Had she been any less conflicted, her mind’s confusion warring with her body’s fierce attraction, the lavish British Pavilion was enough it might have overwhelmed her. As it was, however, Evelyn could only stare about her numbly, scarcely taking in any of it at all.
She’d never been kis
Bleary-eyed and exhausted, Andrew stumbled into the bathroom of his Park Avenue apartment in the morning. The rising sounds of morning traffic could be heard faintly through his bedroom windows, accompaniment to the rosy peal of dawn, and the familiarity was both relaxing and annoying simultaneously.Flipping the lightswitch, he groaned at the stark brightness, and by muscle memory, turned on the cold water. Stooping over the sink, he cupped his hands, splashing the water over his face a few times to help him wake up.With his dripping hands and face dangling over the sink, he slumped there, eyes closed for several long breaths.He’d slept poorly. Not because anything significant required his immediate attention, aside from contacting the Trust’s security company and ordering a nightwatchman stationed at Evelyn’s apartment on Waverly, which he’d already done, but because he’d been unable to get her out of his head. Not the florally-clean fragrance that permeated the space near her. Not
Catching at Mr. James’ arm, Evelyn smiled and shook her head. “I don’t mind walking, Mr. James. It’s only a few blocks to Murphy’s.”“We don’t have to go there, you know.” He looked down his narrow nose at her, glanced about them at the foot traffic moving along the sidewalk in front of the Trust. “I’ll take you anywhere you like.”Evelyn blushed. She knew he would—he’d made that entirely clear the evening before at the Fair. In those thrilling moments, it had been a marvelous fantasy to succumb to his charms and let him. As much as it filled her night and her dreams, in the stark light of day, Mr. James was still a man with a family—a married man with a family—and regardless of the terms of that marriage, continuing blindly invited only heartbreak for them both.Potentially worse for her.“I don’t mind. It makes Mr. Murphy happy to see regular customers. It’s really all he lives for.”“What do you mean?”Though Evelyn had started walking towards the popular bagel shop ahead of him, w
Only Evelyn wasn’t the only one with a stake in the relationship, and Mr. James was a brilliant financer with his eye on a lucrative investment.“Miss Moore.”Evelyn’s fingers froze on the keys of her typewriter. Did his sophisticated voice have to intoxicate her recalcitrant ears and drag her whole unrepentant body willingly along with them? As if to add to its impact, he hadn’t shouted for her from inside his office—he was standing close behind her, directly off one shoulder, probably in the doorway. She spun her chair to face him. “Yes, sir?”Naturally, she’d been correct.Andrew James leaned casually in the doorframe, ankles crossed and one hand tucked in his trouser pocket. In his other, he held his essentially empty coffee mug—still the clear pink Federal glass one she’d brought from home for him. Despite that the thirty-eighth floor kitchenette was stocked with a complete set of fine porcelain glazed mugs provided for guests, he’d refused to relinquish the one Evelyn had provide
“Lily, you look terrible. What’s happened?” Evelyn could barely believe the change in her friend’s face in the intervening time since lunch and when she stepped off the lift to go home for the evening.Looping her arm with Evelyn's Lily pulled her along, across the Trust's busy lobby and out the revolving door, glancing about as if to avoid someone. “I can’t wait for this week to end," she snapped as they flowed into the rush hour sidewalk traffic towards the subway. They were more than a block away when she finally explained, “Mickey came by my desk this afternoon.”“Oh no.”“Oh yes.”Lily rubbed her temples with her fingertips, and gasping, Evelyn supported her down the stairs into the subway lest she fall.“When I told him I was busy, he absolutely insisted and dragged me aside. So I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore.”“Oh dear.” She studied Lily as they stood on platform. “I’m so sorry.” Evelyn paused until the noise of the train pulling in stopped and they could get on. “Y
Striding out of his office, Mr. James straightened his cufflinks and tugged his sleeves. “Our appointment this morning, Miss Moore. Are you ready?” Setting aside her work, Evelyn rose and removed her purse and hat from her personal armoire. Fishing out her office key, she replied, “Yes sir,” following him across the outer office to the thirty-eighth floor lobby where she locked the door behind her and turned, only to bump face first directly into Mr. James’ chest, so close was he behind her. All morning she’d been distracted, her ambivalent mind cycling through her own admonishments and Lily’s suggestions, vacillating over choices she didn’t even know if she had. Relieved of responsibility for everything save walking, she turned each thought over and over, examining and re-examining, trying to make sense of her situation. Trying to decide what to do. What she wanted. Evelyn stood still be
“Good evening, Miss Moore. Shall we?”Dressed in one of her new suits and a matching hat, Evelyn smiled at Mr. James standing outside her apartment door, watching for the slightest reaction. If he was pleased to see what his investment had wrought, disappointingly, he gave no indication of it. “Yes, just one moment, please.”Hurrying across the hallway, Evelyn rapped lightly on Lily’s door and immediately it flew open as her best friend, still dressed for work but now barefoot, tumbled into her arms in a fierce hug. “Write me every day, Evie! Promise!”Hugging Lily back, Evelyn laughed, but she felt the separation keenly already and blinked back tears before someone could see them. “Promise. You’ll have perfectly boring bedtime reading material by the time I’m done. I love you, Lily.”“And I love you. Do have fun.” Craning to look over Evelyn’s shoulder, Lily waved. “Take good care of her, please, Mr. James.”“You have my word, Miss Henderson.” Glancing at his watch, Mr. James straight
It was only the Titan force of his will that removed Andrew from her bedroom, a bower made enthrallingly luxurious by Evelyn’s divine grace—perfumed silk of her hair, luminous velvet of her skin—and drove him with brutal determination across their shared drawing room, into the miserable space of his own. A ravenous wolf clamored inside him, biting and clawing and tearing at his formidable but not unlimited self-discipline. Ineffable, the extraordinary assault on his senses from a simple breathless moan when he’d tucked the errant tag of her gown and realized only the thin sheath of delicate fabric stood between him and quenching the most insatiable thirst he’d ever known.Ooohh, how this clever design of his had backfired, he chuckled mirthlessly, pacing the ten-foot space of his sleeping quarters like the caged animal he’d been reduc
Justin Mitchell? Evelyn stared at the younger financer—Lily’s financer—who she’d seen only a few days before when she’d attempted to collect his monthly reconciliations for Andrew. Out of the Trust’s context, he appeared completely oblivious of her identity, though Evelyn knew exactly how it could be so. If these two needed to talk, why come all the way to Chicago to do it? she wondered. “Justin.” Andrew smiled politely, extending his hand to shake the younger man’s. “I trust your journey was pleasant?” Gesturing to padded barstools at the bar with him, Justin resumed his seat, tucking Evelyn between both men. “Most pleasant,” he assured them. “What young man could complain of being invited to such a gem as Tip Top Tap? Why, I see even the stoic and unflappable Mr. James finds himself seduced by the glorious venue.” Though he spoke about
“Stop, Peter!” Sarah exclaimed, whirling to face behind her. She shot her brother an angry glare. “Peter, for pity’s sake, don’t throw dirt clods at your sister,” Andrew called over his shoulder, shifting his swaddled, sleeping son from his right shoulder to his left as they walked the long, tree-lined drive that led to the James’ estate, perched with its back on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Gulls rode the ocean updrafts in the afternoon sun above the glistening water, occasionally diving when something of interest caught their eye. On the opposite side of the tree-lined drive, his wife’s tiny orchard of glossy-leaved oranges in full bloom left a sweet scent drifting over the drive on the warm, salty breeze off the sea. Not far away, Evelyn's gated garden was growing lush with upright stalks of corn, twined in the loving arms of pole beans with the wide leaves of squash spreading in a carpet at their feet along the ground in one row. In another, her tomatoes were already d
“M-ma-ma.” The stuttering word was an alarming half-sob and half-gurgle from the wounded Becky. “M-ma-m-ma.” Dear God! Whoever it was had shot her! That poor, helpless girl! Why!? She wasn’t a threat! And there was absolutely nothing here of any value! Evelyn’s heart leapt to her throat and hammered painfully. But she stayed close to the wall, inching forward on tiptoe to clutch at Andrew’s jacket. She pointed to the floor where their shadows fell long across it from the single overhead lamp in the middle of the room. If they drew too close to the door, their shadows would be visible to the intruder in the darkened hall leading to the bedrooms. She pointed to the window, and Andrew jerked his chin towards it in acknowledgement. Escape. They had to escape. Outside, on the sidewalk, they could summon the patrolling police officer. They could summon help. Men trained for this. Men with other guns. They had to move fast. Miranda’s daughter needed them. Even above the scuffling noises fr
Andrew rose slowly to his feet, an antagonized muscle twitching along his clean-shaven jaw. His expression looked like a bomb about to explode. Evelyn drew a sudden breath, one hand clapping over her mouth. She stared, in turns, first at Will, then at Miranda, and her mind whirled. What was it Alexander Lowell had said the day that Detective Kelly had attempted to arrest her? The same day he’d later resigned from the police department. Something about the detective being fed what he needed to lay an accusation upon Evelyn. The question of ‘why’ anyone cared about a lowly former secretary enough to attempt to kill her, let alone invest the effort in framing her was growing more convoluted by the minute. But it was clear it was centered here, with the account belonging to Glorietta Moreno and her rights as an heir to it. “It’s a stretch,” Andrew said softly, nodding towards Miranda, “but I can see why your mother might have had Russell’s name on that account. N
“You folks just planning on waiting?” their cabbie asked, his dark eyes studying Andrew and Will in the rearview mirror, despite that Evelyn was seated between them. “Meter’s running. Makes no never mind to me if you do, but I’ll have to circle the block or the flatfoots will cite me.” “How long do we have to decide?” Andrew asked, reluctant to have the cab move on the off chance that they might miss Miranda's departure for work during the process. “’Nother minute or two at most.” “Thank you.” He shifted slightly on the cab’s rear seat so he could better see his companions. “I know we’re early, but if she’s keeping business hours, I’d have expected she’d have to allow time to travel to a workplace. You’re certain this is the building, Will?” “It’s the place,” he replied definitively. “I can go in and wait. Tail her to wherever she’s going, then come get you.” “Is it possible she recognized you yesterday?” Evelyn asked, peering through the murk
The dancing had worked like a charm. For a couple of hours. Andrew had managed to get just shy of another couple hours on top of that, burning time off the afternoon by alternating between listening to the orchestra rehearse, dancing, and finally, by slipping a bribe to the broadcasting staff to show Evelyn their equipment set-up and to take their sweet time about it. After that, she’d become too fretful to do much beyond distractedly, which had quickly spoiled the ballroom option for both of them. They’d retired to their drawing room, taken afternoon tea, then Evelyn’s pacing had begun again in earnest. He had to admit, watching her as she combed through her drying hair at the dressing table, it might be time to worry about Will a little. It was going on eight o’clock. Late by any business standard, but certainly well past the time when most diners catering to the kind of clients they’d seen at the DeBaliviere Diner and Waffle House would be visiting
Wednesday morning in St. Louis dawned dark and gloomy and only marginally better than it had been upon their arrival early afternoon on Monday. When Evelyn emerged from the bedroom into the drawing room where he and the constantly-moving Will waited, Andrew flicked the newspaper he’d been reading down and smiled. They’d all slept poorly—again. They’d all woken late—again—and after their enjoyable brunch yesterday, both men were eager to see what other offerings were available in the East Lounge’s dining area. “Well?” she asked, her red-tinged and particle-irritated eyes roving the drawing room’s lush furnishings, immediately spotting the unmistakable coating of fine black powder and ash. “Are we trapped inside again today? It seems faintly better.” Will snorted. “By comparison to yesterday, being buried in black sand would seem better.” Andrew chuckled, setting aside the St. Louis Star-Times he’d been reading. He rifled through a stack of newspapers o
The hotel’s ballroom was a gently baroque style. Its elegant space was replete with all manner of luxuries one would expect of a high-profile hotel, no matter where one might visit in the world—custom paneled with artfully etched-mirror and plaster walls, gold-leafed accents and intricate crown moldings. Above the near-magical dancefloor, which was lit from below, hung in the decorative ceiling, a ponderous crystal chandelier lit the warm wooden dancefloor beneath it. Along the periphery, undulating balconies supported by Corinthian pilasters gave an air of classicism to the space, but one not overly staid. These generous galleries provided seating for those who had only come for a meal, to watch the dancing or to listen to the orchestra. They’d dressed for a late dinner, but though the orchestra played, their music broadcast exactly as Evelyn had always dreamed of experiencing, she and Andrew hadn’t danced. In fact, they hadn’t stayed much longer than
“The Coronado was built, and I believe is now run, by Preston Bradshaw,” Andrew advised more than an hour later as their cab pulled away from the curb at the train depot. “He graduated from Columbia with my brother, Russell. The two were quite good friends as I recall. My father introduced him to Stanford White in New York City where he worked before returning to St. Louis. He’s responsible for the monumental hotels on Lindell Boulevard. The Melbourne and the Coronado at midtown and the theatre district. And opposite, near the Central West end, the Chase and the Forest Park hotels were also his commissions.” “Did you know him?” Evelyn asked, closing her burning eyes and resting her head against his shoulder. “Is that why we’re staying at the Coronado?” She left unspoken the reminder that the Coronado Hotel, in particular the hotel’s famed Caprice Club, was where they’d found Charlotte to serve Andrew’s divorce paperwork after their tip-off from the Princes in Los Angeles.
The following morning Evelyn woke alone. She could tell by the way his belongings were packed that Andrew had already risen. If she was any guess, he was taking advantage of the train’s onboard barber, which meant she had time to bathe and dress without his typical morning enthusiasm for both processes. Selecting a warm dress from her traveling case, she draped her clothing over the empty towel rack in the bathroom and rooted through her toiletries for her toothbrush and toothpowder. When she was done, she hung a fresh towel on the rack nearest the shower beside the still-damp one Andrew had used and stepped under the spray. The warm shower felt delightful and soothed the telltale soreness from her bedroom exertions with her husband the night before. Once she’d washed, she stood with the warm spray draining off of her and for the first time since they’d come, wondered what they were going to do in St. Louis. They had only the name of a diner and a hotel off t