“I’m not either,” she said distractedly as she peeled apart another section of orange. “Mornings suck.”
A thin trail of liquid escaped the rind and ran down her wrist; without thinking she lifted her inner arm to her mouth and licked off the juice. His eyes darkened, the pupils dilating into the hazel irises.
“Want some?” she asked innocently, offering him the orange.
“I’d say something about apples,” he replied as he pulled off a couple of sections, “but you’ve heard that before.”
“Eve gets the short end of the stick in that story,” she said. “Adam could have said no. He didn’t. Yeah, she was temping but take some responsibility.”
His laugh seemed a little forced, and they both jumped when Natalie flung the door open. She tossed a casual wave to them, yodeling along to a song Eve vaguely recognized as a dance hit from the eighties.
“What the hell is she singing?” Chad asked, bracing one hand on the bar, the other on his hip.
“Pop, disco, hair bands, boy bands, punk, everything eighties,” she said, breathless. “The music died when Backstreet Boys broke up. On the plus side, we don’t have to fight over who gets nights off to go to concerts.”
“She’s gonna go deaf if she doesn’t turn the volume down on those headphones.”
Natalie stopped mid-yodel in the middle of the dance floor. “What’s he doing here so early?” she yelled at Eve.
Eve motioned for her to remove the earbuds.
“What’s he doing here so early?” Nat said again as she wrapped the earbud cord around the iPod.
“We heard you the first time,” Eve said patiently. “He seems to think I need help with prep.”
“Help with prep, huh? Flirting with the boss, I think.”
“Just making myself useful,” Chad said. Nat continued up the stairs, letting herself into the office.
Eve rolled her eyes at the choirboy tone in his voice. “You could be more useful,” she said in a low undertone.
Another simmering hazel look through intriguingly reddish-brown lashes. “Slow, remember? Conversation. Getting to know you.”
“What about getting to know you?”
“Next time.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” she said.
CHAPTER FOUR
This wasn’t going to be easy.
A couple of hours into a crazy Saturday night, Matt told himself the conversation with Eve before Eye Candy opened had netted good information and background details, but he knew already that his plan to take things slow wouldn’t hold up for long. Eve was smart, determined, ran her show like the motherfucking boss she was. No way in hell would she wait around for him like some sweet young thing.
No way in hell would a woman like that give a second chance to a professional liar.
At seven forty-two his partner arrived. Her blonde hair was done up in a fancy arrangement of curls and combs with butterflies on them, and her eyes were transformed by contacts that this time turned her average blue irises into the color of the Caribbean in travel ads. She wore a shimmery, barely there neon-blue dress, cracked her gum at Tom and got an apple martini and a wink in return, then disappeared into the crowd.
At eight nineteen Conn McCormick walked into the bar. Wearing jeans and a loose button-down, he steadfastly ignored the frank appraisals from the women at the bar and ordered a Rolling Rock from Matt. The anonymous exchange took seconds, then McCormick took up position against the railing surrounding the dance floor, giving himself a good view of both the door and the bar. As Matt watched, McCormick let himself get drawn into a conversation with a brunette Matt knew was half past toasted because he’d served her the last three of her four rum and Sprites. He almost wished he could listen in, just for the laughs.
At eight forty-seven Lyle Murphy, easily identifiable from surveillance photos, walked in. Matt barely managed to restrain a double take as Lyle smiled, said a few words, and patted Cesar on the shoulder. The two guys with Lyle, one matching the description of Travis, the other unfamiliar to Matt, also didn’t bother to produce IDs. Lyle wore pleated slacks, a preppy sweater, and a hat straight off Justin Timberlake’s head. Alone he would have blended right in with the crowd, but his two companions wore the latest in homeboy fashion—baggy jeans, and loose rapper shirts.
They stuck out like two East Side gangbangers in an upscale nightclub.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as the trio made their way to the back of the dance floor. Natalie, in conversation with Mario at the far end of the bar, looked up as the shift in energy eddied to the far ends of the room. Lyle said something to a blonde woman that made her draw back, jaw open in shock, then headed straight for Eve.