Angel lowered her voice, though there was no need. Mick was paying no one any attention, not even Richie who was supposed to be running interference for this elusive talk. “I know you had a crush on Evan way back then,” she started.
It was a wrong assumption Kimber had never corrected when she was a teenager. Or since.
Angel smiled supportively before continuing. “But Evan won’t be there, so you don’t have to be nervous about seeing him.” A twinkle lit her light eyes. “Unless you’d like to see him. He is single, and if you and Lyon get along—”
“No.” She halted her friend’s speech, snuffing the hope that had begun blooming in Angel’s eyes. “I don’t want to date Evan. The crush I had on him”—Landon—“was over a decade and a half ago.”
Angel blew out a defeated breath. “Fine. Sorry. Well, if you’re worried about Landon, don’t.”
She nearly swallowed her tongue at the mention of his name. If Angel had any idea about the debilitating crush Kimber had harbored for him way back when…
“Would it make you feel more comfortable if I told you that Landon isn’t suffering any weird rebound or depression from Lissa leaving him for Carson Whatshisname?”
Would it? A little. She liked to think he was over Lissa instead of pining for that awful woman.
“Landon and Lissa’s relationship wasn’t”—Angel scrunched up her face like she’d tasted spoiled milk—“normal.”
Whatever that meant. Kimber wondered if he’d had some strange sex fetish she didn’t know about. Some weird room rigged up with chains and—
Ew. No.
“And his penthouse is about three times the size of my house, so it’s not like you won’t have any privacy. Plus, it overlooks Lake Michigan.” She smiled.
Right. Because the view would seal the deal.
Angel lifted her purse off the counter and slipped it over her arm. Richie picked up on her cue and started for the door. Mick may be able to charm the ladies, but his bromance skills needed work. She lifted a finger to let her long-suffering husband know she’d be another second. “Landon is going to provide your meals and incidentals for the week.”
“I can feed myself, Angel. He doesn’t have to—”
“So don’t argue with him when he calls.”
Kimber felt her heart sink to her stomach. Or maybe her kneecaps. “What did you just say?” Because it sounded like Angel said he’d be calling.
“It’s a formality. He just wants to square away the details. He likes details.”
“When?” she asked numbly.
“After lunch.”
It may have been a long time since Kimber had seen Landon in person, but she’d seen a picture of him six months ago in the Arts & Entertainment section of the Chicago Tribune. In the photo, he and Lissa were leaving the charity dinner after the infamous YouTube video of Lissa making out with another man had gone viral.
The millionaire advertising guru and CEO of Downey Design had worn an immaculate black tuxedo and a frown that brought out the angle of his sexy, squared jaw and enviable cheekbones. Lissa had worn a practiced look of remorse, her hand hung limply over his arm, her body candy-coated in a clingy red Gucci dress, her gazelle-like legs long and graceful. Unfortunately for the supermodel, she had zero percent self-respect to go along with her zero percent body fat. Who cheated on someone as hot as Landon Downey, anyway?
He’d been perfect all those years ago before Kimber had lost her virginity, and having tested the waters a few times, she could see he was even more perfect now. She let out a sigh, and Angel leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Richie and I have to catch our flight home. Thank you for doing this. It means the world to Landon. And Evan,” she added with a lift of her manicured eyebrows.
“You knew I’d say yes, didn’t you?” Kimber asked, defeated.
Angel grinned, the expression lighting her whole face. “I knew if I stopped by in person you’d fold like a cheap suit.” She stole a glance over at Mick, who was pecking something into his phone. “Have fun breaking it to Romeo.”
But breaking it to Mick wasn’t what had her stomach in knots. It was that Landon was going to call her. Her. And she had no idea what she’d say when he did.
* * *
She spent the remainder of the afternoon with one eye on the telephone wondering what “after lunch” meant to a millionaire. What time did he eat lunch? Most people ate at noon, but sometimes she got caught up in a task and forgot to eat until two. Which is what time it was nearing now.