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I’ve never been to the Evolve Awards before, but I’ve seen pictures and heard stories. They don’t lie. The Fairmont Palliser Hotel ballroom is elegantly decorated in the Evolve colours of gold and purple, with tall floral centrepieces gracing each round table.
I’m not here to celebrate one of my projects tonight, but I’m still here to celebrate. Asher is getting an award, and with Kelsey as my plus one, I’m here to show him I want us to be friends.
A seating chart shows us that Asher, Kelsey, and I are at a table near the front of the room, and importantly, we’re not seated with Owen and the Black Ladder clan. I know he’ll be here because Asher told me that Owen’s presenting the award for the category Asher has been nominated for.
Oh, the irony.
Kelsey pokes me in the ribs when she sees my eyes roaming over the seating chart long after we found our table. I want to know if Owen brought a date—only so I’m not caught off-guard—but she doesn’t give me the opportunity.
I could have had him if I wanted him.
I don’t.
I get enough of him in my head. The worst times are right before my period, when I’m hormonal. And after watching a particularly good chick flick. It also happens when I contemplate getting my own place to live. That cash of his is still sitting in an account waiting to be spent.
Alright, thoughts of him are near constant. It doesn’t help that he won’t stop calling me and I can’t stop listening to his messages. I love how his voice rumbles in my chest through the recording. When his number pops up on my screen, my fingertips buzz, waiting to dial into my voicemail. Did he leave a sweet message, telling me about having a good visit with his dad? Did he leave me a panty-melting message that has me slipping my fingers between my legs? Did he leave me a message, asking my opinion on his designer’s recommendations?
The calls taunt me and, irrationally, I look forward to listening to them because I secretly like that he still wants to call me. I like thinking that there could be more to him than a damn good builder who’s hot as hell. That there’s a little nugget of emotion hiding inside that tough skin.
I know I’m projecting my emotional self onto him and it’s all an act. He can read a scripted message and make it sound real. He can play the guy with feelings and forward-thinking plans. Too bad he could never be that way to my face other than when he was trying to get me naked.
I’m not leading him on. I told him I don’t want to be in a relationship with him, and I haven’t wavered. All his messages have gone unanswered. At some point, the chase will get old, or he’ll find someone else to flex his arms at. He’ll tire of calling and never hearing my voice. Eventually, he’ll want to spend time with someone who’s with him in the flesh and not only in his mind.
Kelsey has wandered off, bored with the conversations Asher and I have with acquaintances from the industry. Above the small talk we make, I catch the baritone voice I crave hearing. Goosebumps erupt on my arms and I shudder, nearly spilling my drink. My saving grace, and the one thing that turns my panic into a smile, is focusing on how he brought his brother as his date.
A long sip of wine hides my face as I watch Owen.
He’s wearing a trendy monochromatic tuxedo with velvet lapels and a black tuxedo shirt. Of course. Silver cuff links stand out as much as his hazel eyes. His beard is newly trimmed, and each hair is perfectly in place, prepped to make women of all ages and marital statuses swoon. His hand comes out of his pocket to rest on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy wears a matching tux, albeit with a white shirt.
Asher’s hand lands on my back and I jerk, startled at being caught staring.
“We should say hi.”
“No, we don’t have to.” Words disguise my body’s true desire to approach him. It would be awkward and not fair to Asher.
Before Asher can insist, Tommy spots us.
“Izzy!” he shouts and comes running. I try to crouch to meet him, and brace for contact, but my dress is too fitted, and my heels are too high for such gymnastics.
“Whoa, Tommy.” Owen’s voice is firm, but holds a hint of laughter behind it. Tommy slows just in time and comes to a halt with his black patent leather toes nearly touching mine.
“Hi, Izzy,” he all but yelps in excitement. Then, as if remembering something he’s practiced, he holds out his hand towards me. I drop mine into his and he brings it to his lips and kisses my knuckles. My heart melts and I bend and kiss him on the cheek. He squeaks then angles towards Owen, blond curls bouncing as he hops from one foot to the other. Owen gives him a brief nod and Tommy reciprocates.
“You look lovely tonight, Izzy.” We’ve amassed a small crowd and there are a few soft chuckles and awwws around us.
“Why thank you, Tommy. You look very handsome.” I smile at Owen and offer an approving nod. Whatever issues we may have with each other, I can’t deny he’s taught his brother a few civilities.
“I wanted to match my pocket square to your dress.” He pats his breast pocket. “Owen said that you like purple ’cause he saw you in a purple toque once. So, I chose purple. But it doesn’t match.” He frowns at my floor-length, single shoulder, asymmetrical dress in hunter green. “But do you like it, anyway?”
“Very much. That’s extremely thoughtful of you. You can tell Owen he’s right, purple is one of my favourite colours.” I’m surprised he remembers what toque I wore that day in the backyard when we raked leaves.
“Tell him yourself, he’s right here. Bet you didn’t recognise him ’cause he’s all dressed up, hey?” He points over his shoulder with his thumb and our crowd erupts in laughter.
Oh, I’d be able to pick him out of a crowd with no issues. Just ask my ovaries to turn on their radar.
“Hello, Owen,” I offer, conscious of our audience.
“Izzy.” The one word is innocent enough, but I hear what he’s really saying—he hasn’t forgotten his promise to change my mind.
Without a hitch, he greets Asher with an outstretched arm, leaving me sweating over repeated visions of our scandalous afternoon.
“I’m going to get a refill. Would anyone like anything?” Asher asks.
I hold out my glass for him and he walks away. Owen tells Tommy there are servers walking around with plates of food and he should find something he likes.
With our little entertainer gone, our crowd disperses. And then there were two.
“You’re beautiful.” His eyes travel over my dress, from my bare shoulder to the slit down my right leg. His voice hits me in all the wrong places for a public event. I can’t look and risk drawing attention to them, however, I think my nipples enjoy the way he ogles me.
“Thank you. You too. I mean handsome. Not beautiful.” I was wrong about a man in a suit versus work wear. They can also be sexy as hell. At least this one can be.
He smiles at my jabbering, and I pull my lip between my teeth to hide my grin. I love how I can make him smile and hate it at the same time. He’s making it too easy to want to find a dark corner to duck into.
“The answer to your question from earlier is yes.”
I knit my brows. I didn’t ask him a question.
“Do I really remember what toque you wore that day, or was it a lucky guess?” He comes closer so he can whisper in my ear. “I remember all the details about you. I remember the tiny mole above your right nipple. I remember three beers are definitely your limit. I remember never to bet against you in a game of pool.” He stops, satisfied that his point is made. Besides, I’m already leaning into his hand wrapped around my waist.
“I’m not what you think I am,” he says.
“And what’s that?”
“Nothing more than a brute.” His answer is a good reminder of how incompatible we are. I back up.
“You kind of are.” Memories of being pushed against walls come to mind, not to mention every yelling match we had before that.
“And you kind of like that.” He kisses my cheek, lingering longer than he should. “Still, there’s more to me. More, that without you, I never would have discovered.”
Asher returns and Owen moves away, leaving a more respectable distance between the two of us. Ash hands me my wine and I thank him—more for putting an end to my alone time with Owen than for the libation.
It doesn’t matter how hot Owen looks tonight or how much he says he’s changed, he’s still the same guy who stole my dream.
***
THE MEAL IS DONE AND the awards part of the evening is underway. As they get closer to announcing Asher’s category, his jitters escalate. He wrings the napkin in his hands and drinks sip after sip of water. Aside from the marketing and salespeople or real estate agents, I’d say that most of the people here work by themselves or in small groups and never, ever, have to speak to a crowd. Asher falls into that category.
“You’re going to win this, Ash,” I reassure him. I don’t call him the best because he’s my friend. He really is a fantastic contractor.
“Thanks, Iz.” He squeezes my shoulder and I place my hand on his thigh to sooth his nerves.
Both Owen and Tommy go to the podium and look directly at Asher and me. Tommy is all grins and Owen is the typical Owen. He’s serious and focused and here to do a job. All business. Until he sees where my hand is and his whole body stiffens. Then he’s the new Owen. The jealous Owen. The I-will-have-Izzy Owen.
I don’t want to, but I like it. Maybe it’s because I need to hold some kind of power over him. Or maybe it’s as simple as wanting to be desired by a sexy man. Every woman, single or partnered, is panting over him. I overheard someone in the washroom saying he’s the type of guy to pull a woman away from her table discretely, take her into the service hallway, fuck her blind, then bring her back to her seat with no one noticing she’s gone missing.
I’m glad to know others have wild fantasies about him. It makes me feel normal. It legitimises the dirty secret I hold where I still listen to his messages before going to bed.
Owen commands the crowd like someone who does public speaking tours for a living. His voice is smooth, without nerves or hesitation. He speaks clearly and at a perfect tempo. His voice carries to the back of the room, and he has the attention of everyone in it.
It’s another way of showing off how good he is at masking how he really feels. There’s no way he wants to be on that stage right now, talking to a couple hundred strangers. Yet, there he is, perfectly composed, a voice as confident as it is in the messages he leaves on my voicemail.
His eyes rove around, but they always settle in my direction. It’s as though he wrote this speech for me rather than for anyone else in this room. I pull myself out of my head and tune into what he’s saying.
“With the history of the organisation out of the way, I’d like to share my personal connection with Big Brothers and Big Sisters. When I was five years old, my mother passed away.” There’s a collective gasp by the attendees, and I form a part of it. I can’t believe he’s telling a roomful of strangers about his childhood tragedy. As far as I know, he kept it buried from everyone except his closest friends until he told me that night. What compels him to bring this up tonight?
“My dad, being the brilliant man that he is, knew he needed help, and he found me a Big Brother to spend time with. That decision saved me from heading down the wrong path more than once. My Big Brother kept me out of trouble by keeping me occupied and offering a sympathetic ear.”
Owen lays a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “This is my Little Brother, Tommy.” While Tommy waves at everyone and they wave back, some saying, Hi Tommy, I nearly swallow my tongue in shock. That kind of little brother?
Does Owen know I misinterpreted his relationship with Tommy? I thought he was mentoring Tommy out of family obligation. All the times I called him a barbarian and emotionally incompetent could have been met with proof that he was anything but.
I judged him so harshly. I pigeonholed him based solely on our business dealings and refused to believe that he could behave in any other manner—sweet voicemails aside.
“Did you know that about him?” Asher whispers into my ear, apparently as surprised as I am.
“I had no idea,” I answer, then wave him off to shush him. I need to hear this.
My gut twists and I fear my dinner might make a comeback. I take slow sips of water to settle the feeling so I won’t have to bolt out of the room. I need to hear the complete story and not just the parts I want to hear, like I’ve been doing all along. The pain in my stomach is penance for the horrible, unfounded things I thought about him.
Owen continues. “We’ve been hanging out together for a little more than a year. Tommy helps me on my projects where I teach him about construction, and he teaches me patience. Lately, he’s been instructing me about colour and its appropriate use in spec homes.” The crowd laughs at this while Owen’s focus lasers in on me. “We actually have a project going on right now and Tommy has the lead on choosing the colour scheme.”
My mouth goes dry. Did he do that because of what I said to him?
“But enough about us. Let’s get to talking about the award recipient tonight.”
He says softly to Tommy, “Your turn buddy.” Owen drags a step to the podium and Tommy steps to the microphone. He pulls his speech out of his inside breast pocket, unfolding it and smoothing it out.
“Hi!” Tommy says cheerfully, then reels it in when he reads from his paper. “I have learned from my Big Brother Owen that listening is a very important part of being a good contractor. It’s as important as having the right construction skills because you can build the best kitchen or bathroom or basement in the world, but if it’s not what your client wants, then it’s not good enough.” He turns to Owen for approval, who gives a smile and a nod to keep going.
The pride on Owen’s face right now is like nothing I’ve seen before. It’s as if Tommy is his greatest achievement. The houses he creates or the money he makes, even the satisfaction he feels when someone gives into his will, are secondary to this. His protégé is the ultimate win for Owen.
I pinch my lips between my teeth to distract my body from creating a waterfall of tears. I can’t be the emotional one right now. I will not make a fool out of myself.
“The winner of the Best Basement Renovation award tonight was nom-in-a-ted by his client because he is a great listener.” Tommy signals to Owen that he’s done, and Owen moves closer to the microphone.
“On behalf of Big Brothers and Big Sisters, I am happy to announce the winner of this award is Asher Richmond. Congratulations, Asher.”
Everyone claps as he stands. I rise with him and clasp him by the arms, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
“They’re right. You are the best listener.” He’s always been there to hear my ideas and my fears. “You deserve this.”
“Thanks, Iz.” He looks to the stage at Owen, then back at me. With a gentle nod, he says, “And he deserves you.”