The Naked Truth. Shannon Hollis

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СКАЧАТЬ Two. More. In fact, he probably had every eligible model and aspiring actress in New York lining up at his door. Well, she wished them luck. Mitchell Hayes wasn’t getting her show—or anything else, for that matter.

      “Eve?”

      She blinked and focused on Jane. “What?”

      “I said, how accurate are your thumbs? Is this Hayes guy going to take you at your word, or are we going to have to get Jenna to take out another restraining order?”

      Jenna Hamilton was the station’s attorney, and after the recent announcement about their $38-million lottery win, she’d already had to take out two restraining orders because things had gotten out of hand with an unruly fan and an angry truck driver with a nonwinning number. Once the news had gotten out about the protectiveness of the legal team, the number of nasty letters in the daily mail had dropped. Thank goodness.

      Even yet, two months after the win and the press conference and all the hoopla, Eve still had a hard time believing that there could be seven or eight million bucks in her future. With that kind of money, she could buy some property outside of town. Travel. Do more than dabble in philanthropy. The only real problem they had was the lawsuit against the five of them, filed by her and Jane’s former best friend, Liza Skinner, demanding her fair share of the loot since they’d played her number. The whole subject caused Eve so much pain that she did her best not to think about it.

      Again, she focused on answering Jane. What was the matter with her? Her mind was jumping around like a bean on a hot stove. “He’s on a mission. The network has tasked him to poach me away from here, and he’s going to do his best to do it. He won’t take no for an answer at first. I can tell.”

      “He looked like a player, all right.”

      For some reason, this rubbed Eve the wrong way. “I wouldn’t say he was a player. Not in the sense you mean. But he’s got a stubborn chin and there’s no dummy behind those eyes. He’s serious about this. The network’s talking big money.”

      Jane waved away the thought. “Who needs it? We’re going to be set up for life. And what are you doing looking at his chin?” As soon as Eve saw Jane’s gaze narrow on her, she realized her mistake.

      She shrugged with a pretty good imitation of nonchalance. “You know me. Always sizing people up. Reading them. Trying to figure them out.”

      Not looking at lips and wondering what they’d feel like in a deep, hot kiss. Not sneaking peeks at long-fingered hands and wondering how they’d feel on skin. Nuh-uh. Nope.

      For once Jane took her at her word and got up. She must be a better actress than she thought. “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with him, then. You can always make yourself unavailable and sic Jenna on him.”

      “I already did.” Eve got up, too, and collected her briefcase. “Make myself unavailable, I mean. I have the Atlanta Reads benefit tonight, remember? I just hope nobody remembers I wore my green dress to the Women of Power fund-raiser, as well.”

      “Put some peacock feathers on it like Nicole Kidman,” Jane suggested over her shoulder, already on her way back to her own office. “Or heck, zip downtown and get yourself a new one. By the time you get the bill, we’ll have settled the suit and you can buy a different dress for every night of the year.”

      Eve laughed and shook her head as she pushed open the employee exit door and headed for her car. That would be the day.

      Lottery winner or not, she couldn’t see herself shaking the careful habits of someone who had grown up with not much more than the basic necessities of life. Isabel Calvert, her maternal grandmother, who had taken in a traumatized eleven-year-old after the death of her parents in a car accident, had still been working as a Realtor. Though they lived in Coral Gables in a tiny stucco house with an orange tree, money was tight and Eve had learned to be practical along with how to turn out a decent meal and do her own laundry.

      Not that those were skills to scoff at. They’d stood her in good stead through university and during her move from Florida back to the city her father’s family had called home for generations. And during the early years, when getting the job as associate senior meteorologist—aka junior weathergirl—had seemed like the apex of her life, she’d discovered she not only had a knack for throwing dinner parties on the cheap, but for digging out and retaining all kinds of information about people.

      A great skill to have in this business. But it didn’t help her with a dress for tonight.

      With careful investments, she’d managed to save enough for a down payment on a little house in the Vinings district. Nana would be proud. It wasn’t very big—in fact, it had once been a carriage house on a much larger estate—but it certainly had a good address, and in Atlanta, that was half the battle. With the worst of the rush hour traffic clearing, she made it home in record time. Which, of course, left her lots of time to shower, do her hair and contemplate her closet.

      She had all kinds of things to wear on the set, some courtesy of Jane’s wardrobe budget and some of her own. She had jeans and camis to wear on weekends. But a couple of black dresses and the green one could only go so far. Now that she was starting to make the society pages, maybe she should take Jane’s advice and run up her credit card on a couple of evening dresses. If what Cole predicted came true, she was going to be spending even more time in the spotlight. Thank goodness for the lottery—because she’d bet her winnings the station wouldn’t be picking up the tab for her updated wardrobe.

      The green one would have to do. It fit like a glove—though she watched her weight like a predatory bird, her hourglass figure would pack on a pound in a heartbeat. And everyone knew the camera packed on twenty in less than that.

      A final spritz of hair mist and her grandmother’s diamond chandelier earrings, and she was good to go.

      The benefit for Atlanta Reads was being held at the Ashmere mansion. The property had recently been made the headquarters of the Ashmere Trust with the hopes that it could become a moneymaking venture while it retained its Old South beauty. As far as Eve could tell, they’d succeeded in a big way. She stepped out of the cab and the soft, warm evening air caressed her bare shoulders. She draped the green chiffon wrap over one arm and breathed in the scent of ferns and mulch and eucalyptus from the gardens.

      Straightening her shoulders, she mounted the fan of steps and swam into the crowd, turning to greet society belles and financiers alike with the grace of a dancer and the confidence of three years in the spotlight.

      “Eve. Glad you could make it.”

      Eve turned to see Dan Phillips, owner of both the station and the production company that produced Just Between Us, at her elbow. “Hey, Dan. I had to come. Who wouldn’t want to support helping people learn to read?”

      “People in television,” he said, so deadpan she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Which was par for the course. “My wife forced me into my tux and out the door at the point of a nail file.”

      “Maya’s a smart cookie,” Eve told him. “You won’t regret it. I hear Ambience is catering.”

      “Really?” He brightened. “Then I guess I should start schmoozing. I do like to hear people talking about you behind your back, anyway.”

      Eve held up a hand. “Just don’t tell me if it’s negative.”

      “It won’t be. Everyone in Atlanta loves you.” He paused. СКАЧАТЬ