“Mm-hmm.” Eve kissed her again, slow and deep. “I’ll make it up to you another time.”
“Damn straight.” Josie’s eyes twinkled playfully.
“I really have to go, but my day will be a lot more comfortable now, thanks to you.”
“I’m glad.” Josie leaned against the headboard, one hand toying with the lavender tips of her hair.
Eve slid out of bed and dressed, and with another kiss, she was on her way. She rode the subway to her apartment, where she showered, put on fresh clothes, and headed to work. It felt like an eternity since she’d left the office yesterday, before her date with Josie and the night that followed.
Eve caught up on emails at her desk before making her way down to Greta’s office for a scheduled meeting. By now, her producer would have reviewed the footage from Dragonfly’s grand opening on Friday night and have feedback on how she thought it had gone. Eve rapped her knuckles against Greta’s door.
“Come in,” her producer called, and Eve pushed the door open. Inside, Greta sat behind her desk, glasses perched on her nose, typing briskly on her laptop. She looked up at Eve. “Your gay bar seems to be a success so far, eh?”
“Looks that way.” She perched on the guest chair, opening her laptop to take notes.
“Not exactly a surprise. All the businesses you help tend to do well, unless their owners completely fuck things up after you leave.”
“I don’t think Josie will fuck things up,” Eve said.
“Doesn’t really matter to me one way or another,” Greta said. “Sometimes, a little drama is good for ratings. And speaking of ratings, yours are still not where we’d like to see them as we consider your renewal.”
“Okay,” Eve said, sitting up straighter. God, she was tired of the constant fight for ratings. This was an aspect of television she’d never considered before becoming a part of it. “I’ll take another look at our advertising budget and see if there’s any room left to reallocate.”
“You can try, but at this point, things are pretty well set. Your episode with Josie Swanson’s bar is going to be our season two finale, so you need to focus on generating as much buzz for that episode as possible. We need drama. We need tears.”
“We have both of those things,” Eve assured her.
“What about the friend she hired as a bartender against your advice? He had a few mishaps on opening night. Let’s try to follow up on that. I mean it, Eve. You need to pull out all the stops on this one if you want a third season.”
Pain radiated through Eve’s lower back as that all-too-familiar tension crept back in. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll be filming your follow-up segment at the bar sooner than usual, since we’re on such a tight production schedule. I’d say it needs to be completed by next month this time. That gives us two weeks to get everything finalized before it airs.”
“Got it,” Eve said, noting the dates on her calendar.
“And if you get any whiff of drama between now and then, use that to your advantage during filming. Get us that million-dollar video teaser we can use in our promo for the episode. Remember, drama draws ratings.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Eve swallowed the urge to tell Greta where she could shove her request, because she would probably agree with her if she hadn’t spent last night in Josie’s bed. Despite her shower and change of clothes, the scent of Josie’s lotion still teased her every time she inhaled, andthiswas the problem with mixing business and pleasure. There was no way for Eve to be objective about anything to do with Josie or Dragonfly anymore.
* * *
Josie had ownedSwanson’s for over two years, but she’d never had a busier or more overwhelming week than Dragonfly’s first week in existence. She’d gotten fairly comfortable working with Adam and Elizabeth over the weekend, but on Tuesday, she worked her first shift with Lauren, and it felt like starting all over again.
They seemed to hit their stride together easily, though, which was good since they would be working the main bar together on weeknights. Lauren was energetic and experienced, and she had a great rapport with the customers.
By the time Dragonfly’s second Saturday rolled around, the crowd had thinned considerably, but Josie was still doing a steady business. The signature drinks had been popular, and a lot of customers were taking advantage of her delivery agreement with neighboring restaurants, having their dinner delivered to Dragonfly and drinking her liquor while they ate. That had been a stroke of genius on Eve’s part.
As for Eve, she’d been strictly business all week. Josie had seen her for two scheduled marketing meetings, but she hadn’t allowed so much as a kiss, even when they were alone. Josie had been so consumed by her work at Dragonfly this week, she hadn’t had time—or energy—to protest too hard, though. She’d spent every spare moment setting up ads the way Eve had shown her, maintaining her social media presence, and managing all the behind-the-scenes details that went into running the bar.
Still, Josie missed her. As she poured wine for a couple of women who’d just come in, she found herself hoping Eve might show up tonight the way she had last Saturday.
“You do still own this place.”
Josie looked at the woman in front of her as she set two glasses of shiraz on the bar. She’d definitely seen her in Swanson’s before, although not in a while, and Josie couldn’t remember her name, if she’d ever known it. “I do,” she said with a smile.
“I’m glad,” the woman said. “When I saw the new name out front, I thought you’d sold. I used to live around the corner.”
“I knew I remembered seeing you in here,” Josie said. “New name. New brand. What do you think?”
