Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Do you think his plan will work?” he asked.
I turned away from the ocean, staring at all the small closed shops on the boardwalk.
“I don’t know. I’ll know more when I know more about this Frank guy.”
“You heading in tonight?”
“I don’t see any point in putting it off,” I said as I started walking until I came upon the casino in question. “If he can pull this off,” I said, looking up at the white building with the blue-tinted windows, “this could mean a lot of money kicked-up to us.”
“Good. So get the job done, get Remo what he needs, and get home to count your money.”
That was the plan.
So I had to find my way in.
But not yet.
Dom, playing a normal gambler, could make a daytime appearance.
For me, though, no high-rolling businessman would be at a casino for the first time in the afternoon.
So I grabbed something to eat, made my way back to the hotel, snuck in a quick workout to rid myself of the restless energy clinging to me, then showered and changed before checking out information about The Golden Anchor on my laptop, trying to figure out where a guy with my cover might be hanging out.
Then I saw it.
A piano bar.
Perfect.
CHAPTER FOUR
Roe
I was on my last set of the night, already halfway through a song about attraction feeling like a fever when the door suddenly opened.
And there he was.
I almost forgot my next lyric as his dark eyes zeroed right in on me.
It was a look that had impact.
I swear I nearly went back a step.
I mean, attractive men were a dime a dozen.
And he was that. Attractive. Tall, fit, chiseled face, broody brows, neatly styled hair, a tattoo or two sneaking out from his collar.
But it was more than that.
There was an air of authority around him, that deep-rooted confidence oozing from his pores.
Suddenly, I wasn’t just singing the lyrics; I was feeling them.
The stage light felt too hot. My dress was too tight. My skin felt too warm, too constrictive.
All the while, he just stood there staring.
It wasn’t until the last notes of the song drifted away that he finally moved, making a beeline for the rounded booth closest to the stage.
I spent the next three songs trying to focus my attention out toward the crowd in general, never quite focusing on anyone, but also somehow making everyone feel like I was singing right to them.
All the while, though, I felt his gaze on me. I was acutely aware of each shift he made, the way his hand flexed around his glass of whiskey, how the liquid glistened on his lips after he took a sip.
As I sang the last few notes of a song about kissing, all I could think about was walking over to him, dropping onto his lap, and tasting the liquor on his lips.
The familiar chorus of soft applause met my ears as I shot the room a smile and blew a couple of kisses.
I didn’t even get a step away from the mic when a shadow fell over me.
Then there he was.
At the edge of the stage, offering me a hand to help me down. Even though it was hardly more than a step.
My hand slid into his.
I felt the sizzle of it all the way up my arm.
“Thank you.”
“Have dinner with me.”
It wasn’t the first time a guest had asked me out.
It was the first time I actually considered it.
“I’m afraid I—”
“Monroe.”
I barely resisted the urge to growl at the sound of Frank’s voice.
My eyes slid closed, and I exhaled hard before turning to look at him.
“Yes, Frank?” I asked, my smile tight.
His gaze went three places: my boobs, my face, then where my hand was still sitting in the stranger’s.
“Who’s your friend?” he asked, trying to square his shoulders to have more presence. It was no use. Not when he was standing next to a guy like this handsome stranger.
“That’s a good question,” I said with a genuine smile for the man.
“Milo,” he said, addressing me. Then, looking to Frank, “Milo Grant.”
“Frank Martin,” Frank said, thrusting out a hand so Milo had no choice but to release my hand to shake his. But he didn’t do it without first bringing it to his lips for a kiss that I swear I felt in my knees. “And this is the incomparable Monroe London.”
It was a stage name. Well, the last name, at least. My first name genuinely was Monroe. But London had a ring to it that Langston didn’t quite accomplish.
“I was just asking Miss London to join me for dinner,” Milo said, dark eyes going to me again.
“I’m afraid she can’t,” Frank said.
“To Café 72,” Milo added.
That got Frank’s attention.
Hell, it got my attention.
Because Café 72 was the most exclusive restaurant in town. Meaning, yeah, the most expensive. And Frank really liked surrounding himself with the kind of people who would invite a complete stranger to dinner there.