The Slot (Rochester Riot #1)(7)
Eloise felt her cheeks flush in spite of the temperature. She could see their breath floating in the cold air between them.
Say something witty. Flirt with him. Say anything, you dolt.
“Thank you,” she said, gave him her rigid back and handed over her money for the paper. Grabbing the newspaper and the doughnuts, she searched for him through her peripheral vision, eager for one more hit of adrenaline, but man candy had already stepped away toward the curb. On a whim, Eloise peeled away a corner of the cellophane and plucked out one sugary little ring.
“Consolation prize,” she said, offering it to him. “I can never get enough of these things,” she conceded. “My one guilty pleasure.”
“Only one?” he said with a smirk. “Guilty pleasure, I mean?” He popped the hole into his mouth and moaned, the sound better than Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Heat crawled up her legs to pool in her panties. God, she wanted to hear him groan for the rest of her life. Or just one night.
Did I just say that? Even in my own mind? How unlike Eloise Robertson of me.
A car cruised up in front of where they stood. “Thanks for the bite. This is me,” he said, reaching for the door handle of the sleek vehicle, a Lincoln Town Car.
Eloise couldn’t help but notice his lean and powerful legs clad in ripped blue jeans as he slid into the waiting back seat. Kylie’s words popped into her head. “Hey, you aren’t by any chance a poet, are you?” she blurted.
He paused, took his glasses off, and tossed them in the open door. Turning back, he speared her with a knowing look and her heart skipped a beat. His eyes. The orbs were so blue they could have been Hawaiian lagoons. She felt naked in front of him. She felt exposed and vulnerable like never before.
She felt something.
“Nope. But I have been told I have a way with words. Dirty words. Have a great night, doughnut-lady.”
Eloise hissed in a breath and spun on her stiletto to hurry back to the ramp. Poets didn’t usually get escorted in Lincoln Town Cars. Judging by his looks and age, he was more likely some spoiled rich boy hitching a ride in daddy’s limo or a rock star, neither choice being acceptable for Eloise Robertson to date. She laughed at herself all the way to her car.
Date. Who was she kidding? Man candy hadn’t been interested in her at all.
Chapter Three
“You’ve been summoned,” Kylie said as Eloise arrived at the office Monday morning.
Kylie stood at the coffee machine, brewing El’s favorite half coffee, half steamed milk concoction that no-one else seemed able to replicate quite the same way. Just one more reason why El loved her indispensable PA.
“Summoned?” Eloise asked. “Pray tell, who doth summoned such a lowly wench as I?”
Kylie giggled as she walked alongside Eloise, ferrying her coffee as they entered her private office. “Are you practicing for the Renaissance Festival again? Okay. I’ll play along. Why, King Murphy of course. Don’t forget to address him as ‘Sire’ when you get there,” she said. “And tighten your corset. You have a great rack. That might help win his favor.”
“Ick. That’ll be a frosty day in the Kingdom when that happens,” Eloise said. “Where exactly am I supposed to be, and when?” She began to unbutton her coat and shrug out of it so she could hang it on the oak clothes tree.
“Leave your coat on. He wants you at the building site for a walk-through. Nine sharp.” Kylie handed Eloise her coffee. “If I had any of Murphy’s Finest, I’d have put a shot in your cup. Fortification and all that.”
Eloise stuck out her tongue. “Gross. Irish whiskey in coffee… no thanks.” She took a sip from the steaming mug. The taste of any kind of whiskey turned her stomach, truth be told, but the success of Murphy’s empire certainly proved that enough people disagreed with her opinion. “Not that Irish whiskey doesn’t have its place,” she mused. “Like at a toga party for Alpha Psi. But this,” she hoisted her cup in the air, “is perfect the way it is. You should never mess with a good thing.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Kylie said, throwing up two fingers in an oath. “What’d you do this weekend, El?”
“Not much. Had one of my Netflix binges,” she said, wrapping her coat around her again. “I’m really digging Orange Is The New Black. Did you know that the actress that plays Yoga Jones was the voice of Patty Mayonnaise? Small world. You?”
“Oh, I went shopping with my girlfriends. Then to a party on Saturday. Sunday I spent at the spa getting hot rocks stacked up on my spine…it was awesome. You should come with me some time, El. Beats Netflix in your yoga pants with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.”
“Don’t knock it til you try it, zen queen. Gotta run, King Murphy awaits my presence to prostrate at his throne of douchedom,” Eloise said, grabbing her iPad and making an exit before Kylie could comment further on her lifestyle. She meant well, but some days Kylie’s constant efforts to jazz up Eloise’s private life got on her nerves. “That guy’s puffed up with so much arrogance he could give Donald Trump a boner.”
It took about ten minutes to walk from the corporate offices through the arena and access the site for Murphy’s Finest Whiskey Pub and Event Center at the east end of the complex. Ten minutes for her feet to start aching on top of her four-inch platforms. Had she known she was going on a field trip, she’d have brought some flats to change into for the trek.