Beneath the Surface (2 page)

Evelyn always felt like she was visiting their mother when she stopped by her sister’s home and didn’t know how either woman kept things so clean and orderly most of the time with so many kids in the house—Angela with five of her own and their mom with six.

“EJ just doesn’t know any better. The right woman would change his tune in no time flat, I’m sure of it,” Angela said now.

“And I take it you have just the woman in mind?”

“As a matter of fact I do. Your personal shopper.”

“Tabitha?” Evelyn gawked. “You can’t be serious.”

“She’s perfect for him, Evie.”

“They’re oil and water.”

“My point exactly. Opposites attract.”

Evelyn frowned. She didn’t think her sister realized the opposites in this case wouldn’t attract and blend as much as rip each other apart.

3

Gracie C. McKeever

Tabitha was the sweetest kid, but a little on the uptight side, or what their other brother Nick would colorfully describe as having “a stick up her ass,” while EJ wouldn’t hesitate trying to get the stick out, either by shocking her with his down-to-earth sense of humor or putting her panties in a tangle with his lust for life and good dirty fun.

Would that be such a bad thing for the kid? Evelyn wondered as she considered the ramifications of putting EJ and Tabitha together. Oil and water. Night and day. Hot and cold. Uptight and easygoing. Each could be without the other, but separated were a far emptier existence than the sum of their parts together.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Angela prodded.

Evelyn shrugged, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like she hadn’t pictured EJ

and Tabitha together before; she had thought they’d make a great couple, her thinking in synch with Angela’s.

This would have to be handled very carefully. Unlike Nick who ate up his sisters’

efforts and attention as much as he ate through the women they pushed his way, EJ took particular umbrage at any familial interference in his love life.

“Of course you’re thinking about it,” Angela said as if she’d heard her sister’s thoughts.

“It’s just that Tabitha is so…so serious. I don’t think she knows how to have a good time.”

“Don’t you see, that’s where EJ would come in. He could rub off on her and she could rub off on him. Besides, we’re not all meant to be free-spirited party girls like you.”

“Party women,” Evelyn corrected.

“Oh, that’s right. You did just celebrate a fortieth birthday.”

“Bitch.”

Angela giggled. “So, we’re in agreement then. You’ll help me make this work?”

4

Beneath the Surface

Manhattan, New York—One Year Later

EJ Vega rued the day he’d let his sister talk him into this wardrobe makeover.

He’d be the first to admit he was fashion-challenged and hadn’t kept up with the latest styles and trends since he’d left the corporate life along with replacing all his subscriptions to
GQ
and
Maxim
with subscriptions to several writers’ magazines. He’d been getting along fine for a couple of years now without power suits and ties, which was one of the reasons why he loved freelance writing so much. He could get up, sit at the computer with five o’clock shadow, in his underwear or pajamas if he wanted—not that he did that often—and still get a full day’s work done with no one the wiser or complaining about his unorthodox appearance.

EJ had left a successful six-figure job in advertising and most of its trappings—

including Armani and Boss—behind because he had more important messages and stories to offer than what could be conveyed in the confines of mahogany lined boardrooms and ass-kissing pitch meetings. He did not want to go back to that cutthroat existence, wasting away spiritually, wasting his talent on the unworthy, too happy now doing what he’d always wanted to do: write.

He frowned at his computer monitor now as if it were at fault for his quandary, wondering when he’d reach the end of this image profile, wishing there were some way around it, but obviously there wasn’t. If there were a way, Evelyn would have found it, his sister was always willing to use her connections or turn the screws if she had to. This fashion consultant, Tabitha Lyons, must have been immune and resolute where this area of her business was concerned. The woman required a profile from
all
her applicants, and that included the brother of one of her “favorite and most loyal clients,” did not move forward without having an image profile.

5

Gracie C. McKeever

Thorough did not begin to describe Ms. Lyons—the only thing she hadn’t asked for so far was his blood type—and EJ wondered if this particular idiosyncrasy transcended other areas of his sister’s personal shopper’s life.

There was no picture on her website,
LyonsStyleInc.com
, and he had spent more time imagining what the mysterious ball-busting consultant looked like instead of filling out the profile. EJ pictured a sexually frustrated, white-haired, thick legged, matronly woman with nothing else better to do with her time than charge exorbitant fees and shop for strangers.

Not that he couldn’t afford Ms. Lyons’ $150-an-hour charge. He could afford her fees when he’d been in his nine-to-five job—which more often than not had been a seven-to-seven—money was not really the issue, as much as the time filling out this survey was taking away from his writing but he couldn’t get his sister to see this.

‘Think of it as an investment in your future as a best-selling author.’

Good old Evelyn, always with an answer for everything.

EJ did not want to think about the upcoming national book tour that was going to take even more time away from his writing.

He was already well into work on his second book, a how-to on reading body language, and looked forward to fulfilling the commitment he had made to Renegade Publishing. He had signed a contract for a two-book deal and accepted the seven-figure advance on the basis of
Reaching Out.

More than anything, he wanted to start work on his third book and first true novel.

The phone rang and eager for the break, EJ leaped from his swivel chair. Any other time, a ringing phone was an unwelcome interruption that he usually ignored and let his voicemail answer. This time he checked the Caller ID and grinned at the familiar name on the readout.

Jade Aliberti. Ad executive supreme, a blast from his not-so-distant past.

EJ’s penis twitched and convinced him to answer the call over all his intellect’s objections.

“How’s the hottest new author gig going?”

He smiled against the mouthpiece as he ensconced himself in a corner of his green leather sofa before sliding a hand inside his jeans and cupping a quickly rising hard-on.

Jade’s deep sultry voice did it to him every time. Or perhaps he’d been without longer than he thought. “Where are you?”

“In the neighborhood and I figured I’d give my favorite freelancer a ringy-ding.”

He got harder, having a particular weakness for alliteration, and she just made the simple job title sound so naughty and sensual.

He pictured her in the driver seat of her silver Lexus convertible, long golden-blond tresses blowing in the wind behind her, a reminder of a past from which he was so far removed and wished never to return. Except for her, his on-again, off-again partner.

6

Beneath the Surface

He couldn’t call her a girlfriend, they were too casual for that, though their relationship was steadier than he’d shared with most women he’d slept with over the years. Jade was the perfect fuck-buddy. No strings, just out to get her swerve on, and in the bargain, he got on his. “You’re looking for an invitation?”

“Do I need one?”

“Mi casa, su casa.”

“Not in a long while.”

He didn’t want to think of all the late nights he’d put into his writing while the world went by him, didn’t want to think that he was missing anything. Even if it was being between Jade’s sexy shapely thighs and inhaling her heady woman’s scent, a willing prisoner with her long legs wrapped around his waist. “I’ll buzz you up as soon as you get here.”

“I’m on my way.”

EJ leaped from the sofa, replaced the cordless in its base—he’d learned the last time his agent hadn’t been able to reach him when he’d let the battery run down and couldn’t find the handset—and went back to his computer. He winced at the unfinished profile. Hell, he’d have to finish this another time. Ms. Aliberti was a known quantity with whom he wanted to deal. The faceless Ms. Lyons was so far a ball-busting tigress he had yet to tame.

The buzzer sounded, and EJ rushed to the eat-in kitchen of his large loft apartment—one of the only major trappings he had kept from his former life and rang the downstairs bell to let Jade in, glad that today was one of his non-pj wearing days.

Whistling, he practically skipped to the door, opening it up with a flourish and freezing when he saw Evelyn on the other side.

“Well don’t look so pleased to see me, and close your mouth before you let in the flies.” She handed him her handbag and micro-trench before pushing past him to get into the loft.

“What are you doing here?”

“Tabitha says she hasn’t seen an image profile from you yet. I just wanted to stop by and see what was holding things up.”

Hell, these two women were going to be the death of him!

EJ hung his sister’s bag and coat on the oak coat tree adjacent his front door, and peeked into the hallway to see if Jade was on her way up. “You could have called first.”

“I knew you would ignore it like you always do.”

He grunted, unwilling to admit or deny.

“Expecting company?” Evelyn arched a brow, a knowing grin on her face as she took a seat in the spot he’d just vacated.

Sometimes he wondered if she had the gift too. Their oldest sister Angela had it, nothing as strong as his however, but one of the main reasons, despite the twelve-year 7

Gracie C. McKeever

age gap, he and Angie were so close. Of course, this didn’t count the closeness he shared with dear sweet buddinsky Evelyn, especially right now.

“Not that it’s any business of yours, but I was.”

“You’ll just have to get rid of her.”

“How do you know it’s a her and not my editor or agent.”

“I don’t think that’s for your editor or agent.” Evelyn waved at the substantial bulge in his jeans. “Or for me for that matter.”

“Not likely,” EJ muttered as he took a seat at his computer and swiveled around to face her. “For your information, I was working on the profile before you came up.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Evelyn stood and made her way across the floor, high-heeled pumps sounding on the parquet. She leaned over his shoulder, perused the screen then gently cuffed him. “You’re not even half-way done.”

“I was getting there.”

“You’re not taking this nearly as seriously as you should. This is important. It’s your future.”

“I know the game, Evie. I played it for years.”

“You don’t act like it.”

“I don’t see why she needs so much information. She’s only going to be shopping for my clothes, not marrying me.”

Evelyn covered his mouth and glanced over both shoulders with a flourish.

“Please don’t utter such sacrilege. If the woman could hear you, she’d have your head.”

EJ chuckled against her hand before she removed it. “She can’t be that bad, can she?”

“She can and she is, and not even those big pretty dimples of yours are going to save you from her wrath if you cross her.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“I’m trying to prepare you. Tabitha is all business, and she takes her duties very seriously. She is not
just
a shopper. She is a fashion and style consultant, and when you meet with her, you’ll see exactly what I mean.”

After everything he’d heard about Ms. Lyons, he was not so sure he wanted to meet the little retail Nazi. He was definitely sure he didn’t want to take the next step and have her snooping around in his closet. He could see the woman now, fainting dead away at the hopelessly its outdated, unconventional contents.

He’d given his designer pieces to his older brother Nick—who happened to share EJ’s previous profession, and had his same measurements and taste in clothes—and the rest to Goodwill when he’d left his job on Madison Avenue, getting a fresh start on his way to “starving artist.” Any new clothes he’d purchased over the last few years had been strictly casual, some utter vintage and thrift shop mainstays.

8

Beneath the Surface

EJ had learned early on from his mother never to do things half-assed, and had celebrated his thirtieth birthday almost four years ago free of corporate agendas and restraints.

He had kept the essentials—his loft in the village, a generous 401K and other sizable earnings and investments that had tided him over while he wrote and gained publishing contacts freelancing his articles—and a functional new Jeep for which he had traded in his BMW.

Now Ms. Lyons would be coming here to tell him, EJ was sure, that his wardrobe was a mess and needed to be completely overhauled. Hell, no thanks to that.

The buzzer sounded and Evelyn folded her arms across her breasts again, gave him a challenging glare that dared him to shirk his duty. “I’m not going anywhere, so get rid of her.”

“Dammit, Evie…” EJ pouted, feeling like a spoiled kid that had been denied a treat in the candy aisle of the supermarket. He stalked to the kitchen to give Jade the unwelcome news—that an emergency had come up and he’d have to take a rain check on them hooking up.

Damn, he could just scratch her off of his booty call list.

EJ came back to the living room and Evelyn pointed him to the swivel chair before he could flop on the sofa.

“You’ve got work to do and I’m here to make sure you do it.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were working on commission for Ms.

Lyons.”

“Tabitha Lyons doesn’t need me to drum up business for her, believe me.

Consider yourself lucky that she’s taking you on.”

EJ sat down and turned to face the monitor. He re-read the question he’d been stuck in the middle of and commenced to answer it before glancing over a shoulder to see what Evelyn was doing and found her settled back happily flipping through his latest
Writers’ Digest
magazine.