I grinned smugly back at her, keeping the napkin tucked in my fist. "My ride is almost here."
Her shoulders deflated with disappointment. "Darn you, I wanted to see your reaction."
I dropped my chin. "I thought you didn't read it?"
"Oh, come off it. You know I read the damn note. And Ray, you know I love you, and I want to see you happy. Maybe this could be that winning lotto ticket we're all always dreaming about."
"Or maybe this is just a man unhappy with his marriage looking for someone to sleep with."
Jasmine pointed hard at the napkin with her gaze. "Please. I think this guy could be your knight in shining armor."
"Or a serial killer who has zeroed in on his next victim."
Jasmine gave me a pleading look.
I sighed. "You, my friend, might just be the most warped matchmaker on the planet." I straightened out the napkin and opened it. The only light was coming from the pendants over the bar, but it was enough to read the stark black ink on the white paper background. Evan had impeccable handwriting, of course.
Rachel, it was lovely meeting you tonight. I would love to meet with you outside of the club. I think I could make your life easier, and I know you could make mine … well … better. Here is my number. Just say the word, and we can meet for coffee. You pick the time and place.
All my best,
Evan
I looked up at Jasmine. She wore a hopeful smile. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
She grunted in frustration. "Oh, come on. It's a coffee date. In a public place where, you know, people sip lattes. How dangerous could it be?" Her brows danced up with an idea. "I could send Oscar to get some coffee. He could do an undercover operation and pretend to be a coffee customer all while keeping an eye on you."
I laughed. "Are we talking about six-foot-plus, gigantic Oscar who can't walk into a room without gathering a flurry of shocked gasps due to his size and general demeanor? I'm sure Evan won't notice him."
"All right. Not a great idea. But still—" She reached across the counter and took hold of my hand. "I just want what's best for you, Ray. You're my good friend, and I adore that little Jack of yours, and I know how tough things are. Think about it. Maybe this guy is so in love with you, he's willing to leave his wife. Obviously, his marriage is shit, or he wouldn't be spending his nights in this dive."
"Tommy's is not a dive because it has the most wonderful owner and manager." I glanced toward the hallway where Jasmine had set up an office inside a utility closet. "Hey Jaz, do you have his last name? I know his first. It can't hurt to Google his name to make sure he's not on the FBI's most wanted list."
Jasmine clapped fast twice. "Does that mean you're considering meeting him? I mean, unless he's on that most wanted list, then I'd definitely send Oscar to keep an eye on things." She laughed. "He uses a credit card." She motioned with her head, and I followed her to the office. Jasmine flipped through a stack of receipts. "Here it is. Evan Littleton." She wrote the name down on a sticky note and handed it to me. "I hope that helps, and I also hope he's not wanted by the FBI."
"Unless, of course, there's a reward," I teased.
"He won't be on the list. I know you're hoping that there's some kind of obstacle to keep this from happening, but I'm hoping for the opposite. I think you'd look pretty in the front seat of that Maserati." She turned up her eyes in thought. "Hell, even I would look pretty in that front seat."
"You would look stunning." I leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow night." I hurried off before she could continue with her silly happy ending scenarios.
A burst of cold air laced with bone chilling moisture hit me the second I stepped outside. My ride arrived moments later. I dropped into the backseat with a long sigh. I couldn't wait to get home and into bed.
I stared at the napkin a moment longer, then shoved it in my purse. The whole thing was far too weird. Or was it? I had to admit the part about making my life easier was enticing. It seemed that whenever I felt myself getting ahead, making some progress on the future, another problem popped up to slap me back down. This week it was the cars and the new owner of the apartment building. A month ago, it was Mom spraining her ankle so badly she couldn't watch Jack or, for that matter, take care of herself. I had to hire a sitter to cover for my night job, and it turned out that a nighttime sitter cost a lot more than a daytime one. I was basically working for peanuts that month because all of it was going to the sitter.
I typed the name "Evan Littleton" into the search bar on my phone. There was a British theater actor with the same name along with an attorney in Georgia. The third entry was for a businessman, Evan Littleton, the Vice President of Walker Industries. I clicked on it and found Evan's photo. Walker Industries was a shipping and export company, so he hadn't lied. I scrolled to the next photo. Evan was standing next to an older man with a stern brow. The caption read, "Stuart Walker of Walker Industries standing with his son-in-law and VP of thecompany, Evan Littleton." I kept scrolling and found a family photo of Evan with a pretty brunette and two small children. He'd told the truth about all of it, and it seemed I'd untangled the complication in his seemingly unhappy marriage. Evan was a success because he was vice president at his father-in-law's company. A bitter divorce would probably mean an end to his job and all the perks that came with it. I dropped my phone into my purse. "No thank you, Mr. Littleton. Too much complication for me."
The driver pulled into the apartment complex. He was one of those much-appreciated silent drivers. We didn't exchange more than a "thank you" and "have a good night". I climbed the stairs to the apartment. Mr. Roscoe, our neighbor two doors down, was watching a loud movie on his television. His hearing was poor. When he spoke to Jack, he spoke so loudly it made Jack shrink down in fear. He was a nice man though and always had a quarter in his pocket for Jack. Jack was saving for a new dinosaur, of course.
Mom was sitting on the couch with her head tilted at an almost ninety-degree angle to the side. Her soft snores mixed with the quiet movie on television. The light from the screen illuminated her face. She slept so tightly she hadn't heard me walk in. Not wanting to startle her, I shut the door quietly, but my first real step inside was directly on the creaky spot in the floor.
Mom sat up straight, winced and immediately pressed her hand to the side of her neck. "Darn it. I hate when I fall asleep like that." She winced again and pressed her hand against her stomach.
"What's wrong? Still having heartburn?" I hung up my coat.
"Yeah, it must have been those scrambled eggs I made for dinner. Jack ate the whole plate." She added in a proud grandma head nod.