“Pity,” Milo said.
I couldn’t tell if he was laying the charm on thick or if he was just that smooth. It was killing me that I wouldn’t get a chance to find out. Because a man like him wouldn’t be lonely long. He’dhave someone else sitting across from him at the restaurant in no time.
“You’re welcome to join,” Frank said.
“For what?” Milo asked.
“Some drinks. Cigars. Poker. And the company of Monroe, of course.”
God, he made me sound like an escort.
Milo’s gaze slid to me again, taking me in for a long moment before meeting Frank’s again.
“Where?”
Frank waved an arm out at the room that was already getting emptied of the little tables I adored so much.
“In that case,” Milo said, eyes on me again. “I’d love to.”
“Monroe, shouldn’t you be… freshening up?” Frank asked.
I held back the eye roll.
I was sure I still looked fine.
But I did need a cup of hot water for some soothing tea.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, offering Milo a smile.
I ignored Frank.
He got more than enough attention from me on an average day. And he was the one who wanted me to be flirty with his special guests.
“Give them the fantasy,” he would say. Then, with his usual charm, he added, “But I better not find out you were on your back or knees for them.”
He was constantly suspicious that I was banging high rollers in my free time. Or doing sex work on the side.
He claimed it was because he wanted to maintain an upscale and untouchable aura with “his girls.”
I thought it had more to do with the fact that he couldn’t have me, so he didn’t want anyone else to either.
Typical.
I put a little sway into my step as I made my way back out of the lounge, then hustled through the back web of hallways, grabbing a teabag from my dressing room, and rushing to the kitchen for a cup and hot water.
I kicked off my shoes, carrying them in the crook of a finger on a slow walk back to the stage, sipping my tea, feeling it coat my vocal cords, which still felt pretty good, but I knew were going to feel sore after another set.
“Everything alright?” I asked when I got back to the door and saw Archie leaning against the wall, cradling one of those instant heat packs between his hands, his joints swollen with arthritis.
“New setlist,” he said, producing a piece of paper.
“Seriously?” I asked, dropping my shoes so I could take the list.
“He just gave it to me. I would have warned you sooner.”
“This is atrocious,” I declared, glancing up at him.
“I had to look up that second one,” Archie admitted.
