What’s the problem?”
I looked at him. “It’s going to be awkward running into him al the time. I’m hoping to hang on to my job for a long while. I real y like it. I real y like Mark. He’s total y involved me in the process and I’ve learned so much from him already.”
“Remember what Dr. Travis says about calculated risks? When your shrink tel s you to take some, you should take some. You can deal with it. You and Cross are both adults.” He turned his attention back to his Internet search. “Wow. Did you know he doesn’t turn thirty for another two years? Think of the stamina.”
“Think of the rudeness. I’m offended by how he just threw it out there. I hate feeling like a vagina with legs.” Cary paused and looked up at me, his eyes softening with sympathy. “I’m sorry, baby girl. You’re so strong, so much stronger than I am. I just don’t see you carrying around the baggage I do.”
“I don’t think I am, most of the time.” I looked away because I didn’t want to talk about what we’d been through in our pasts. “It’s not like I wanted him to ask me out on a date. But there has to be a better way to tel a woman you want to take her to bed.”
“You’re right. He’s an arrogant douche. Let him lust after you until he has blue bal s. Serves him right.” That made me smile. Cary could always do that. “I doubt that man has ever had blue bal s in his life, but it’s a fun fantasy.”
He shut his netbook with a decisive snap. “What should we do tonight?”
“I was thinking I’d like to go check out that Krav Maga studio in Brooklyn.” I’d done a little research after meeting Parker Smith during my workout at Equinox and as the week passed, the thought of having that kind of raw, physical outlet for stress seemed more and more ideal.
I knew it wouldn’t be anything close to banging the hel out of Gideon Cross, but I suspected it would be a lot less dangerous to my health.
“There’s no way your mom and Stanton are going to let you come out here at night multiple times a week,” Cary said, hugging his stylish denim jacket around him even though it wasn’t more than slightly chil y.
The converted warehouse Parker Smith used as his studio was a brick-faced building in a formerly industrial area of Brooklyn presently struggling to revitalize. The space was vast, and the massive metal delivery-bay doors offered no exterior clue as to what was taking place inside. Cary and I sat in aluminum bleachers, watching a half-dozen combatants on the mats below.
“Ouch.” I winced in sympathy as a guy took a kick to the groin. Even with padding, that had to sting. “How’s Stanton going to find out, Cary?”
“Because you’l be in the hospital?” He glanced at me. “Seriously. Krav Maga is brutal. They’re just sparring and it’s ful contact. And even if the bruises don’t give you away, your stepdad wil find out somehow. He always does.”
“Because of my mom; she tel s him everything. But I’m not tel ing her about this.”
“Why not?”
“She won’t understand. She’l think I want to protect myself because of what happened, and she’l feel guilty and give me grief about it. She won’t believe my main interest is exercise and stress relief.” I propped my chin on my palm and watched Parker take the floor with a woman. He was a good instructor.
Patient and thorough, and he explained things in an easy to understand way. His studio was in a rough neighborhood, but I thought it suited what he was teaching. It didn’t get more “reality based” than a big, empty warehouse.
“That Parker guy is real y hot,” Cary murmured.
“He’s also wearing a wedding band.”
“I noticed. The good ones always get snatched up quick.”
Parker joined us after the class was over, his dark eyes bright and his smile brighter. “What’d ya think, Eva?”
“Where do I sign up?”
His sexy smile made Cary reach over and squeeze the blood out of my hand.
“Step this way.”
Friday started out awesome. Mark walked me through the process of col ecting information for an RFP, and he told me a little more about Cross Industries and Gideon Cross, pointing out that he and Cross were the same age.
“I have to remind myself of that,” Mark said. “It’s easy to forget he’s so young when he’s right in front of you.”
“Yes,” I agreed, secretly disappointed that I wouldn’t see Cross for the next two days. As much as I told myself it didn’t matter, I was bummed. I hadn’t realized I’d been excited by the possibility that we might run into each other until that possibility was gone. It was just such a rush being near him. Plus he was a hel of a lot of fun to look at. I had nothing nearly as exciting planned for the weekend.
I was taking notes in Mark’s office when I heard my desk phone ringing. Excusing myself, I rushed over to catch it. “Mark Garrity’s office—”
“Eva love. How are you?”
I sank into my chair at the sound of my stepfather’s voice. Stanton always sounded like old money to me—
cultured, entitled, and arrogant. “Richard. Is everything okay? Is Mom al right?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine. Your mother is wonderful, as always.”
His tone softened when he spoke of his wife and I was grateful for that. I was grateful to him for a lot of things actual y, but it was sometimes hard to balance that against my feelings of disloyalty. I knew my dad was self-conscious about the massive differences in their income brackets.
“Good,” I said, relieved. “I’m glad. Did you and Mom receive my thank-you note for the dress and Cary’s tuxedo?”
“Yes, and it was thoughtful of you, but you know we don’t expect you to thank us for such things. Excuse me a moment.” He spoke to someone, most likely his secretary. “Eva love, I’d like us to get together for lunch today. I’l send Clancy around to col ect you.”
“Today? But we’l be seeing each other tomorrow night. Can’t it wait until then?”
“No, it should be today.”
“But I only get an hour for lunch.”
A tap on my shoulder turned me around to find Mark standing by my cubicle. “Take two,” he whispered.
“You earned it.”
I sighed and mouthed a thank you. “Wil twelve o’clock work, Richard?”
“Perfectly. I look forward to seeing you.” I had no reason to look forward to private meetings with Stanton, but I dutiful y left just before noon and found a town car waiting for me, idling at the curb.
Clancy, Stanton’s driver and body guard, opened the door for me as I greeted him. Then he slid behind the wheel and drove me downtown. By twenty after the hour, I was sitting at a conference table in Stanton’s offices, eyeing a beautiful y catered lunch for two.
Stanton came in shortly after my arrival, looking dapper and distinguished. His hair was pure white, his face lined but stil very handsome. His eyes were the color of worn blue denim, and they were sharp with intel igence. He was trim and athletic, taking the time out of his busy days to stay fit even before he’d married his trophy wife—my mom.
I stood as he approached, and he bent to kiss my cheek. “You look lovely, Eva.”
“Thank you.” I looked like my mom, who was also a natural blonde. But my gray eyes came from my dad.
Taking a chair at the head of the table, Stanton was aware that the requisite backdrop of the New York skyline was behind him and he took advantage of its impressiveness.