“You’re the elephant’s eyebrows, doll,” he said.
Evie’s face was suddenly too warm. “Someone has to look after you, Sam Lloyd.”
The train rattled to a stop.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to the station,” Sam said, offering his crooked arm. “Gotta put on a show for the adoring fans.”
“Right,” Evie said, threading her arm through his. “For the fans.”
On their walk to WGI, Sam and Evie were mobbed by New Yorkers who were happy to shake their hands and wish them well. They called Sam’s and Evie’s names as if the two of them were movie stars or royalty.
“Tell me the truth, Sam—isn’t that the best sound you ever heard? I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.”
“Gee. You might have to keep me on, then,” Sam teased. The truth was, he was enjoying their cooked-up romance a little too much. Whenever Evie looked at him from across whatever room they were working, he got a feeling in his stomach like they were sharing the most delicious secret. It was fun and exciting—the two of them against the world. He dreaded the countdown to the end of it all. Was it too much to hope that he could change her mind along the way?
“Have a swell show, darling,” Sam said, playing his part. He kissed Evie’s hand and turned to the crowd. “Folks, you have no idea how soft this girl’s hand is. Oh, hold on a second—that’s her glove. Folks, you have no idea how soft this girl’s gloves are!”
Everybody laughed, including Evie, and Sam’s hopes rose anew. He gave her a you liked that? grin, and he could swear by the way she bit her lip and smiled that she did. He wanted nothing more than to come up with ways to keep her smiling.
“Good-bye, Sam,” Evie said, shaking her head.
As she pushed through WGI’s front doors, Evie glanced back at the scene on the street. The girls beamed at Sam as he charmed them, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. A twinge of jealousy bit at Evie. She’d had the urge to kiss Sam right there so that everyone would know he was indisputably hers. Except that he wasn’t. This was a game. A business arrangement. And falling for Sam Lloyd was the don’t-you-dare cherry on top of a worst-idea sundae.