Once I arrive, I make a point of greeting our bartender first. “Hi, Pablo. Alfonso tells me one of these gentlemen would like to speak to me.”
Good. I kept my tone casual and hinted at not knowing which one of them wants my company. This should be enough to start me with a clean slate, right?
Pablo nods. “Sure. I need to get back to work anyway. But, Eva, I’m here if you need anything,” he adds with a reassuring tone.
I answer his protectiveness with a smile. I always find it endearing how Pablo watches over us—his dancers, as he loves to call us. We can always count on him to rescue us from an unpleasant conversation. Will I need his services tonight…?
Guys who request to speak to me after seeing me dance normally fall into three categories.
Group one is made up of customers, mostly drunk, who want to book a private performance with me. Like that would ever happen. Group two, the tiniest of the three, are genuine dance fans. Some truck drivers just have gentle and artistic souls. Group three is basically group one with slightly more style—minus the alcohol. These men have the same shady intentions, but go about it in a more socially acceptable manner. They usually invite me out for dinner, as if paying for a meal is supposed to help them lure me into their beds.
I dislike this last group even more than their drunken pals. Men who pretend to be something they’re not make me sick. Especially after Fernando.
Pablo steps over to a couple to take their orders, leaving me no excuse to keep looking away from the dark demi-god and his friend. I pivot slowly toward them and hold out my hand to the guy with the blondish curls. “Hi, I’m Eva.”
The blond man’s face is friendlier though less attractive. He isn’t dressed as formally as his friend, although his casual tweed jacket and buttoned-down green shirt must be of designer brands, too. He shakes my hand enthusiastically. “I’m Murphy. Nice to meet you, Eva. And I loved, loved, loved your performance.”
His voice is warm and filled with honesty, which makes me take him into sympathy at once. “Black Angel…huh?” he continues. “I’d say Black Siren would be more suitable… What do you think, Nathan?” He taps his friend’s shoulder.
Nathan doesn’t flinch under his touch. His eyes are fixated on my face as he murmurs, “I think Black Angel is perfect, brother.”
Brother?
Huh, I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that. These two men seem to have little in common, except the expensiveness of their attire. I blink into Nathan’s grey eyes. “Nice to meet you, too. Nathan?”
“Yes, Nathan. And the pleasure is all mine, Eva.”
He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. He blows a feathery kiss on my skin. Despite my best intention, the slightly rough feel of his fingertips and his almost too firm hold on my skin turn his gallant gesture into something unsettling.
I quickly withdraw my hand and smooth back my hair. “Wow, I didn’t realize this kind of knightly greeting is still in.”
“It is when you meet someone worthy of it,” Nathan says with a straight face.
Murphy lets out a bemused snort.
I can’t blame him. Nathan’s phrase is too cheesy to be true, and thus it should make me cringe. But maybe because he’s accompanied it with his solemn glint instead of a trashy smirk, I don’t mind it that much.
“So…do you two work for AMEA?” I ask, but as I see their eyes widen, I quickly add, “I heard it from one of the dancers. She saw a few folders with the logo in one of your cars. She didn’t spy on you, just walked by and noticed.”
“That would be Nathan’s car. I drive the other matchbox.” Murphy grins. “And, no, I don’t work for the company. I’m actually a psychologist.”
Bingo. I knew Nathan had to be the one with the Bentley.
“Ah, I see. Psychologist? Wow. A great profession you’ve chosen! Helping others is probably the most noble way to earn your living, right?” I exchange Murphy’s smile with one of my own. Though I don’t know Murphy at all, I can perfectly picture people opening up to him. He has this positive vibe around him that puts me at ease.
How odd that his brother exercises the exact opposite effect on me.
I let my glance travel to Nathan. “So it’s you who works for that company, then?”
Nathan cocks his head to the side. “Sort of…”
I shift my weight on my heels. What kind of answer is this? This guy wanted to speak to me, right? So why isn’t he getting on with it? Does he get a kick out of saying less than he’s expected to?
Nathan blinks at his brother, as if to signal something.
Murphy first stares at him, then jerks back. “Oh, yeah, yeah right. I actually have a…call.” He pulls out his phone, taps on the screen a few times, and presses it to his ear. He gives me an apologetic smile. “Would you two mind giving me some privacy?”
It’s a ridiculous excuse. He won’t hear anything in this loud place. Why doesn’t he go outside? I’m about to say this when Nathan stands up and comes over to me. His sudden closeness distracts me.
He’s almost a head taller than me. His jacket’s elegant fabric stretches over his shoulders in an appealing way. His eyes bore into me as he says, “Sooo,” stretching the word out as if to fill it with more meaning than the actual syllable should allow.
Or maybe it’s the increasing intensity of his gaze that makes me think that.
I shrug to stop my body’s awkward reaction to his deep baritone. “So? Are you going to tell me why you requested my company?”
Nathan points at the dining area at the
