CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EVAN
I ASK REBECCA TO MEET me for coffee. It’s become one of our things, just like going on dates and sleeping together. I arrive first, and it’s not until I see her step inside and feel my heart leap that I realize how much trouble I’m in.
I’ve let this crazy woman into my heart and thoughts without realizing I’ve done it, and I’ve gotten myself into a relationship without even meaning to.
Every night, she’s at my place. Sleeping in my bed. We have dinners, sometimes lunches. We’ve skipped right past the casual stage, and moved right into the comfortable stage. I like waking with her beside me. And watching the way a room lights up when she enters.
Except that she’s kind of nuts. And I can’t afford to have anyone crazy — or with loose lips — in my life.
But I also love her insanity.
It’s her very best trait.
I realize all of this at the worst possible second. It dawns on me as she’s crossing the shop to sit across from me, her smile so much wider than it was when we met.
I’ll chicken out. Tell Callie I spoke with Becca, then quietly shut down her LiveLyfe account, blaming a glitch. I can talk to Steve. Give him cash to keep his stupid mouth shut.
But the coward’s way out won’t solve my problem. One of the things I like best about Becca is that she speaks her mind. She’s incapable of subterfuge. Becca says what she thinks. Which, in this case, is exactly the problem.
If I don’t tell her specifically to stop what she’s doing, she’ll eventually do another thing to burn the company. And then another, and another after that.
“Hey,” she says.
We kiss. I feel like a fraud. I’m about to piss her off, and here I am delighting in the taste of her lips.
“Hey.”
“So, what’s the haps? How’s your day?”
I want to engage in banter. I want to mock her for asking about the “haps.” I want to make fun of her for a thousand things because that’s what she’d do to me. It’s our repartee, and I love it.
But no. If this is to be unpleasant. Let’s get it over with.
I tell her everything.
When I’m done, Rebecca sits silent. She’s not staring at me; she’s just looking past me as if it’s all still sinking in.
Long moments pass. Chatter inside the Hill of Beans fills the void.
“But the good news,” I say, playing with a napkin, “is that I talked to my funders about our education plan. You don’t even need to work on the LiveLyfe project anymore.” I shrug, trying to act lighthearted, to pretend she’s not sitting mute across from me with a zombie’s expression. “I guess people are bonded enough with LiveLyfe. Although your documentary idea sure sounded like a great—”
“You promised.”
I cock my head and reach for her hands on the table, sensing something behind the words, but she pulls them back.
“You promised that you’d let me work without butting in, and you lied.”
“It’s not like that.”
Her eyes meet mine. The depth has changed. Now she’s looking at me like an adversary.
“It’s exactly like that.” Voice calm. Too calm. “You said you trusted me. That I could have full access to do what I wanted because you believed in me. You said that I was better at you than knowing how to bond with fans, so you’d stay out of my way.”
“Becca …” I reach for her hands again, but this time she doesn’t just slide them back. She snatches them away.
“You’re no different. You’re the same as them.”
“Same as them? You mean I’m the same as Steve?”
She nods. I can see an artifice of calm collapsing to overt anger. When she speaks again, her voice has a hot edge, like the blade of a knife left in a fire. “You told me what I wanted to hear, then showed me your true colors.”
“It wasn’t even me, Becca. It was …” I don’t want to throw Callie under the bus, so I finish with, “… someone else who was concerned.”
“Concerned about me. About the wildcard pussy you brought home to fuck?”
That jab is a hammer to the chest.
“It’s not like that. It was never like that. When I first contacted you, I didn’t even—”
She’s shaking her head, an ironic smile darkening her face. Nothing is funny, but she laughs to herself. “One million dollars. It’s so obvious. What would get my attention better? But you were just paying me off. And when you needed to find something for me to do, you didn’t trust me, so you pried.” Becca seems to realize something she should have realized from the start. Her eyebrows narrow. “You went into my messages!”
“It happened,” I say, eyes moving around, voice pacifying. People around us are stopping their conversations and beginning to stare. “I didn’t even know it was happening, but it did. That’s neither here nor there. The point is, the messages you sent—”
“Neither here nor there?” My cup chatters on the table as her legs strike it. More people turn to look. “You stuck your nose into my personal messages! What gives you the goddamn right to—?”
I stand and reach for her arm. “Let’s talk about this somewhere else.”
She stands, wrenching away. This snowball is rolling too swiftly downhill.
“Why? Don’t want anyone to know you’re with me? Why do you go out of your way, when we’re in public, to tell servers that it’s a business meal? You might as well grab them by the lapels. Is it because you’re embarrassed that you paid me to …”
This time, she stops herself. Thank God.
“You had no right. No goddamn right, Evan.”
She’s a mask of confused emotions. Her eyes are starting to water, but her brow is furious. She’s angry and hurt in unison — probably mad because she’s injured.
And why not? Every man she’s ever been with has betrayed her.
I take her by the arm. She thrashes a little, but the scene is minimal. Eyes follow us. People still watch us go, judgment on their faces.
I shove her into a nook. “This isn’t personal. This is business.”
“My point exactly,” she says, tears falling, teeth practically gnashing. “It’s strictly business between us.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Didn’t you? You wanted to give me money for no reason. I guess that’s a thing you do, and I guess I was the latest object of pity.”
“That’s not even close to—”
“A project with nothing in it. A ‘consulting retainer.’” Talking to herself now, she shakes her head. “How fucking stupid are you, Becca?”
“That’s not fair. You know I wanted your help.”
“Under conditions. Carefully supervised, like a baby. On a leash, like a dog.”
“Bullshit.” Now she’s pissing me off. I started this with the best of intentions, and the education program has a tentative green light. I do need her help. So what if my excitement has blended with my delight over Rebecca? Can’t I love both things, independent one from the other?
“Listen to me. This isn’t my fault.”
She sneers. “It’s never the man’s fault.”
“Okay. Fine. I’m the bad guy. I snooped. All my fucking fault, Becca. Let’s say that’s all true. So what? It’s convenient how you forget one simple fact.”
“What fact?”
“That you needed supervision. That you said a bunch of shit that was private and privileged, and that you had no business saying.”
“To defend you!” It’s strange, to hear a protest of allegiance in such a hateful tone. “But I guess I shouldn’t have, right? This was all just something you do, right? Pay a girl, fill her head with stupid ideas, then stab her in the back?”
“I never stabbed you in the back! I didn’t even break my promise! And I for damn sure didn’t pay you for …”
Her eyebrows raise. “For fucking me in the conference room? For fucking me in LA? Why not, Evan? You can afford it.”
I grit my teeth. I know what she’s doing, and it’s working. She’s hurt, so she’s lashing out. She’ll probably regret every word tomorrow; for now, it’s her shield.
“You don’t mean that. You know it’s not true.”
“Why not? I know what a promise means from you.”
The way she says “you,” I’m somehow sure she doesn’t just mean me, Evan Cohen. She means men. She means all men in the world, forever.
I know what a promise means from you.
“You promised me, too,” I say, my voice even. “You promised that you wouldn’t spill confidential information.”
“I didn’t!”
“You did! To Steve!”
She laughs. “Steve doesn’t have the balls to do anything.”
“Who else did you tell?”
“Nobody! I said I wouldn’t, and I meant it!”
“Oh, come on, Becca. Don’t act like you’re innocent. Do you know how much blood and sweat it took to build this company?”
“I didn’t tell anyone else anything at all!”
I’m angrier than I mean to be. I look away. “Please.”
“I didn’t!”
“You don’t even know when you do it!”
“You act like I don’t even know what I’m doing! Like I’m some loudmouth who—!”
I snap, all at once.
“YOU ARE A LOUDMOUTH! You don’t think! You just blab to the whole goddamn world about whatever you want, and think everyone should forgive you because you don’t realize what the hell you’re saying!”
I only realize how loud I was shouting once I finish.
I close my eyes to reset, and when I open them again I see Becca before me, still trapped in the corner. At first glance, she appears strong, proud, profoundly and rightfully pissed-off at the man who violated her trust and treated her like a victim.
But then the facade fades, and I see Becca as she truly is. The person who hides behind the anger.
Broken.
Hurt.
Tricked into belief, yet betrayed all over again.
My anger vanishes. It’s like someone snapped their fingers and the whole spell just vanished.
I reach for her.
“Becca, I’m—”
She slaps me on the cheek. It’s not hard or painful. But still, I’m left speechless.
Then Becca ducks under my arm and disappears, leaving me unable to follow.