She switched off the lights in the dish room, the storeroom, and the bathrooms before powering down the overheads in the main bar and taking the stairs to the second floor. She gathered her laptop and the night’s paperwork, then stepped across the threshold between work and personal life. As soon as she switched on the lamp next to the love seat, a knock came at the apartment door.
Outside stood Chad Henderson.
“Hey,” he said as he slid his phone into his pocket.
“Hey,” Eve said, a little off-balance. She’d expected Natalie, maybe Tom. Not Chad. “I thought you were getting drinks with the guys.”
“I wanted to apologize. What I did tonight was unprofessional. It won’t happen again.”
Chad just delivered, without a hint of irritation or sullenness, the perfect apology to go with the perfect edgy, commanding demeanor from the hallway. Blunt, straightforward, no excuses, and the lingering irritation dissipated into the humid night air. “I’m all about second chances, Chad. Third chances, not so much.”
“No third chance necessary,” he said. “You said my choices for meals were breakfast at one or dinner at three a.m. How’s dinner sound?”
He’d taken off the Eye Candy T-shirt and replaced it with a dark green polo. One half of the collar stood up while the other lay down against the curve where his shoulder met his neck. She reached out and smoothed it. He didn’t move under her touch, simply watched her with that inscrutable expression on his face.
“Apology accepted. We’re good. You don’t have to take me out.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “You’re not going to eat? You had an orange at four.”
“I had a yogurt for breakfast,” she said defensively. “Look, this body doesn’t maintain itself. I’m on the rock star diet.”
Two lines appeared between his eyebrows. “Beer and cigarettes?”
“No,” she said, straight-faced. “We all stay skinny ’cause we just don’t eat.”
A rusty chuckle, then, “Have dinner with me, Eve.”
Simple words, voiced with low command that didn’t quite cover an oddly intent need. “Okay,” she said.
Something in him seemed to ease at her assent. “Get changed. I can’t take you anywhere in that outfit without starting a riot,” he said, the deep rasp of his voice settling into her skin.
“I can’t take these heels for another minute anyway,” she admitted. “Come in. I won’t take long.”
“You live back here?” he said as he stepped into the apartment and looked around. Faded cabinets and battered Formica countertops enclosed an area large enough for one person to work in. A bar stool sat under the counter facing the living room. The apartment was small and dim with windows in the kitchen and bedroom only, so she hadn’t spent much on renovations, instead plowing all her seed money into the bar. But she’d painted the walls a soft yellow, and used bright red and orange throw pillows on her denim sofa to make the living room inviting. “It’s not exactly the safest neighborhood.”
“You must not be an Eastie,” she said with a laugh, using the nickname for second-or third-generation residents. “I’ve lived here my whole life. The angels watch over me.”
Chad gave her a sharp glance, then said, “You’re a woman living alone in the roughest part of town.”
Okay, so maybe it was a little naive, but this was her home turf, and anyway, the Riverside Business Park could change all of that. “This is an investment strategy. As soon as my cash flow stabilizes I’m going to rent it out and move,” she said, bending over to undo the strap on her heels. She straightened and stepped out of the heels, sighing her pleasure as her cramped toes uncurled into the worn linoleum. “Want a drink?”
“I’m driving,” he said, back to the door, arms crossed over his chest again. “Get changed, Eve,” he said, remaining up against the wall as if he’d been nailed there. Something primordial in her liked how he used her name, the commanding way he said it, liked the way anticipation surged in her veins when she obeyed.
The anticipation fueled the impulse to leave the door open while she unzipped the side zipper on her black leather shorts, and pulled the cami and white T-shirt over her head. The tops went in the laundry basket; the shorts went back on a hanger. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a fitted thin T-shirt with faded butterflies curving over her chest and around to her shoulder blades, slid her feet into Birkenstocks, and ducked into the bathroom to wash her face.
When she reentered the kitchen, Chad was right where she left him, all hard-muscled man, leaning against the door with his hands shoved into his pockets. She saw his chest, rising and falling with his breath, stop mid-inhale, but he didn’t move. Without her heels, he towered over her, and she couldn’t look away from the heated light in his eyes.