The Million-Dollar Question. Kimberly Lang

she should have worn a bra tonight whether she needed it or not. “Dude has a death wish,” she said to break the tension she felt even if he didn’t.

      “You were smart to walk. Traffic down here is abysmal.”

      “It’ll clear some once you turn.” The sudden stop had sent her purse into the floorboard, and she leaned over to gather the contents back up. Her lipstick, though, had rolled under the seat and she had to contort herself to get to it. Realizing the solution to both her physical and emotional situation, she gave one last stretch and got it, then sat up and said briskly, “I can walk from here, save you some time.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous.”

       So much for that idea.

      As she promised, the traffic was thinner on her street, and Evan pulled up in front of her building a minute later. “These are nice condos. I’m glad you’re not doing the starving artist thing.”

      “I ate half a cow covered in cream sauce for dinner, so I think we’ve already covered the ‘not starving’ part,” she said with a laugh. “And I have a roommate to help cover the rent. It’s a great location for me. It’s fifteen minutes on the bus to the studio, and I can walk pretty much everywhere else.”

      She had her purse over her shoulder and a hand on the door, and that horrible how-to-end-the-evening tension returned. Evan’s face was partly shadowed and unreadable, giving her no help there. Not a date, not friends, not business associates…. She didn’t know the protocol.

      To her ever-loving surprise, Evan got out of the car and walked around to open her door. Her jaw was still hanging open as he extended a hand to help her out.

      For someone who purported to be selfish, he’d been raised right when it came to good manners.

      That shock, though, caused her to stumble as she climbed out, pitching herself straight into Evan’s arms. He caught her easily, his arms strong and solid around her. He was warm, and damn it, he smelled good. Her heart jumped into her throat.

      Over her head, she heard Evan chuckle. “That was graceful.”

       Kill me now.

      He set her back on her feet. “You okay?” Evan asked.

      “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”

      His eyebrow went up. “Maybe it was the wine.”

      “Yeah, maybe.” Shaking it off, she rushed ahead with forced cheer and casualness. “Well, thanks again for dinner. And for the ride home.”

      His lips twitched. “Take care, Liv. And if you ever need anything, give me a call.”

      Oh, the irony. “Good night.”

      Evan waited until the security door closed behind her before driving away. It had been a really, really strange evening, where nothing had gone as planned, but it hadn’t been bad either. The beginning and end hadn’t been fantastic, but the middle part, like the over-dinner chitchat, had gone pretty well, all things considered. Had she not gone into it with a specific agenda, she’d have called the evening a success.

      But even with that failure, the evening still wasn’t a total disaster. She did live in the same city with Evan, and they might run into each other on occasion; having a truce in place made good sense. And when Jory came to town, he wouldn’t feel as if he had to divide his time so precisely. All good things, she thought, as she climbed the last few stairs to her floor.

      Everything else could just be ignored.

      Annie was sprawled on the couch, flipping through TV channels, but she sat up when she heard her come in. “How’d it go?”

      “Not bad.”

      “So he’s going to sponsor you?”

      “No.”

      “He turned you down? Jeez.” Annie went to the counter and got a wineglass, filling it and handing it to her. “That sucks.”

      Olivia accepted the glass gratefully and sank into the cushions on the opposite end of the couch. “He didn’t have to turn me down. I didn’t ask.”

      “What? Why not?”

      With a sigh, Olivia ran through the evening, all the small things that added up to tip the scales in the direction of keeping her mouth shut. She glossed over her rather disturbing reactions to him, because, for her own sanity, that was best left unexamined.

      “I can’t say I blame you. I see where you’re coming from, and I’d probably feel the same way. But,” Annie continued, as she cocked her head, “what, then, did you say to explain why you suddenly wanted to have dinner after all these years?”

      “New in town, don’t really know anyone …”

      “Olivia, really?” Annie sighed. “He’s going to think you still have the hots for him.”

      “What? No. Not likely.”

      “You said he has an ego.”

      “He does.”

      “Then he will. It’s actually the only logical conclusion he could come to, to explain it.”

      “He might think I’m insane now, but that’s about all.” And he might not be wrong. She stood and handed her glass to Annie to finish. “I’m going to bed. I’ve got Pilates at eight tomorrow.”

      “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

      “Me, too.”

      It was a shame, but there was always plan B. Plan B involved making sure that everyone from the chairman of the ballet board all the way down to the stagehands loved her and working her butt off to prove her value to the company. She’d also talk to the business office to see if they had any ideas of how she could land sponsorship—and to suss out how important that sponsorship really was.

      That’s what I should have done in the first place, she told herself as she got ready for bed. That was a far more sensible idea than a half-baked plan to talk Evan into it. Hell, plan B should have been plan A. Too bad she didn’t think of it first.

      At the same time, she didn’t regret their meeting. It would make things easier for Jory when he came to town. She didn’t know exactly how much Jory knew about her and Evan, but her brother had made it very clear he considered his roommate off-limits to his little sister. He’d been unhappy and grumpy about it. She hadn’t asked him to take sides, but he always seemed uncomfortable bringing up Evan around her after that, giving the whole thing a patina of awkward wrongness—at least to her mind. That, as much as anything else, had led to making it a thing—which, now at least, she realized it really didn’t need to be.

      So, in that sense, dinner wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

      The wine, the food and a long day—both physically and mentally—were catching up with her, and the bed beckoned.

      As she climbed in and pulled the covers up, she realized she’d gotten distracted by the near miss with that skater and hadn’t followed up on his mysterious “genuinely me, not you” statement.

      What could he have possibly meant?

      The next morning, just outside Boca Raton, the sudden blaring of “Born This Way” caused Evan to swerve dangerously in his lane.

      What the sweet hell? The news program chattered on from his car speakers, but that was undeniably Lady Gaga coming from … under the passenger seat?

      Pulling off onto the shoulder, he searched under the seat until he found the source: a phone that went silent about the time he got hold of it. It had an overly sparkly rhinestone case, and when he pressed the home button to wake it up, Olivia and Jory smiled back at him.

      He couldn’t figure out how Olivia had managed to leave her phone in his car, but now the question was what to do with