Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Madden . . .” Eve wet her lips. “I’ve gotten used to not having you.”
Christ, his heart almost screamed out of his chest. There it was. The closest thing to a confession she would offer. It might as well have been the keys to heaven. He could work with that. “Get un-used to it,” he rasped, reeling over the proof he’d been right. His gut, his head, his chest. All right, all along. “Why would you put your own wants aside for so long, Eve?”
“Because she’s a better choice,” she said dully, slumping slightly as if something had finally been dislodged from her throat.
Madden’s irritation dropped like a volume knob being twisted to zero. “A better choice? Than you, Eve? I don’t understand.”
“Go to New York, Mad. Please.”
He’d pushed her today more than he ever had before. But he had nothing to lose at this stage and couldn’t fathom another four years of pining, so he pushed a little more. “Tell me you feel something for me and I’ll go.”
When several seconds passed and Eve said nothing, he started to lose faith that she’d answer him. Then, salvation. “I don’t remember a time when I didn’t,” she whispered, laying a hand over her eyes. “But I can’t give you what you’re looking for. I’m not . . . right. For you. For this. We’re friends, Madden.” She dropped her voice to a pleading whisper. “Next time you see me, let’s pretend this never happened, okay?”
“Fuck that.” Madden charged forward, picking her up in his arms and holding her tight. So tight while her breathing changed. Went from quick and erratic to deep, the side of her face very slowly pressing into the crook of his neck. He stayed that way, holding Eve with her feet several inches above the ground, dust motes swirling around them, and he could have stayed that way forever. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m a fucking rock and you can’t dig me up. You’d have to dig forever to find how deep I’ve buried myself when it comes to you, Eve. I am not going to budge no matter what happens.” Setting her down and walking away—for now—was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he’d known Eve long enough to know he’d pressed her enough for one day. “I’ll be back, love,” he vowed on his way out.
And he would.
He always would.
Chapter Five
Two weeks later, Eve sat at one of the ornate Gilded Garden cocktail tables, surrounded by silence, her gaze fixated on the empty stage without really seeing it. A clipboard rested in her lap and it held five résumés for dancers. Today were auditions.
The Gilded Garden already employed a few off-and-on dancers, hired before she’d ever opened the doors to the public, but the performers weren’t as inclined these days to travel from Boston or New York City, thanks to the lack of clientele. Ten tickets sold wasn’t much of an incentive to drive between two and five hours, understandably.
It was time for Eve to admit she’d been foolish. Opening a burlesque club in a small town in Rhode Island? Mistake. A big one. Instead of selling her father’s strip club and splitting the money with her sister, she’d convinced Ruth to allow Eve to use the money to demolish the interior of the establishment that had caused her so much grief growing up and turn it into something she could be proud of.
Ill-advised. Silly. Shortsighted. Arrogant.
Self-indulgent.
Four years ago, Eve couldn’t see the forest for the trees. She’d been obsessed with rebranding her family name. Proving herself a businesswoman to all the people she’d attended school with who asked her, every single day of her life, when she planned to join the family business and take off her clothes for cash.
Stripping was a legitimate job. The women she’d known growing up had families, bills to pay, or, hell, they just enjoyed the art of getting mostly nude. Nothing wrong with that.
That being said, now she had Ruth’s twins to consider and burlesque was the more socially acceptable form of entertainment, compared to stripping. Or so she’d thought. People in town didn’t seem inclined to make a distinction between the two.
Still, burlesque and the lounge she’d built to showcase it were simply more Eve’s style than Cat Fight. Only let them see what you want them to see. Isn’t that the epitome of who she was? And the Gilded Garden represented that. It was her way of saying, Screw you, I didn’t run away from this place and my reputation, I rebuilt it stronger. With more style.
But maybe . . . no one cared.
Even when she’d gone onstage to perform a few weeks ago, hoping to draw some local interest from people who make it their business to see others get humbled, the turnout hadn’t been that remarkable. Had she really thrown her heart and soul into something that didn’t matter? Had she built a monument to her childhood trauma, simply for herself to worship?