Read Online Set Me Free by Jennifer Collin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jennifer Collin
Ads: Link
identify her reaction to it as empathy,
Craig took charge once more and began to call the room to order.
‘Of course we are
in the business of making money,’ he clarified, gesturing everyone should
reclaim their seats. The uproar subsided slowly, the crowd giving him the
opportunity to explain.
Charlotte quickly
realised she was about to lose whatever tenuous advantage she could claim. If
Craig resumed control of the room again, he would have them eating out of the
palm of his hand. She had to take action and cut him off before he could say
any more.
She stood up, her
fists clenched at her sides. The people around her paused to see what would
happen next. Craig studied her cautiously.
‘I think Morgan
Carmichael have made their point quite clear this evening,’ Charlotte said
clearly, ensuring her voice carried across the room. ‘And I, for one, refuse to
be patronised any further. It is obvious, that for all of your rhetoric about
caring what the community thinks, none of that will matter if there's a profit
to be made. Well, I have some advice for Morgan Carmichael: you will not profit
from this community and you should take your development elsewhere. Because if
you don’t, you will have one almighty fight on your hands.'
The crowd erupted
in support. The locals loved nothing more than a call to arms. Charlotte glared
at Craig for a few seconds more and took the time to take in Keith’s red face. Was
that steam coming out of his ears? She suppressed a triumphant smile and made
her next crucial move. Nudging Emily and Ben with her knee to indicate they
should follow, she strode out of the room. As hoped, more than half of the
crowd called ‘Hear, hear!’ and trailed behind her into the warm summer evening.
Chapter
six
Barb’s
Showtime Boogie House was pumping as usual for Thursday’s swing night and for
the first time since coming home, Charlotte was unwinding. Every blast of brass
belting out of the PA system unknotted a muscle in her shoulders and lower
back, steadily relaxing her, bit by bit. She was getting loose and getting
ready to dance.
The room was
gradually filling with dancers she knew from her swing class and the regulars,
who liked to come along, and watch them perform on the informal stage that was
the dance floor at Barb’s. The venue was a long and narrow 1950s throwback with
booths lining one wall. Along the other, an unused vintage jukebox held pride
of place at the end of a long Formica bar. At the back of the club was a small
stage for the bands, and tonight it was already occupied by a drum kit and
several amps.
But the main draw
card in Barb’s was the dance floor. It filled half of the venue and provided
the booths with a bird’s eye views of the Boogie Woogies, Charlestons, Balboas
and other swing styles that whipped the club into a weekly frenzy. Tonight the
big bands were trumpeting out of the speakers, and the gathering crowd was getting
into the groove. The club lights were low, though the dance floor was lit up
with multi-coloured spotlights, in preparation for the imminent skirmish.
Charlotte needed to
dance off three things that were stressing her out: Monday’s sinister one night
stand, the pending loss of her gallery and the fact that she couldn’t stop
recounting the electrifying sex she’d had with the source of both problems.
But she was
buzzing, and tonight was going to be a good night. In a West Coast swing kind
of way, she was dressed to kill. Her hot-pink, knee-length, red polka-dotted
skirt overlaid a full and flouncy petticoat. It was perfect for twisting and
turning and underpants-flashing. Her matching lipstick-red top was cut low to
hint at her cleavage. It fit snug enough to hold her tight. She wore her favourite
swing shoes, black pumps with a short heel - perfect for clacking across the dance
floor. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, to ensure it whipped, but
didn’t whip her face while she danced up a storm. A red ribbon added
Craig took charge once more and began to call the room to order.
‘Of course we are
in the business of making money,’ he clarified, gesturing everyone should
reclaim their seats. The uproar subsided slowly, the crowd giving him the
opportunity to explain.
Charlotte quickly
realised she was about to lose whatever tenuous advantage she could claim. If
Craig resumed control of the room again, he would have them eating out of the
palm of his hand. She had to take action and cut him off before he could say
any more.
She stood up, her
fists clenched at her sides. The people around her paused to see what would
happen next. Craig studied her cautiously.
‘I think Morgan
Carmichael have made their point quite clear this evening,’ Charlotte said
clearly, ensuring her voice carried across the room. ‘And I, for one, refuse to
be patronised any further. It is obvious, that for all of your rhetoric about
caring what the community thinks, none of that will matter if there's a profit
to be made. Well, I have some advice for Morgan Carmichael: you will not profit
from this community and you should take your development elsewhere. Because if
you don’t, you will have one almighty fight on your hands.'
The crowd erupted
in support. The locals loved nothing more than a call to arms. Charlotte glared
at Craig for a few seconds more and took the time to take in Keith’s red face. Was
that steam coming out of his ears? She suppressed a triumphant smile and made
her next crucial move. Nudging Emily and Ben with her knee to indicate they
should follow, she strode out of the room. As hoped, more than half of the
crowd called ‘Hear, hear!’ and trailed behind her into the warm summer evening.
Chapter
six
Barb’s
Showtime Boogie House was pumping as usual for Thursday’s swing night and for
the first time since coming home, Charlotte was unwinding. Every blast of brass
belting out of the PA system unknotted a muscle in her shoulders and lower
back, steadily relaxing her, bit by bit. She was getting loose and getting
ready to dance.
The room was
gradually filling with dancers she knew from her swing class and the regulars,
who liked to come along, and watch them perform on the informal stage that was
the dance floor at Barb’s. The venue was a long and narrow 1950s throwback with
booths lining one wall. Along the other, an unused vintage jukebox held pride
of place at the end of a long Formica bar. At the back of the club was a small
stage for the bands, and tonight it was already occupied by a drum kit and
several amps.
But the main draw
card in Barb’s was the dance floor. It filled half of the venue and provided
the booths with a bird’s eye views of the Boogie Woogies, Charlestons, Balboas
and other swing styles that whipped the club into a weekly frenzy. Tonight the
big bands were trumpeting out of the speakers, and the gathering crowd was getting
into the groove. The club lights were low, though the dance floor was lit up
with multi-coloured spotlights, in preparation for the imminent skirmish.
Charlotte needed to
dance off three things that were stressing her out: Monday’s sinister one night
stand, the pending loss of her gallery and the fact that she couldn’t stop
recounting the electrifying sex she’d had with the source of both problems.
But she was
buzzing, and tonight was going to be a good night. In a West Coast swing kind
of way, she was dressed to kill. Her hot-pink, knee-length, red polka-dotted
skirt overlaid a full and flouncy petticoat. It was perfect for twisting and
turning and underpants-flashing. Her matching lipstick-red top was cut low to
hint at her cleavage. It fit snug enough to hold her tight. She wore her favourite
swing shoes, black pumps with a short heel - perfect for clacking across the dance
floor. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, to ensure it whipped, but
didn’t whip her face while she danced up a storm. A red ribbon added
Similar Books
