The Slot (Rochester Riot #1)(17)
“Just comes naturally, I guess. Being the eldest in the family, I mastered playing both sides pretty early. I’ve always had to take charge, rein everybody in and make them see reason, no matter how much it hurts. Taking one for the team. It’s what I do best.”
“That’s too bad. Honorable, but a bit of a waste, if I may say so. I think you were destined for better things than a peacemaker and keeper of the status quo.” His voice grew quieter, but his eyes spoke louder as he leaned in closer. Eloise knew a come-on when she saw one and felt panic rising at both what he’d just said and what he might say next. Was he complimenting or insulting her?
“You’re a beautiful, strong woman, El Robertson. You deserve to be looked up to and pampered, not stuck stewarding the interests of a no-class millionaire, being just one more cog in his ruthless wheel.”
“You mean I should be put up on a pedestal, like some vestal virgin?” Eloise suggested sarcastically. “Depending on others to take care of me? No, thanks, I’ll earn my own way. On my own merits.”
“I understand that,” he said, his voice dipping even lower, “but you shouldn’t have to. I’d take care of you if you were mine.”
Mine.
Eloise sighed helplessly. Men! They might wear different pants, but inside them, they were all the same – ego on legs. Thinking the helpless little woman couldn’t ever take care of herself.
“I think it’s time we call it a night,” she said, gathering her purse and coat.
“Wait,” Cole said. “Did I say something wrong?”
Eloise looked into his gorgeous blue eyes for what might be the last time. She hoped not, but if she had to hack her way through another forest of male chauvinist underbrush to do so, then she wasn’t sure she had the strength. “No, I’m sure you thought you were saying exactly the right thing. Just to the wrong person. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
Cole looked crestfallen. Jeez, she almost hated herself. She’d managed to do it again, throw cold water all over a hot guy, and this time, she could almost hear a sizzle in the pan.
“You’re welcome. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, rising from his chair. “Let me help you.” He crossed over to her side of the table and helped her slide her coat into place. Tingles overtook her body everywhere his fingers grazed. “Will you give me a second chance?” he asked, his hands lingering on her shoulders and his sexy voice low in her ear. She clamped her eyes shut against the onslaught of emotion.
He wasn’t making it easy for Eloise to exit with her principles intact, nor her panties dry. Dammit, she wanted to hear that voice coming from the pillow next to hers in the worst way. Or beneath her. Or behind her. “Well, I suppose even Shakespeare got a second chance,” she said with a slight glimmer of hope. “Why not the Beantown Bard?” He smiled, a sliver of confidence dancing in his dreamy eyes. Her face returned a less-than-hopeful grin. “Goodnight.”
Chapter Seven
There were ghosts in the car as Eloise drove home from her date with Cole. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on the road and missed a few turns along a route she knew well. What was wrong with her? Mister Man Candy Fiorino wasn’t so imposing to chase away her stellar sense of direction.
Ha. You wish.
The man had her ovaries aching but her mouth spitting out antidotes and stand-down commands. Despite her success at putting her career first, climbing the corporate ladder and detaching herself from her emotions, it struck her that she was just plain scared.
Useless. Baseless. Emotionless.
The last time she’d let her hormones rule her head ended in disaster, potentially ruining her future. That sloppy mix of late-winter snow and rain sloshing between the wiper blades on her windshield made it seem like the cold, black Minnesota night closed in around the car, trapping bad memories inside the luxury interior right along with her.
In a blink, Eloise felt seventeen again, inexperienced and trusting in the world and everyone in it, never dreaming that others would take advantage of her for their own selfish ends. She’d graduated high school with honors and a National Merit Scholarship. Her application to NYU was accepted, and summer beckoned with the promise of all things good and bright. Trevor Reynolds rode that teenage high alongside her, the Ohio equivalent of the Big Man on Campus, wearing valedictorian Eloise Robertson on his arm for the world to see.
A hot summer night, cool mickey of rye and the handsomest jock in school mixed a perfect cocktail of happiness for a wide-eyed teenage girl, until that drink got spilled in the lap of all her dreams. People didn’t say no to Trevor – the football captain and student council president. Not even his parents, who bought him a Mustang convertible for a graduation present. After taking a spin in his new muscle car, they parked down the block from her house and took a walk in the nearby woods where they could be alone and enjoy their bootlegged liquor.
Normally, Eloise prided herself on being the good girl but not that night. That night she wanted to try something new. Take a risk or two. Be someone besides buttoned up Brainiac Eloise Robertson. Eldest. Perfectionist.
Eloise knew the perfect spot to hide in the woods behind her house, having played there with her sisters nearly every day growing up. An old stone bridge crossed over a creek that ran through the forest, once a fast-rushing river but reduced to a slow trickle with the passage of time. That left plenty of dry, grassy shoreline under the bridge, and Eloise and her sisters Sophia and Hannah had built a makeshift fort out of old fence boards, driftwood and rocks. They named it Girlhenge.