“Give me a break. Do you really think I would take orders from some man? Some gangster? I would probably end up killing the guy and hangin’ for it.”
“You took orders from me for years,” he stated with pride, settling lazily back in his chair.
Charlie’s face softened, and she gave him a dopey grin. “That was different. I love you.”
“You were a good kid.”
She knew where she stood. “You’re only sayin’ that ‘cause I’m a dead shot with a gun.”
“It didn’t hurt.”
They both started chuckling, the undercurrent of tension fading just in time for Martha’s return. Standing, so the scheming couple could talk about the little interlude, Charlie excused herself so she might powder her nose too.
* * *
He’d managed to find a spot at the bar running the length of the crowded ballroom. Steady, Matthew took in every face, sipping on overpriced whiskey and watching for any sign of trouble. It was the same he’d seen at any watering hole—voices got loud, smiles and tempers growing larger. Only at the Drake, the consumers were all dressed in fancy clothes and wearing perfume.
His position offered barely any glimpses of her profile or the chiseled face of the clean-shaven gangster turned towards her. From the moment he saw Tommy smiling at her, wearing the leer of a man thinking only one thing, Matthew wanted to rip the pretty boy’s goddamn head off.
The crystal tumbler went back to Matthew’s mouth, ice clanking against the glass as he drained it. He’d watched her dance with the prick—glowing, laughing, while the gangster pulled her close enough their bodies touched. When Tommy had bent her back over his arm like some goddamn prince charming, Matthew was sorely tempted to walk right over and pop him in the mouth.
“Matthew?” Sultry and timid, dulcet and cool—the practiced voice of a flirtatious woman—a voice he never thought he’d hear again, cut through his murderous thoughts. “Matthew, what are you doing here?”
Charlie was still bent over Tommy’s arm, laughing in the distance, but Matthew could no longer see her, his line of vision blocked by the beauty of one Alice Mulberry.
Dressed in the short sequined uniform of a cocktail waitress, all her dark hair styled and smooth, she offered a coquettish smirk. The way she caressed his arm and leaned nearer, the warmth in her eyes... it was just how she’d used to look at him when she’d come to work at the grill.
“Look at you. All spruced up in a fine suit.” Alice gave him a proper once over. “A regular gentleman.”
Jesus H. Christ.
“Excuse me, Alice.” Leaning a bit to the side, Matthew found no sign of the golden girl on the dance floor. Pale eyes darted around, looking for a flash of blonde in the crowd. The second he saw Charlotte seated alone with Radcliffe, Matthew was not certain if he was relieved or concerned—especially considering the aggressive set of Charlotte’s shoulders. But it seemed she was holding her own, not at all intimidated by a man Matthew knew was nothing but bad.
As if Alice took his behavior for shyness, she reached up, cupping his freshly shaved cheek to entice his attention. “Was it fate, or did you come looking for me?”
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Taking her wrist and removing her hand from his face, Matthew explained, “I’m here on business.”
She smirked, shaking her head. “Then let’s mix it with pleasure. My shift ends in an hour. Stick around and I’ll take you to the best place in the city for coffee.”
Matthew gave a noncommittal grunt, too busy once he realized Charlotte was gone again to notice Alice sauntered away. Again, the golden girl had disappeared. He let out a breath, glaring at the crowd that kept swallowing her up. And then there she was, her head down, walking right towards him.
That dress… the satin flowed over each dip and curve, revealing more of Charlotte’s body with each step she took nearer. It was impossible to miss the hungry looks of other men, how they openly stared at her rear and draped bosom. He hated it. Fisting his hands, knuckles cracking, Matthew leveled a death glare on the most forward gawkers, missing the look of outrage the golden girl pointed right at him the instant she spotted the interloping Emerson in the crowd.
Chapter 13
Matthew Emerson, dressed in a fine suit, clean shaven, hair trimmed, and more handsome then she could say, stood amongst the snobby Chicago masses as if he had a right to be there.
He didn’t. Which led Charlie to snarl, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Caught growling at a man ogling her behind, Matthew’s pale eyes snapped to the irate woman, his answer simple, “I’m here to keep an eye on you.”
Lashes flared at the insult. “Why? You think I’m squealing to Radcliffe about your stills? That I’m gonna muck up your deal?”
“Of course not, Charlotte.” Clearing his throat, wishing he could loosen the damn tie, Matthew spoke over the din, “I’m here in case you need me.”
Fidgeting with her hair, brows drawing together, Charlie frowned. “So you followed me here from Monroe? Are Nathaniel and Eli spying too?”