With Addie happy, healthy, alive—
This meal is priceless.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep things this way.
When we can no longer take the heat of the apartment, we head to Central Park. The sweltering subway station. The frigid car. The wide open air of Columbus Circle.
Cold brews from Dunkin Donuts. (Not the best quality, but they’re cheap and strong). Then we find a nice spot on the grass and we read.
The Bell Jar for me.
A non-fiction book for her. Something about physics. Something way over my head.
After a few hours, we part. Addie on her way to meet with a friend from Mathlympics. Me to a coffee shop with strong air-conditioning.
I reapply my makeup in the bathroom. Double-check my work clothes.
I have the entire afternoon, but it doesn’t make sense to go back home. Even if I am craving the quiet privacy.
The very, very hot quiet privacy.
I find a seat upstairs. Don my headphones. Turn over his card.
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.
He wants something from me.
But what?
I should probably make him wait. That’s what Britney always suggests. Men want what they can’t have. You can’t be too available.
I guess that’s why she always keeps her plaid skirt on.
Or maybe she’s only talking about men outside the club. Men worth her time.
Ian is a customer.
But it was so strange… like he was there just to see me. He barely looked at the stage.
He wants something from me.
Maybe it’s a “punk bitch” bartender for his poker game.
Maybe it’s more.
Whatever it is…
I have to know.
Chapter Seven
Ian
On Saturdays, I fly for a local hospital.
It’s a long day. There isn’t a lot of med-vac this close to the city. Mostly hospital to hospital organ transfers.
Lots of built up energy.
I finish equal parts wide-eyed and knackered.
After five kilometers on the treadmill and a long shower, I’m steady.
Then I check my phone.
See her text.
Lose my even keel.
My veins surge with adrenaline. Desire. Excitement.
Eve: Are you at the office today? It’s a Saturday. I can wait until Monday, if that’s easier. This is Eve, by the way.
Raw need. A need I don’t recognize. A need I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
I reply immediately.
Ian: I can be.
Eve: I assume it’s downtown?
Ian: I can send a car to you.
Eve: No, I’m a subway girl. Besides, it’s probably farther for you.
She’s curious about my life. Where I live. What I’m doing.
Or am I imagining things?
I want her too much. It’s clouding my thoughts.
Ian: A subtle way to ask where I live. You would make a good spy.
Eve: Or maybe I do make a good spy.
Ian: Then it’s dangerous for me to accept.
Eve: Probably.
Ian: How about dinner?
Eve: How about it?
Ian: We meet at a restaurant. I buy you dinner. It’s public. Safer.
Eve: You’re afraid of me?
Ian: Shouldn’t I be?
Is she smiling? Laughing? Does she realize how much power she already has over me?
Eve: There’s this Margaret Atwood quote. Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid men will kill them.
Ian: That’s what I would say if I was a female assassin.
Eve: Would you admit the possibility you’re out for blood?
Ian: Hide in plain sight.
Eve: It might work.
Fuck, is she always this adorable?
Ian: I’m happy to meet you at the office. But it will be the two of us. Alone.
Eve: I have work tonight.
She doesn’t need to work tonight. But one thing at a time.
Ian: I stay up late. You can come after.
Eve: Nothing is open after.
Ian: Is that a test?
Eve: No, I’m sure you know someplace open at 3 a.m. But I prefer to crash after a long night.
My head fills with a beautiful image.
Eve, tangled in white sheets, her head falling back, her lips parting with a cry that’s half pleasure, half pain, all need.
Ian: A private club then. Near your establishment.
Eve: That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever called Devil’s Point.
Ian: You know Brits. Always polite.
Eve: Are you?
Ian: No.
Eve: Six o’clock.
Ian: I can send a car.
Eve: Just the address.
Ian: And my bulletproof vest?
Eve: If you think that will stop me.
Chapter Eight
Eve
The man at the security desk shoots me a curious look. What are you doing here?
I flash him my best smile, but that does nothing to help matters. If anything, he’s more suspicious.
This isn’t my wisest idea. Not in this wardrobe.
Heeled combat boots. Short skirt. Sleeveless top with corset lacing.
All black, of course. It’s easy. It looks badass. And it screams New York. Even on a hot day. New Yorkers don’t break for weather. We don’t admit weakness for snow, rain, or heat.
I ignore the guard as I move to the elevator. Hit the button for the thirty-second floor. The restaurant. In the middle of an office building.
But I guess that’s New York too. No space to waste.
A man in a sleek suit gets in after me. A couple in dressy attire. Two guys talking business.
One of them shoots me that same look. Clearly, you don’t belong here. The other’s expression is more familiar. Something I see at the club all the time. Sweet little girl, let me corrupt you.