Bad Boy Billionaires 2 : The Wall Street Shark(3)

Chapter Two

When he reached the staircase that led to the main lobby, he glanced to the left and saw Michele sitting in wing chair beside a large fireplace reading a magazine. The moment his foot landed on the bottom step, Michele glanced up and their eyes met. He sent her a smile from across the room and she stood up and smoothed out her skirt.

She'd been one of his best friends since college. They'd met each other their freshman year while they'd both been in the infirmary dealing with a couple of the less serious STDs. It hadn't been Evan's first time taking penicillin and it wouldn't be his last. But Michele had never been there before, and she had no idea what to do about a bad case of crabs. Evan had gotten her through it, then through two failed marriages after that. She'd always been there for him as well, and he wouldn't have wanted anyone else to pick him up from Havilland that day.

Michele met him in the middle of the lobby and reached for one of his bags. On the way out, Evan hugged a few nurses and said goodbye to Havilland for the last time. When he stepped outside, he felt a little shaky. But it was nothing he couldn't handle. He'd been through this before: the overwhelming moment someone returns to the real world after weeks of virtual isolation in a protected environment. He knew it would pass.

It was one of those late autumn mornings with crisp cool air and only a few clouds in the sky. The leaves had already turned red, orange, and yellow and half had already fallen to the ground. When he glanced up at the sky to take a deep breath, Michele closed the trunk, handed him the car keys, and said, "Here you go."

He flung her a stare. "I don't know if I want to drive today." She opened the passenger door and said, "Well, I know I don't want to drive. Besides, it'll be good for you to get back behind the wheel again."

Although Evan hadn't owned a car in a long time, he always drove when he was with Michele because she hated to drive. She wasn't a bad driver. But she hated the thought of driving so much she would let anyone else with a license take over if it was at all possible. So he took the keys and walked to the driver's side without putting up a fight.




 

 

On the way back to the city, they talked about mutual friends and a few new stores Michele wanted to show him next week. Then Michele went into detail about a new diet she'd just started. From what Evan could gather, it had something to do with eating raw organic veggies and a great deal of protein. Although Michele was only about ten pounds overweight, she'd been fighting with that same ten pounds for the past ten years and had never been able to lose them. This hadn't been the first diet she'd tried and he knew it wouldn't be the last. He tended to drift off into deep thought during these conversations and he missed more than half of what she said.

At the Lincoln Tunnel, while they were sitting in traffic rounding the ramp that would lead them to the toll booth plaza, Michele glanced at Evan's body and said, "I can't believe how thin you are. I hate you."

Evan laughed. "Maybe you should check into Havilland for twenty-eight days," he said. "You'd be amazed at how rehab can kill your appetite." He'd learned how to make jokes about Havilland. It was easier-and, he thought, healthier-than not talking about it at all.

But Michele tended to take his relapses more seriously, and she looked as if she were sorry she'd said that. She changed the subject and asked, "What did you think about most while you were there all that time?"

"Kenny," Evan said. He didn't have to think hard about that question. He'd thought about a lot of things, from chocolate to men. But the one person he'd thought about most had been his son.

Michele reached over and held his hand. She squeezed it and said, "He's fine, and he's excited about seeing you again."

When they reached Evan's neighborhood in the East Village, a group of rough-looking kids ran into the street waving sticks and Michele made a face. "I seriously wish you'd think about moving out of here once and for all. I heard of a great place in my neighborhood that's going to be vacant in a few months. I'm sure Jeffery would buy it for you."

Evan slowed down to wait for a parking space not far from his building. He'd seen a man get into a car and parking wasn't easy to find at that time of day. While the rough-looking kids examined the long black Mercedes, Evan shrugged and said, "It's home. And the rent is good. And you know I don't like change. I feel comfortable here."

Although a good deal of Alphabet City had changed for the better over the years, Evan lived on East 4th between Avenues C and D, and Michele seemed to think she took her life in her hands each time she braved the trip downtown. Brooklyn sent her into a panic that caused her voice to tremble and her hands to shake. She lived on the Upper East Side, in white Manhattan, where the women all had their hair colored in seven shades of blond and carried purses that cost more than a month's rent for most people. Evan could have moved to a more upscale neighborhood. His estranged husband, Jeffery Charles, was worth billions and had even offered to buy Evan something. But Jeffery had always been one of Evan's problems and he wanted to keep things simple in that respect.