The Set Up (4 page)

I allow my gaze to wash over the crowd.

Tears from many.

Eyes being wiped.

Scowls on the faces of others.

The explosion was something no one likes to talk about. Me included, but Alex wasn’t wrong in bringing it up. Maybe everyone needs a little reminder to push past the ugly.

“So what do you say, Detroit? Isn’t it time for a change? For our world to look a little brighter? I think so. And I hope you do too!”

Cheers once again erupt, but there are also a lot of sneers. Just as I start to walk off the stage someone yells, “You can’t bring him back, you know. You can’t bring your father back by rebuilding on the place he died.”

Like I don’t know that.

It’s a female voice and for a moment, I wonder if it’s my mother. It sounds like something she’d say if she ever talked about him. But she’s not here, so whoever it is, I acknowledge the statement with only a solemn nod and then I exit the stage.

Will’s hand is on my shoulder. “Great job.”

I also give him a nod.

“Mr. Storm, can I ask you a few questions?” It’s a male voice this time.

Since I didn’t expect to be giving a speech, I’m not prepared for the onslaught of public attention. I keep walking and say nothing. This isn’t my thing.

“Jasper, they’re calling you the city’s white knight. How does that make you feel?” This question comes from a different male voice.

Not great.

“Jasper Storm, can we get an interview?”

The questions just keep coming.

“We’ll answer questions tomorrow once the petition passes,” Will tells everyone, with a confidence in the vote he’s had since day one.

“Jasper. I’m Eve Hepburn. I’d like to know what it feels like to rebuild on a place this city has held sacred for so long.”

The words
Fuck you
sit on the tip of my tongue.

“Keep moving,” Will prompts.

High-heeled red shoes seem to be following me. “Let me ask my question in a different way. Why not build elsewhere?”

I want to scream, “Because something inside me won’t let the idea go. Because my father died there. Because I don’t know the fuck why!” But I don’t. Instead, I remarkably remain silent.

“Do you really think you’re doing the city a justice, or just yourself, by choosing that piece of property to build on?”

This bitch just won’t stop. I don’t even look at her. It takes all I have not to flip her the bird.

“Do you make it a habit to sleep with every woman you meet?” It’s the same voice.

What the fuck does that have to do with anything?

“You’re doing great. Drew and Jake are only a few feet away. Don’t say anything and just keep moving.” Will’s voice is calm. He must know I’m about to blow.

Glancing straight ahead, I don’t look at a single one of the reporters or photographers and ignore all of their lame attempts to get my attention.

Instead, my gaze lands on the girl with blue streaks in her hair holding a shot in each hand.

I head her way with one thing in mind . . .

I need to get the fuck out of here.

UNDER THE HOOD

Charlotte

LOOKING AT PICTURES
of Jasper Storm is like exhaling a long, shaky breath. His name sounds like one, too: Jasper Jackson Storm.

He is without a doubt a lethal mix of visceral male testosterone and rebel. With his mess of light brown hair, matching light brown eyes that just look like they could peg you where you stand, and a body that must make every female in his vicinity yearn for him, there is no mistaking him in a crowd—that’s for sure.

The hotel room is small enough without Eve standing over my shoulder. I glance back at my roommate for the next two nights and force myself to not feel stifled.

She’s looking at my screen as the candid photos transfer from my inexpensive Canon to my computer so I can email them to my boss. “He really is good-looking. I’ll give him that,” she comments, pulling me from my inappropriate thoughts.

My belly flips as I turn back and continue to study the photos. “Yes, he is.”

“I might even go as far as to say he’s hot.”

I nod in agreement and shift uncomfortably in my chair.

“How tall do you think he is?”

With a shrug I answer, “Just over six feet.”

“How much do you think he weighs?” She calls the question over her shoulder as she heads down the hallway.

“One-ninety at the most, I’d say. He’s pretty lean.”

She pulls the straps of her shoes down, slips them off, and looks in the mirror. “Would you say he wears boxers or briefs?”

Making a list of what I need to accomplish, I’m not even sure how to answer her question. “I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“I’m going to say he goes commando. He just looks like the type.”

Pausing, I set my pen down. Now she has me wondering. “What’s with all the weird questions anyway?”

Eve gives me one of her signature fake smiles. “Curious, that’s all.”

My gaze returns to the pictures of him. Handsome. That’s how I’d describe him. Really handsome. Handsome as hell. Strong jaw. Sensual lips. Sharp profile. Long and lean, dressed in black slacks and a white shirt. Tie loose. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows and shoes that look brand new. Whether dressed up or down, there is no denying who he is. I swallow past the lump that forms in my throat.

Eve ducks into the bathroom, and I use the time alone to shuffle through the photos and really look at them. A few of him smiling. Some laughing with his head tipped back. One or two where I’d say he might be brooding. Others show him deep in concentration. But regardless of the emotion captured, all of them exude a confidence that can’t be denied.

“What do you think?”

Clicking the screen closed, I look up. “About what?”

“Him.” Eve has changed out of her skirt and into a pair of tight shorts that show off her long legs and curves beautifully. She’s definitely what most men would call a bombshell, and she knows it. Sauntering back into our room with her makeup bag in her hand, she stops for another glance in the mirror. “Well?”

“He’s seems nice.”

She starts to walk toward me but stops at the dresser and spritzes herself with her perfume. “Nice?”

I pull my legs up onto the chair. “Yes, nice.”

“Really, Charlotte, you’re too much. It’s just the two of us—be honest.”

“I am being honest.”

With a hand wave she says, “Whatever. I’m sure he’s many things, but
nice
isn’t a word I’d use to describe him.”

I give her a shrug and pull my sweatshirt tighter around me.

“I met this girl earlier who told me Jasper requested a smorgasbord of drugs to go along with the shitload of sex he was planning on having. She said it was an orgy in the making.”

Holding back my eye roll, I say, “And she told you about his potential illegal activity why?”

“I don’t know.”

I point my finger at her. “Exactly, because she’s making it up.”

“Whatever. Don’t believe me. You will soon enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Anyway, tell me again what happened in this town and why this ‘yes’ vote is so significant?”

Memories as clouded as the sky on a winter day assault me and guilt overwhelms me.

She stops in front of the small table I’m seated at and grabs a handful of nuts from the bag I purchased in the gift shop downstairs. “Charlotte, are you even listening to me?”

Rapidly blinking, I shift my gaze to hers and wish what I’m about to tell her wasn’t mostly true. “I already told you everything I know.”

She sighs. “I need to interview someone who knows more.”

No one knows I was born in this town. I need to do what I came here to do, and then get the hell out of here and back to my small apartment before anyone figures out who I am. Entirely sure our boss insisted we stay at the hotel for his own personal reasons, I sigh and pull my mass of frizzy waves to the side in order to avoid her stare. “I don’t understand what you need to know, Eve. You’re here to write about Lightning Motors and the car.”

She passes by me and I can smell her strong perfume.

“I think you were a little out of line earlier with your questions,” I blurt out.

She goes to the window of our hotel room and looks out at the Detroit River. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know, your tone maybe,” I say sarcastically. “I really felt the questions you asked were personal, and this isn’t a personal story.”

Spinning around, she glares at me.

“Eve. It’s not. It’s not about his height, his weight, his underwear preferences, or even if you like him. It’s not about him at all. The story is about the Storm and its introduction to the world.”

With a roll of her eyes, she pulls that perfectly shiny red hair back and ties an elastic around it. “I know what my assignment is, Charlotte, but like you, I’m interested in him.”

My features pull together. “I’m not interested in him.”

Her smirk isn’t to be missed. “Then what’s with all the pictures?”

“It’s my job to set the scene.”

“Yes, for the story, which you already told me is about the car, not the man.”

“Eve,” I try to reason, “it’s not the same.”

She raises a brow. “But it is. And besides, it’s my story and I can write it from whatever angle I think will draw the readers in.”

I flinch under the sting of her words and a strange feeling courses through me. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it.

For a moment I think she’s done with the conversation, but then she walks past me and stops at the mirror again. “Do you think he ever fucks the same woman twice?”

“I have no idea,” I say with exasperation.

With a click, I open the window again and look at my pictures. She’s right. I should delete these. They’re too personal. Just as I highlight them all and begin to drag them to the trash, I stop. A picture grabs my attention. It’s of Eve, and Jasper is in the background just leaving the stage. I know when this picture was captured, and my heart drops when I see the despair on Jasper’s face. Eve asks me a question about his father, but I ignore it and fire one of my own. “Why do I feel like you’re purposely trying to hurt him?”

She finds me in the mirror and her stare pegs me. “You know he fucks a lot of women, don’t you?”

I raise a curious brow. “What does that have to do with the story we were sent here to cover?”

“Nothing, everything.”

“You’re not making sense.”

Sitting on one of the beds, Eve is about to put her very high red patent-leather slingbacks back on.

They’re Louboutins. I know because she told me. Who would ever pay that much for a pair of shoes? As she starts to slip her feet in, my eyes dart to her red-painted toes and the gold ring she wears around one of them. I’ve always wondered why people wear rings on their toes. It seems like they would hurt, or at the very least be bothersome. Yet, I’ve never seen her without it.

“He’s the man behind the car. Don’t you think the world should know what he’s like?”

“No,” I say adamantly.

Hair up or down? Obviously she’s unable to decide because she yanks the elastic from her hair and then shakes her head. “Well, I do.”

“What’s this really about?”

She bites her lip.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Eve and I haven’t known each other long. Two months ago she moved here from Toledo and I moved here from Mackinac Island, when we both landed jobs at
The Detroit Scene
.
The Detroit Scene
is an online blog that covers everything from politics to music to sports to cars. The blog is gaining readership, and we’ve had to work long hours to keep it that way. And although I’ve spent a lot of time with her, I still don’t get what makes her tick. I’m not even sure you could call us friends.

She shrugs. “We both went to the University of Michigan.”

How had I missed that fact?
“And?”

“I may or may not have had sex with him once.”

My jaw drops. “What? Why didn’t you tell me that when we got this assignment?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.”

Raindrops against the window call my attention toward them. “In what way?”

“If you must know, he fucked me in the bathroom stall at a dive bar, took my number, told me he’d call me, and then never did. He’s just such a jerk.”