Probably because he had to.
Originally she’d thought Chad needed to give in to an impulse every now and then, but she now understood why he’d be so careful with himself, his energy, his emotion. Taking care of a child or a sibling was a huge responsibility, but aside from the conversations about music, he’d given no hint of anything he did for himself. He didn’t drink. He didn’t smoke. He’d stopped listening to music, and he flat out refused to engage in casual sex with a woman who was all but throwing herself at him. He boxed. That was it.
They were going to have a long conversation about the value of a hobby or two.
But not tonight. Tonight she was going to finish what she started in her office.
*
The steel Matt used to lock away his own needs was buckling, rivets popping left and right. He was supposed to be testing Eve, making sure she had the mettle to stay strong through a dangerous undercover operation, but instead she was working away at not only his cover but his time-tested strategy for dealing with the demands of his life. She wanted to know the people she let into her life, understand them, share their burdens, not just take from them. Unfortunately, when he told her the basic facts of who he was, she’d never trust him again. There was nothing he could do to change the events set in motion days earlier when he walked into her bar and interviewed for the job. Maybe if he hadn’t hit on her—but then he wouldn’t have the information he’d obtained—he might have been able to come back and apologize—but … but …
He was going crazy, so he shut down his brain and focused on the work. Absolutely nothing unusual happened at Eye Candy that Saturday night. He recognized a couple of uniforms in plain clothes circulating in the bar. Eve kept a low profile, letting Natalie handle most of what came up. She emerged from the office at nine-thirty to join a large, shrill, and totally out-of-hand bachelorette party for a few minutes.
“They have a designated driver?” he asked when Eve came behind the bar to sip from the glass of water he kept cold and full for her.
“Limo,” she replied. “Keep an eye on them, would you? It’s almost time to cut them off, at least the bride”—easily distinguished by the sparkly tiara on her head, a veil trailing over her long blonde hair—“and the maid of honor.”
“They’re pretty raucous,” he said.
“That’s the point, remember? Blow off steam, have fun, relax, bond over shared experiences,” she replied, checking his stock of garnishes and giving the ice tub a good shake. Bent over in the black leather dominatrix getup, her pale breasts nearly swelled out of the corset she wore. In a move as smooth and hot as the leather clinging to her body, she straightened, standing far too close to him for a public place, her leg brushing against his, one hand resting on his hip. “We’re going to give that shared experiences thing a try later,” she said, low and seductive, then walked away.
He turned to see Tom glaring at him. “You got something going with Eve?” he asked.
“Yeah.” He added, “So step the fuck back,” for his own satisfaction.
Tom’s eyes widened slightly, but he edged back to his station. Matt took a deep breath and tried to stuff the bristling cop back inside the bartender suit that was starting to feel like a straitjacket.
Finally, last call came and Natalie worked her way through the bar, ushering the stragglers out into the parking lot, calling a cab for anyone too drunk to drive. Matt helped the limo driver get the loose-limbed, completely intoxicated bachelorette party into the backseat, an innuendo-filled process that brought back not-so-fond memories of his days on patrol. At least no one puked on him.
When he came back inside, Eve came around his end of the bar, leaned one hip against his station, and watched him work. It was rare for her to slow down even for a moment until the last employee left. He wiped down his section of the bar, then looked at her.
“Something wrong, boss?”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, her face serious.
Oh, thank you Jesus, she’d come to her senses and he was off the hook. He paused to wring out the bar towel, because this close he could smell the mint and rosemary in her hair, feel heat rising from her skin. “About…?”
“My dad knows the VP of HR at Lancaster Life. They’re hiring in the marketing department. Shocker, given the economy, but there you have it. I know you don’t have a business degree, but sociology’s pertinent to marketing, and I can vouch for your work ethic. Do you want me to see if I can get you an interview? It’s probably entry level, but you’d have a career track, and benefits. You could keep some shifts here for the money.”
Jesus. She was offering to help get him a job. A better job. The kind of job a bartender with a paraplegic brother and a stack of medical bills would want.