“We keep bumping into each other,” Val laughed as Evans Daniels stopped a couple steps below her.
“Maybe you're stalking me,” he teased. She rolled her eyes.
“Don't flatter yourself.”
He laughed and closed the distance between them, standing just one step under her.
“I wouldn't dare,” he assured her. “Done for the night?”
“No, I'm bored. Just heading up to find something else to do.”
“Hmmm, could that something else possibly involve me? And possibly involve getting out of here?”
She folded her arms across her chest.
“Are you asking me on a date?” she became all business.
“No, just as friends. Unless payment is absolutely required,” Evans said quickly, holding up his hands. She narrowed her eyes.
“I wouldn't take payment from you – you would never be a client of mine,” she stressed. Then she remembered that she only had a matter of days left where she would have to refer to the men in her life as “clients”, so she decided to loosen up. “But you are a friend, and I think if we time it right, no one will know I've left.”
They snuck out the front door. Too many employees hung out around the back door, taking smoke breaks and telling stories. There was actually a new girl at the front – Angel was nowhere in sight. The poor girl was still green at her job, struggling with a large group of Chinese businessmen, and she barely paid attention as Valentine and Evans passed her. They dashed down the street to his car.
“Would you really get in trouble for leaving early?” he asked, driving them further into downtown. Val waved her hand.
“Oh, no, not at all. Sneaking around is just fun.”
Evans laughed, then pulled the car into the stream of traffic.
He took her to a tiny, dimly lit hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Or bar. A bit of both, from what she could see as he led her towards an empty booth at the back of the room. There was heavy gold and black brocade wallpaper, and tiny black chandeliers above each table. A full bar ran the length of the far wall, and at the end of it, a man played a piano, crooning softly in French. She slid onto the plush leather seat of the booth.
“How on earth did you find this place?” she asked, carefully pulling her hair up into a ponytail.
“I spend a lot of time alone,” Evans shrugged. “And I'm a night owl. A colleague told me about it. Chicago only has so many late night bars-slash-eateries, and this has better ambiance than Denny's, so I've become somewhat of a regular.”
She laughed.
“I can see why. I like it.”
“I figured you would. It's funky vibe suits you,” he nodded, looking over her form. She dropped her eyes to her menu, hoping she wouldn't have to have a “talk” with him before the night was over.
She ordered a beer, surprising Evans, and some truffle fries. He ordered a Manhattan, then surprised her by ordering two burgers.
“Hungry?” she asked when the waitress walked away.
“Starving. Been pulling long hours. I've never been good at taking care of myself, there's no food in my place. I think I'm in desperate need of a woman to take care of me,” he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. He had well trimmed, soft brown hair. Neatly styled. Nothing mussy or messy or sinfully sexy about it at all.
Stop it.
“Pity the woman who raised you didn't teach you to take care of yourself,” Valentine replied, but she kept her tone teasing. He laughed louder and nodded again.
“I was always too busy reading and taking advanced classes to bother with cooking. I make a mean batch of brownies, though,” he assured her.
“Well, I mean, what else does a man need?”
“I can think of a few things.”
Evans had always been hard to figure out, since the first time she'd met him. She could never quite tell when he was joking, or when he was being serious. When he was flirting, or when he was just being playful. She waited for the waitress to drop off their food and drinks, then Val leaned across the table a little.
“You and Ari work together,” she stated.
“Our companies do, yes.”
“Ari and I 'worked' together,” she added.
“So I heard.”
“So even though Ari and I aren't anything anymore, you and I will never be anything at all,” she informed him. He cocked up an eyebrow.
“Is he that good? Or am I that repulsive?” he tried to tease. She shook her head.
“Neither. But I ... I have a tendency to make bad decisions, and fuck things up. I won't fuck things up for you. Or for him, for that matter. I'm done with bad decisions,” she explained.
“And if I were to, uh, offer to pay? Same thing?” he checked. She nodded.
“I'd turn you down, same as I did before. I like you, Evans. Please don't make me not like you.”
It was a tense moment, but he finally laughed. He had a great smile, very broad, and for the first time, Valentine wondered why Evans was single. Why he spent his weekends paying for escorts at Caché. Even if he was new to Chicago, a man like him shouldn't have any problem picking up girls on his own.
“I would hate it if you didn't like me,” he said, and he reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. She smiled back at him and squeezed his hand. “Now. What are we gonna do about my baby bro, and your funky little roommate?”
Valentine wanted to answer. She had all sorts of ideas. She was slightly obsessed with the pair – if she couldn't get her happily ever after, then she would help Bailey get hers, goddammit. She was sure that between Evans' impressive brain and her own talents at getting men, they would have the goofy little pair together in no time.
Before she could say any of that, though, she was frozen in place. A throat was cleared from close by, and out of her peripheral, she could see that a man was coming to a stop right in front of their table. He was wearing a suit, tailored to fit. His hands were in his pockets. If she lifted her gaze, she knew she would find a smirk on his lips. But she couldn't lift her eyes. She was too busy praying for a hole to open in the floor and swallow her whole.
“This looks very cozy,” Ari Sharapov said in a bored voice. “When you said you were becoming a regular at Caché, Evans, I didn't realize exactly how much you meant it.”
ARI COULD BE VERY PATIENT when he need to be – his job required it. But when it came to Valentine, that flew right out the window.
She broke up with me. We weren't even dating, and she broke up with me. What the fuck. Typical fucking Valentine.
She'd said a lot of things. Things that had really messed with his mind. Ari had an enormous amount of self-confidence, but he was pretty sure no one had ever believed in him as much as Valentiene did; it was a somewhat shocking revelation. It made him feel ...
Unworthy.
No. Angry. He was so goddamn angry at her. For judging him. For not giving him a chance. For believing in him just enough to make him feel like shit, but not enough to stay with him. Fuck that woman. He'd done everything he could for her, and it wasn't enough. What else could she possibly want? What kind of person basically demanded their significant other give up all their hopes and dreams for them?