Immediately, I forget his teasing. The colors—hot pink, turquoise and canary yellow—jump out at me from the screen. They feel like me, like my designs. And the font is retro cool, with a modern hand-lettered twist.
“I love it.”
“Great.” He takes the laptop back with a grin.
“How did you know?” I ask. Somehow, he’s taken the feeling of my work and translated it into something tangible.
“I’ve gotten a feeling for who you are. But there’s a lot I still need to know, like how you want the site to function and what services you’re going to offer.”
I rub my temples, overwhelmed. I reach absently for my water and realize I left it on the piano. Myles notices and sets his laptop down, crossing the room to get the bottle and hand it back to me. I smile gratefully and feel myself relax as he settles back beside me.
We spend the next hour talking about the site, sharing ideas and clarifying the vision for it. Every time Myles notes something down, I feel a frisson of excitement.
“So, the name of your business; Loved Again.” He stops typing, tapping his chin. “Does that still make sense, now that you’re not doing vintage clothes?”
“Yeah, I guess if we’re moving in a different direction from the store, I should change it. I just don’t know what to change it to.”
“I don’t need to know right now; I can build the site with a placeholder. But you’ll need to think of something soon.”
“Okay.” I rest my head back on the sofa. It might be threadbare but it’s comfortable, and I kick my feet up on the ottoman in front of us, accidentally knocking a book to the floor. I pick it up and inspect the cover:The Power of Nowby someone called Eckhart Tolle. The blurb is all about living in the present to find inner peace, or some hippie crap like that. He’s really into this stuff, isn’t he?
The typing beside me stops and I turn to find Myles watching me curiously. I hold up the book with a little chuckle. “This looks… interesting.”
“It is. It’s about being present and escaping the ego. Most of us spend our whole lives controlled by our egos, which stops us from being content.”
I nod sagely, as if he’s imparting some great wisdom. But his use of the word “ego” is interesting, given he seems to have, well, a huge one. I muffle a laugh, turning the book over in my hand.
“What?”
“Well, you know.” I glance at him, biting my lip to hide my smirk. “You talk about how we need to escape our egos, then you go to the bar and strut around like you’re God’s gift to women.”
He wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “Of course I do. That’s how I get the ladies to hand over their cash.” He flashes me a grin and it’s pure Myles, all gleaming teeth and self-confidence.
With an eye-roll I go to place the book back.Point proven.
“But you know,” he continues, and I pause, “that doesn’t mean I have a big ego. It’s not like I actually think I’m hot shit. I just know how to play to the crowds.”
“So you’re telling me you don’t believe those women think you’re hot? You don’t think they want you?”
A smile slowly widens his mouth. “Yeah, I mean, they do—that’s why it works. But only because of the way I’m acting. I’m giving them what they want. It’s all a game; there’s nothing real there.”
Well. That’s surprisingly profound for the bartender who, just a few days ago, told three different women they were each the most beautiful ladies in Manhattan for a few extra bucks.
“You know what I mean, right?” Myles says, setting his laptop to one side. “Things like looks or status or money mean nothing, if there’s no real connection—if you don’t make each other laugh, care about the same things, reallyunderstandeach other.” He rakes a hand through his hair, his gaze drifting off somewhere else.
I’m not sure how the conversation has ended up here, but there’s something in his eyes that makes me want to ask him more. I’m about to open my mouth when he speaks again.
“That’s why all that stuff at work doesn’t matter. It’s just a transaction. I give the girls a little extra attention and they pay me a bit more.” He lets his eyes come back to me. They roam my face for a moment, and a peculiar sensation sweeps down my spine.
“Like a prostitute,” I murmur, and he barks a loud laugh.
“I guess. But I don’t have to fuck random strangers.”
I give him a funny look. “Wouldn’t that be the best part? From what I can gather, that’s what most men want.”
“What?” His brows draw together. “You don’t actually believe that?”
I look down, running my hands over the smooth book cover in my lap. Logically, I know it’s not what all men want, of course. But it’s what my dad wanted, what Mark wanted. And Cory was pretty clear about Myles being the same type of guy.
