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“Listen to me. I knocked back a few drinks with this guy after a tournament a few weeks ago. I had two to his four. The more he drank, the meaner he talked. He asked if I had heard about the escort out of Chicago who helps a guy get his game back. I almost shit my pants.”
“It could totally be someone else.” And yet the way my stomach’s twisting I know it’s not. I know that guy was talking about me.
“Really?” He quirks an eyebrow. “‘People say she’s the real deal,’ this shithole said. ‘I think she’s some stupid bitch who reads tarot cards.’”
“What’d you tell him?” My heart is pound-pounding in my chest so fiercely I fear it might break free and make a run for it. I glance at the door. Maybe I should be doing that right about now too.
“‘Never heard of her,’ I said. He replied, ‘I’m going to get ahold of her agency – Ma Maison I think it’s called – and give her a spin. I’ll share her with friends, split the cost. She can suck my cock while someone hits her from behind and we’ll benefit from the tarot or palm readings or whatever crystal ball she has shoved up her ass. You in?’ he asked.”
My throat squeezes shut and I hyperventilate. “He’s talking bullshit.”
Dylan runs a hand through his hair. “Evie, I can’t take that risk. This guy is bad. Narcissistic, sociopathic, destroys lives kind of bad. His business that wasn’t doing all that well? Burned to the ground in a mysterious electrical fire. The business partner he was feuding with? Vanished one day, never to be heard from again.”
“Tell me his name. I promise you I’ll never date him.”
“It’s not that easy. For better or worse the word is out.” He wrings his hands. “All I can think is, what if he hires Evie? Will she be safe? Or will someone just like him mess her up?”
“I know how to take care of myself. I’ve taken care of myself for a long time.”
“A predator will watch you flick that long, beautiful hair. Watch you toy with it when you’re nervous. Figure out your weaknesses. Determine when and where, how and why you’re vulnerable. And then he’ll ruin you, Evie. Someone like that guy will fucking destroy you.”
“Oh, come on.” Bzz. Bzz. Fear bores thin, painful holes in my bones. “How many people actually know all of this?” I’m in a sinking ship, ocean waters lapping over me. Ten seconds from now I won’t be able to breathe.
“Doesn’t matter how many,” he says. “It only takes one. A narcissistic predator is as dangerous as cancer.”
Tears rise, unbidden, un-wanted tears. “There’s stuff you don’t know...” A layer splits inside me, and I cling to its walls because I do not want to slide into the abyss. But I lose my foothold at the same time my tears decide they will not be ordered about. They defy me and trickle down my cheeks. “Why are you doing this? Are you mad at me for leaving you in Texas?”
“Yes. No,” he says, looking tormented. “It’s not about Texas. It’s about being in love with you.”
And I realize he is. Just as bad? I’m in love with him too. Holy crap, what have I done?
“I looked at rings today, and for a second I dreamed. I went there. My heart and mind went to the cute house with the white picket fence, a dog, a cat and a jungle gym in the yard. But I can’t get down on one knee and ask you that important question right now, Evie. I can’t ask you to travel with me and be my girlfriend. That wouldn’t be fair.” He balls his hands into fists. “Someday my fortune might change. Then we’ll be playing a different game.”
He looks so sad. Worse, I feel it within me and my heart cracks, grief mixing with disappointment, the bastard fruit falling off the tree of perpetual sadness, splitting open when it smashes to the ground. “I don’t need…”
“Think about it for the future. But right now the thing I need most in the entire world? I need you to be safe.”
“Safe?” I wipe away ugly tears.
“Safe. I can’t give you a diamond ring but I can give you a bit of savvy. Some protection. I just want you to cut your hair, Evie. At the end of the day is it really that big a deal? Trust me. Please?”
The snow’s falling again. It’s here in this hotel room, drifting down from the ceiling, melting in droplets from the electric candle sconces. It’s in the air outside our window, sifting onto Sin City in sand and silt and all the dreams that are born here, played, here, killed here. Soon I will be buried.
“The concierge gave me the names of the best stylists in town,” Dylan says. “He’ll get us in to whomever you pick with one phone call. You’ll be in the best hands, baby. What do you say?”
“Yes.” I grab his elegant hand and squeeze it. “Yes. Because I’ll be in your hands. You cut my hair, Dylan. Do it now before I change my mind.”
***
22
A Million Pieces
A MILLION PIECES
I sit on the marble countertop next to the bathroom sink wearing silk panties and one of Dylan’s long-sleeve dress shirts. He rubs my wet head with a thick, white towel. He lifts the towel, tosses it, and my hair tumbles down my shoulders.
“We should brush it first, I think,” he says, fingering it.
