Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck #8) - Emilia Finn Page 0,8

shake my distractions away and smile for the man who is the difference between Will and I making rent or not. “I’m sorry, Mr. McGrady. That last set was a little exhausting, so I’m still catching my breath.”

And so, with a gentle nod, he leads me toward a freight elevator. I don’t use it often… or ever. But with Evan’s possessive hand sitting on my hip, and his nose annoyingly nestled by my ear, he leads me wherever the hell he wants me to go.

Perhaps I can come up with a trillion ways not to sleep with this man. But it’s delicate, and I have to be careful. To know Evan McGrady, to work for this man, is like walking a tightrope.

One slip, and things could quickly go bad for me.

As soon as he closes the grate and hits the up button, he turns to me, so I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “Your set tonight, Prima, was…” I swear, if this were a commercial for Italian pasta sauce, Evan would kiss his fingers. “Perfect. Your repertoire grows.”

I smile as we approach the level above the changing room. The elevator stops, and another man, a dangerous man in a suit, opens the grate so that his suit jacket opens, and a shiny black gun glints and draws my eyes.

Evan nods for his man as we exit the car. “Leave us now.”

The man with the gun steps into the elevator, closes the grate, stares at the wall, and then he’s gone, leaving me all alone with Evan McGrady where no one else can see.

“Prima?” Evan repeats. “Your set. I was impressed.”

“Well, I hope so. I practice very hard, so it would be disappointing if I only performed the same menial moves day in, day out.”

“Your effort does not go unnoticed.” He wraps my left arm around his right, never mind the fact I’m wearing underwear and heels, and stepping up to his office door, he slides a key into the lock and opens it with a quiet click. Leading me in, he closes the door at our backs, and locks it up again, just to remind me I’m to go where I’m told, when I’m told.

And this… this is why I would never go to bed with this man.

“Would you like a drink, Victoria?”

He leaves me by the door and crosses his office to stop in front of a silver drink cart. Bottles of expensive alcohol line the mirror-top tray – vodka, scotch, port. He takes two short glasses, plucks the bottle of scotch from the bunch, and begins pouring.

My answer is no. I do not want a drink.

But saying so could possibly be bad for my health, so instead I smile for this handsome man, I accept the glass when he crosses back to me with two, then I tap mine against his and bring it to my lips to sip.

“Tonight was a good set.” I fake-drink. I bring the glass to my lips and tip it back, but my lips remain, for the most part, closed. Barely a dribble passes over my tongue, barely a few drops slide down my throat and make their way into my blood. “The crowd was thick.”

“It was.” Evan takes my hand and backs up slowly. A seduction, I suppose. He keeps going until he sits on the edge of his desk, then he pulls me between his legs and looks up into my eyes. “Having you on that stage is good for business, Prima. Very, very good for business.”

“I think that was a compliment,” I jest. “Thank you.”

“It was,” he rumbles. “You’re the best dancer I have.”

“Lita is good too.” She wants him, she can have him. “We’re only as good as our partner up there, and Lita has something special. She knows how to make the men toss more money our way.”

“Mm.” His smile creeps up, his eyes dance with mirth. And around my hand, his fingers slide, probe, massage. “You’re an asset to Zeus’ stage,” he continues as though I never spoke of Lita. “But it doesn’t bring me pleasure to see you up there.”

“It doesn’t?”

My stomach drops with a whoosh. Nerves. Panic that maybe he’s ready to fire me… and there are rumors around here that fire is code for a permanent removal from society.

“I will practice more,” I promise. “I didn’t think I took a misstep, but I’m open to critique and will do better.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no.” He takes my barely touched drink and