Page 55 of All The Ways to Miss You

Evan stands straighter, maybe to match James’s height. Even though they’re matched in body mass, James is taller. When Evan marches past, James relaxes some but makes his own play.

He places a gentle hand on my arm and speaks low, murmuring promises about the restaurant he wants to take me to. “You’ll love this place; the wine list is superb and the soup is to die for.”

Evan’s in the other room making a ruckus. The noises escalate as the seconds pass. To say he’s purposely creating a distraction would be an understatement.

“Need any help in there, buddy?” James offers.

Evan peeks out from the bathroom. The muscles in his neck flex as he studies James with a stone-faced expression. At his side, he grips a hammer, and it looks like he wants to slam it into James’s face.

“Nah, man. I’m good.” He relaxes and flashes a familiar cocky grin, the one I haven’t seen in weeks. He’s gloating, like he knows he’s seen me naked and James hasn’t. If I could make him understand that James isn’t competition, he might drop this absurd macho act.

Evan crosses to leave but pauses behind me to lean down and whisper near my ear. “Still dreaming about our night together, aren’t you?” His halfhearted attempt at a whisper is too loud on purpose.

My eyes fly wide open, and I whirl on him. Who the hell does he think he is? This volley is so far out of the playing field, I want to kill him.

I raise my hand and slap Evan across his cheek with the force of my humiliation. His head whips to the side. My stinging hand falls away as I step back and survey the damage—a searing red handprint on his skin.

His head jerks back, his jaw locking into place and shoulders squaring. A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Not a chance.” My lips tremble as I deliver the lie.

It doesn’t matter now if his statement was true. He’s gone too far by interfering with his misplaced jealousy.

I point a shaky finger toward the hallway. I want him out. Now.

Without a word, Evan stomps out, slamming the front door as he leaves. The framed photos hanging on the wall nearby rattle, and I flinch at the sound.

“Shall I kick his ass?” James asks, only half joking.

My elbows squeeze tight at my sides as my embarrassment returns in full force. “I’m so sorry.” My hands frame my clammy face. “That was so unprofessional. He was so—so⁠—”

“Jealous.” He finishes my sentence.

“I should explain.” Overwhelmed, I’m scrambling, my thoughts a wreck. My perfect work mask has faltered and my chaotic personal life has crashed in, creating a hot mess. This isn’t the impression I want to make.

“No need,” James says, doing his best to put me at ease. “And I know a chocolate cake that can make all of this disappear.” He snaps his fingers.

I release a tense laugh but then realize my mistake. I don’t want him to read my reaction as acceptance.

He must sense my resistance, because he adds, “It’ll be business. We can review the floor plans together, make notes. First thing Monday, I’ll present the partners with the drafted LOI and plans. After that, the lawyers can duke out the lease.” He waves the envelope. “Besides, leaving the building might be good for you.”

“On that, you’re probably right.” I relent with a smile. He’s trying to make me feel better. If I forget this incident, maybe he will too.

I nod and accept for the sake of moving forward. But also, I fear if I stay, I may have a real confrontation with Evan.

I’m tense until we make it down the stairs and out the door into the safety of the sedan. When we’re locked inside and the car speeds away, I relax into my seat, watching buildings stream past under a darkening sky.

Our evening begins at Dalton’s in the Gold Coast. It’s one of the nicest and most popular restaurants in the city. The interior walls are covered with framed autographed photos of celebrity guests. A pianist plays soft jazz at a grand piano in the corner of the bar, entertaining the wealthy patrons filling the room. Some mingle shoulder to shoulder, holding mixed drinks.

On the handful of times I’ve come with Aggie, we only made it to the bar to drink, never securing a coveted table. But as soon as James steps through the door, the manager greets him and we’re whisked to the second floor. Here is where celebrities, politicians, and other influential members of society dine hidden from prying eyes.

Our table is the best in the room, tucked in a quiet corner overlooking Mariano Park. On weekends, the area bubbles with activity under white twinkle lights. Tonight is no exception. Residents sit at café tables and sip coffee while they gossip under heat lamps. Tethered dogs sleep at their feet. Tourists gather around a water fountain, enjoying gelato. It’s the perfect spot for people watching, but less so for a business dinner.

“Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get a reservation here?” I settle a napkin in my lap.

“It helps that my family owns the restaurant.” He unbuttons his jacket and settles into his seat. “It’s the family business.”

“And you’re not part of it?” I lean closer.