"Oh God…" she whispered, hitting the redial button with trembling fingers.
It rang once.
He picked the call. "Where the hell have you been?"
"What's going on?" she asked quickly, trying to steady her breathing.
"What the hell are you doing with Alexandra Baldwin?" Brian shot back.
Then she remembered.
The picture.
She had sent him a photo earlier, Alex standing at Mary's grave site, hands in his pockets. She hadn't thought much of it then.
"Yeah, he's Mary's stepbrother," Eva said, glancing toward the window as though he might still be parked outside, brooding and shirtless in his Mercedes. "I went to her grave site this afternoon and met him there."
"Alexandra Baldwin is Mary's brother??"
"Brian, what is going on?"
"Do you not know him?" Brian's question was sharp.
"I mean…" she paused, suddenly very aware of how little she actually did know. "His last name rings a bell because Mary had the same name before she got married."
"Eva," Brian said. "Alex is the CEO of Norland Finance Management."
She stopped breathing.
Dead silence filled the kitchen. It lasted only seconds—but to Eva, it was a lifetime. Her eyes slid slowly, almost involuntarily, back to the table. The very table she had been sprawled on. The one that was still slightly sticky from the coffee spill. The one where Alex Baldwin had just made her see heaven, earth, and a few planets in between.
"Oh… my… God."
She put a hand to her forehead and groaned. I just got fucked by one of the wealthiest men in the country on my kitchen table.
"Wait!" Her head jerked up as something suddenly occurred to her. "Is he married?"
She turned back toward the counter.
Brian sighed. "Not that I know of. His life is very private though. Why do you ask?"
"Nothing," she said too quickly.
But her voice had that breathless, high-pitched edge.
She gulped, hard.
This time, it was Brian's turn to gasp. "Oh… my God! You got fucked. You got fucked… by Alexandra Baldwin."
He sounded like a scandalized church auntie and an ecstatic gossip blogger at the same time. Eva imagined him dramatically grabbing his nonexistent pearls.
"Was he good?" Brian demanded. "Please… tell me he was good. Lie to me if you have to, but for the love of my sanity, tell me he was good."
Eva blurted, "It was great!"
She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.
"I knew it!" Brian practically shouted into the phone. "I am at a shoot at the moment, but when I get back, we are definitely talking all about it. Every. Single. Detail. Damn, girl!"
She could almost hear him pacing in his trailer, throwing imaginary confetti and giving her a slow clap.
"Way to go! I am so proud of you." He sighed dreamily.
Eva couldn't help it. She giggled.
"Alright, go work. Talk later."
She hung up, smiling despite herself.
*****
Eva stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down her blue gown with hands that trembled more than she liked to admit. The fabric flowed. It hugged her in all the right places and gave her the illusion that her heart wasn't currently a mangled mess.
Brian had finally convinced her to be his plus one at the birthday party of the mayor's son. Apparently, even wildly successful actors struggled with bringing real dates to social functions.
She still wasn't sure she was ready for the spotlight again, but for Brian, she'd step into fire. Or worse: public scrutiny.
He had promised there would be no press.
So, she'd said yes.
When they arrived at the hotel, the exterior didn't give much away—polished, tasteful, boring. But the moment they were led through a side corridor and taken down a private elevator into the underground ballroom, it was like entering a different dimension.
At the far end was a dance floor lit from beneath. Well-dressed guests glided across it. The men were in tuxedos; the women in gowns.
Lounges were scattered throughout the room.
And then there were the servers—barely clothed women in heels so high it was a miracle none of them had snapped an ankle yet. They moved like trained dancers, offering drinks and smiles. The cocktails on their trays sparkled under the lights. The guests accepted them with the disinterest of people whose urine was, frankly, more valuable than some countries' GDPs.
Eva blinked, stunned. "Brian," she whispered. "This is not a birthday party. This is a money orgy."
Brian gave her a cheeky wink. "Welcome to the one percent, darling."
"Wow! Is this how famous people live?" Eva gasped, her wide eyes darting around.
"No… this is how wealthy people live," Brian corrected with a smirk, lowering his voice as if revealing a great universal secret. "Famous people lease Bentleys. Wealthy people buy them in dozens."
Eva let out a soft whistle.
Brian grinned, leading her by the elbow to a sunken lounge area. "Bingo. Welcome to the circus."
Almost immediately, a stunning woman with impossibly long legs and cleavage that defied gravity glided over to them. She was dressed in red lingerie that left little to the imagination. She set down a frosted bucket of champagne and two crystal flutes.
The girl gave them both a flirtatious wink before sashaying away.
"Ooooh… this is going to be good," he chuckled under his breath, taking the champagne bottle out of the ice and beginning to pour.
Eva turned to him, lifting a brow. "Why?"
Brian leaned in. "Because Alex… your booty call just walked in."
The flute Eva had just picked up slipped between her fingers and wobbled, only saved by her reflexes. "What?"
Brian tilted his chin ever so slightly toward the entrance. "Nine o'clock. Look casual."
Eva turned, trying and failing to look nonchalant.
Alex Baldwin. In the flesh. Wearing a tailored midnight-blue suit that hugged his frame. He looked every bit the man she'd last seen naked in her kitchen.
Her eyes narrowed, following the overly enthused greeting he received from the mayor's son and then landed on the woman glued to his side. Long legs, pouty lips, and so much obvious plastic surgery, she looked like she'd been Photoshopped in real life.