The Evolution of Man (The Trust Fund Duet 2)

And in my story, she finds her own garden, in the glorious foliage and flowers surrounding her. Because Freida was telling the truth. Death is a natural part of life. And like the burning of a field, this library will give rise to new birth.

There’s more light now, with the building gone, and we’ll need those rays of sun for the garden we’re going to plan here. I can already see trees and bushes and flowers—but the painting against the wall will remain as the cornerstone. The beginning. It’s my most ambitious work to date. And it wasn’t completely a secret. It took me three weeks to paint the plants that curl up from the glass wall and hang down from giant illusory trees. It took that long with elaborate, very safe scaffolding and rope around my waist and a crew to prime the wall and seal it after.

It’s only Lilith who came at the end, working at night, with only Christopher beside me. My arms feel like jelly after working for twelve hours straight. There’s still paint smudged across my arms and shoved under my fingernails. Christopher doesn’t look much better—there’s specks of blue in his black hair from where I gripped it in a celebratory kiss, which turned into more, twenty feet above the ground on top of our large stable scaffold. There are faint lines under his eyes from being awake all night, but he looks live-wire and alert. Maybe watching for a threat since not everyone in the city is happy about the image of female empowerment painted on the building. Not everyone wants the west side to be restored. There are true demons that lurk these streets, but Lilith will help find them.

I saved her eyes for last, because they had to watch over the park. And they had to look out over the west side of Tanglewood. It’s her domain, all of it. There will be a modern library worthy of Smith College. There will be a soup kitchen and a shelter so that young women have choices. That will be the practical side, the necessary side—and finally, the perfect use for my trust fund. I’ve always been a fan of grand gestures. Of symbolism.

Of proving to the world that women don’t need to be meek to be beautiful—and that’s why Lilith will remain standing throughout all of it.

I was wrong to think that we needed a structure to house her. She isn’t afraid of the elements. Sometimes you need the darkness to shine. And sometimes you need death to come fully alive. Sunlight beams across the paint, drying her eyes. She looks on with a knowledge hard-won and peace that comes from finally finding home.

Thank you so much for reading THE EVOLUTION OF MAN!

I hope you loved the duet! This was a personal and painful story to write because of what happens with Harper’s mother, but I’m so glad that I can share it with you. Harper’s book was the most requested after she first appeared in THE PAWN, and now her story is complete.

If you’re wondering what happened to Sutton, I’m going to send out a FREE bonus epilogue about him. Sign up here: www.skyewarren.com/bonus

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Keep reading for a sneak peek of Escort…

The city looks beautiful at night, its rough edges kissed by moonlight, bright neon lights full of hope. My Bugatti slices through the darkness, smooths over cracked downtown streets. The leather is warm on the steering wheel, the gears smooth under my control. Every muscle in my body hums with anticipation, the certainty that I’m going to get laid tonight. It’s more than sex that gets me off. It’s the journey. Discovering what makes a woman work. What

holds her back and what lets her go.

I pull into the valet driveway and toss my keys to Alejandro, who has three kids at home and another one on the way. “Take care of her,” I tell him, slipping a twenty into his palm.

“It’s my pleasure,” he says, giving the gleaming curves an admiring look.

She’s gorgeous, this car. The first thing I purchased for myself once I was done scrabbling for scraps. Once I learned how to use my particular talents. Her form is both sleek and curvy, the kind of body that drives a man to his knees. But it’s not the way she looks that I love best. It’s the way she moves. The engine that has a mind of her own, sometimes sweet surrender, sometimes temperamental.

I love her best when she gives me a challenge.

L’Etoile is a luxury hotel with 24-karat gold chandeliers and white marble floors. A slice of European aesthetic in the center of Tanglewood’s urban sprawl. It’s garish and expensive, which suits me fine. It was founded in the ’40s by a woman who claimed to be French nobility. In reality, she was the madame of a lucrative brothel.

That suits me fine, as well.

The front counter is carved with ornate scrolls and baby angels. A woman stands behind them. Jessica, her name tag says. I give her a winning smile, and her brown eyes widen. “Good evening to you. Is there perhaps a message left for me? Hugo Bellmont.”

Her expression becomes soft, vulnerable. I should be very tired of this expression, especially when it comes so easily, but my male pride is a simple creature. It does not mind making women swoon, again and again.

“I… I can check for you.” She looks around for a moment, almost dazed. As if it’s never occurred to her that people might come to the desk for messages.

“You have my gratitude.”

After some fumbling, her cheeks deeply pink, she locates a stack of envelopes in one of the little cubbies. There is one with black script that I can recognize as my name from here. “Here you are.”

I think about what would be required to undress her, to take off her clothes and what remains of her defenses. Very little, but we would both enjoy the journey. Alas, she isn’t my intended partner tonight.

Inside the envelope is a hotel key card, which leads to the penthouse.

I’ve been to a hundred penthouses inside the city. And several outside of it. Each one is its own brand of ridiculous luxury. That’s part of the heavy price tag, the ridiculousness. Bathtubs that could fit a baby elephant. Private infinity pools. A helipad complete with exclusive helicopter usage. You don’t spring for the penthouse unless you want to be wowed.