All About Evie by Beth Ciotta Page A

Somehow I resisted the urge to launch Arch’s phone against the wall.
    â€œI wasn’t thinking straight when I booked you on this,” he finally said. “I was in a hurry and you were…”
    â€œDesperate?”
    â€œYes, dammit.” He sighed. “Come home, Evie. I just got a call from Dooley’s. They’re looking for someone to host karaoke on Tuesday nights.”
    â€œPass.”
    â€œSomething else will come up.”
    â€œSomething already did.” I scooped up my toiletry bag and a change of clothes, forced myself to my feet. “I’ll see you in eight days, Michael.”
    He lowered his voice, and I had to wonder if Sasha was within earshot. “I don’t want you to get hurt, hon.”
    â€œLike Arch said…too late.” I thumbed off the power, calmly placed the phone on the desk. I headed for the bathroom without looking at the man my ex didn’t trust. I didn’t want to consider why. My brain was already reeling. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
    â€œI’ll order room service.”
    I waited until I was in the shower, hot water pounding, before I gave in to tears.

CHAPTER SIX
    L IFE WAS CRUEL .
    I watched Arch inhale a deluxe burger and fries while I picked at my salad. I didn’t even like salad. He also swilled beer while I sipped calorie-free, flavor-free water.
    The waiter had forgotten my wedge of lemon.
    â€œDo you always eat like that?” I asked.
    He aimed a ketchup-drenched fry at my boring rabbit food. “Do you?”
    â€œI’m watching my weight.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œYou’re kidding. Are you or are you not in entertainment?”
    â€œI’m a man,” he said by way of an answer. “Men like curves.” He chewed the fry, swilled more beer. “Let’s go over it one more time, yeah?”
    Considering my generous hips, I think he just complimented me, but I couldn’t be sure, and I wasn’t going to ask. Bad boy was all business now. Michael’s call had dampened his playful mood. I wasn’t happy about the call, either, although I felt better since the cry in the shower. I couldn’t wash away the hurt, but I did manage to rejuvenate my body. Swapping Sugar’s tight clothes for drawstring pants and an oversize Betty Boop T-shirt also helped. Ah, comfort.
    I’d taken longer in the bathroom than I’d intended, but no way, no how was I going to face Mr. Manly Man on our first night together sans beauty products.
    After drying my hair, I slathered my skin with French Vanilla lotion then applied mascara and sheer pink lip balm. Anything more would have been ridiculous considering we were going to turn in after dinner.
    â€œWould it help if I gave you the written profile?” Arch asked, offering me a sheet of paper from his notebook. “Gave you more time to absorb? I know it’s a bit of information.”
    I ignored the profile, stabbed a tomato wishing it were a meatball. Michael would have ordered me the burger without asking. Even though the salad held the appeal of grass, I decided it was kind of nice being in the company of a man who didn’t know me any better than I knew him. I decided now was a good time to dazzle Arch with one of my special skills.
    â€œMy name is Sugar Louise Dupont, maiden name Jones. Born and raised in Brooklyn, New York.” Something he’d revised since I’d adopted the accent on my own. “I’m a singer. Was a singer. A Vegas lounge lizard to be exact.” Another revision since I was too short to be a showgirl. “I bounced from stage to stage, man to man, looking for the perfect fit.” I batted my lashes. “Then I met you. It was love at first sight, well, for you, anyway. No wonder. You had a front-row seat at the midnight show as I performed “Fever” in a skintight gown—red—cut down to my navel and slit up to my thigh.”
    I ignored his