask down. The innocent Iowa boy who’d been discovered at seventeen, plucked out of obscurity to ride to fame on his Midwestern good looks and piercing blue eyes. He’d thrown himself into the work, scrambling up through television and indie films to where he was today. A genuinely nice guy, untarnished by Hollywood’s bullshit.
Except that was all just a part, too. And for just a flicker of a moment, he let Evelyn see the pain underneath. The loss. The darkness. And all the goddamn guilt.
Then he was the movie star again, and she was looking at him, her brows knit with an almost maternal concern.
“Please,” he added, his voice low and a little hoarse. “It’s not a good day. I need—”
What? A drink? A fuck? Magic powers so he could change the past?
“—to go. I just need to go.”
“Do you want company?”
Hell, yes.
He shook his head. “No. I’m fine. But thanks.”
But he did want company. Just not the kind that Evelyn was offering. He wanted the kind of company that was raw. That was dirty and fast and anonymous.
Mostly, he wanted discretion and absolutely no fucking strings.