I brushed my hair, grabbed a mint from my locker and double checked my makeup in the mirror. It was dark in the barroom, especially at that corner table. It was a table a lot of men reserved when they didn't want to be spotted sitting at a strip club. Maserati man, as we'd nicknamed him, often sat back there. I'd seen his dark gaze watching me from the shadows, but this was the first time he'd ever asked to meet me.
I was a touch nervous as I left the dressing room but then I spotted Oscar's hulking silhouette standing just opposite the corner table. He caught my attention and winked. I was in no danger. Oscar would make sure of that.
Jasmine caught me halfway across the room and handed me a glass of wine. "If anything feels off, just get up, and Oscar will kick him out."
"It'll be fine." I discreetly set an alarm for fifteen minutes. I didn't plan to sit there one minute longer.
Irene, a crowd favorite, was on stage. She loved to dance to heavy metal so there was lots of noise in the bar. I reached his table. He waved his long fingers toward the chair across from him. I wouldn't be sitting within groping distance, so that was a bonus.
"I would have pulled out the chair for you, but I didn't want you or the very large man standing behind us to think that I was making a move on you."
I pulled out the chair and sat down. He was handsome with even features, a straight nose and brown eyes. His dark hair was neatly combed, and he was wearing a pale green dress shirt under a black suit and tie. Everything about him was neat and tidy. "My name is Evan." He reached across to shake hands but paused. "I understand if you don't want to shake."
I shrugged and pressed my hand into his. "Rachel." He held my hand for a moment as he gazed at my face, then smiled and let go. His smile was very nice. Nothing splashy and not heartthrob level, but it was nice. I could smell his expensive cologne. He lifted his glass of bourbon with his left hand, and even in the dimly lit corner, I spotted the tan line on his ring finger. It wasn't unusual to see a ring finger tan line in Tommy's.
He leaned back casually, and the movement sent some more cologne my direction. It was a nice fragrance. "So, Rachel, did you have professional training? As a dancer, of course" he added briskly.
I smiled. "Nice save," I said. "And only if you count dance lessons when I was a kid as professional training. Still, I've always loved to dance. I'm not sure if my twelve-year-old selfever pictured me spinning on a stripper pole, but I actually enjoy dancing on stage."
His head tipped slightly to the side as he gazed at me and didn't say anything.
I picked up the glass and took a few sips of wine. "Sorry, I guess that was more information than you wanted."
"Not at all. I'm just enjoying sitting here, listening to you and watching you drink that wine."
I felt a warm blush cover my face, and I nervously sipped more wine, then decided he was watching my mouth far too keenly and put the glass down. "So, Evan, tell me about yourself. The Rolex and the luxury car in the parking lot tell me you're no slouch."
He chuckled. "I've been fortunate in life. Not always, of course. In fact, growing up we spent a few holidays at homeless shelters. But I got myself through school and college and things just took off in the right direction."
"Nice. It's always good to be financially secure. I'm sure you know that especially given your childhood. It's always a much bigger success story if you've come from humble beginnings."
He sat forward. More cologne and I realized his eyes were actually dark blue and not brown. "See, I knew you were different than the other dancers. I sensed a deeper, more thoughtful quality in you."
I laughed. "Yes, very deep considering I'm sitting here because of the two hundred dollars." My fingers flew to my mouth. "That was harsh."
"But honest. Another virtue. In my line of work, I meet far too many dishonest people."
It was my turn to sit forward with interest. "Just what is your line of work? High-powered lawyer?" A logical guess given the mention of dishonest people.
"I'm in shipping and exports."
I squinted at him. "Isn't that the answer people usually give when they're up to something sketchy?"
He chuckled. It was nice and deep. "I suppose so, but I really am in shipping and exports. And talking about it is boring as hell. So, you have a child?"
For the first time since I sat down, I bristled and mentally questioned my decision to sit with him. He caught on to my sudden shift in temperature.
"I'm sorry. I haven't been spying on you or following you around or doing background checks, if that's what you were thinking."
I fidgeted with the stem of the wineglass. "I wasn't until just now when you brought up those possibilities. Maybe we should end this conversation."
Oscar sensed things were getting tense and moved closer. Evan put up his hand. The dim lights reflected off his platinum watch band. "Wait." He looked at Oscar. "I appreciate what you're doing, keeping an eye on her, but I promise, I'm not up to anything nefarious." He turned back to me. "I guessed you had a kid because I've seen you rush in late and harried and still trying to wipe something sticky off your hands. I concluded that you had a child."
Admittedly, his explanation was charming. I nodded to Oscar that he could relax. "I have a child, but that's all I'm going to say."
"But you're—you're a single mom? I just assumed—" he glanced at my hand. "No ring."
"Unlike the white stripe on your finger where I can only assume your wedding ring sits when you're not at the club."