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)
Swallowing over the anticipation of hearing her voice, he dialed.
Three rings.
Then, “Mad. Hi.”
A rush of heat nearly took him down. “Hello, Eve.” There were voices in the background. Was she breathing a little hard? “What’s going on?”
“It’s like you knew to call.”
He stood up. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Uh.” There was a patch of silence, followed by a door closing and a noisy fan coming on, as if she’d closed herself in a public bathroom. “It’s just that Landon and Lark are sick. They have the flu. In the spring. I thought he was just trying to get out of class—he tends to do that. No joke, he once said his desk was haunted. But they tested him, and Lark to be safe. Both of them are positive.”
He could already hear Eve pacing—and he’d heard enough. Madden picked up his equipment bag and walked straight back out the door. “What is this costing you?”
“That’s for me to worry about.”
“Eve.”
She was silent a moment. “I’m glad you called. You always sound so composed and practical and together.” Dazed laughter. “It’s calming to know that’s possible.”
“After how we left things, I’m not together. But I will be, for you.” Against his ear, he listened to her breathing change. “Where are you now, love?”
Her exhale bathed his ear and Madden pretended she simply enjoyed the endearment. That it soothed her in some way. “I’m at the clinic with my new babysitter, Veda. She’s going to watch the kids while I open the club tonight.” Eve’s voice caught, ever so slightly, and Madden almost lunged through the elevator doors before they finished opening. “I’m a little overwhelmed, but I’ll get everything under control,” she said, in an uncharacteristic admission that she was struggling. That was enough to make him move faster. “How is New York?” she asked, obviously trying to change the subject.
“It’s not Rhode Island. It’s not where you are.”
A pause ensued. “Madden,” she warned. “Don’t come all the way h—”
He ended the call before she could finish launching her protest.
Chapter Eight
Eve closed the door behind her departing bartender, turned, and pressed her back to the cool wood, sighing the evening from her lungs. Her employees hated being left at the Gilded Garden alone. Something about the low lighting, sultry music, and 1930s-themed decor gave a haunting impression. Eve, however, didn’t mind being the last one out. If there were ghosts living among these walls, they were better behaved than humans.
She checked the time on the phone in her hand. Just after midnight. The kids would be long since asleep. Tonight had been slow at the club, an unfortunate recurring theme lately, so she’d had ample time to check in on Lark, Landon, and her apparent new babysitter, Veda. After starting antibiotics this afternoon and being given some over-the-counter medicine to relieve their symptoms, her niece and nephew were on their way to recovery. No temperatures as of nine o’clock, thank god.
Veda needed to leave soon. That gave Eve a smidge of time to herself.
And she knew exactly how she needed to use it.
Humming along with the swing music that filtered in from the performance area, Eve pushed off the door and sauntered down the hallway, freeing her long hair from the clip she’d used earlier to create a twist on top of her head. Sank her fingers into the tumbled-down mass and rubbed out the kinks and soreness of her scalp. When she reached the audience seating, a half circle of tables and chairs, her pulse started to flutter in her wrists and throat, a mixture of excitement and nerves bumping around in her belly.
She stood center stage in the blue spotlight and closed her eyes, letting her imagination conjure up a crowd of people, well dressed and stirring with anticipation. Their eyes tracked her every movement and she made a meal out of each and every one, starting with her heels. Giving the crowd her profile, she staggered her legs and slowly bent forward without bending her knees, slipping off one shoe, then the other, setting them neatly to one side. But when Eve straightened and settled her fingertips on the buttons of her sweater, that’s when her blood truly started to pump.
The members of the audience were faceless, but it was the imagined change in their energy, a growing eagerness on their part, that made her stomach ripple with butterflies. Made her hips and breasts feel like weapons at her disposal. A means to entice.
One by one, she released the buttons, but instead of opening the black wool of her cardigan, she gave the audience her back and slowly, slowly, slipped the material down to expose one shoulder. All she heard now was the music of her own blood, the pumping rhythm of it, how the tempo sped up when she shimmied the garment down to her wrists and let it drop, leaving her center stage in a bra and high-waisted skirt.