"Always pulling us down, isn't it, Richard? " The men chuckled nervously. The band quickly struck up a louder jazz tune. The crisis was averted momentarily. "She's a mess," Todd whispered, taking a step back. "I'm not getting anywhere near that fallout.
I'm out of here, Owen. Don't stay too late. " Todd clapped him on the shoulder and melted into the crowd, heading for the coat check. By midnight, the crowd had thinned to the stragglers, the heavy drinkers, and the weight staff clearing tables. Owen was about to leave. He pulled his phone from his pocket.
Ma's asleep. Brenda had texted an hour ago. No rush. He put the phone away and turned toward the exit. That's when he saw her.
Evelyn was sitting in one of the velvet booths in the VIP section, entirely alone. The board members had vanished. Her sycophants had scattered. She was slumped against the leather, her legs tangled, one high heel discarded on the floor. Her head rested against the plush backboard, eyes closed.
Owen hesitated. He was a nobody. Employee ID 4092. He worked in a cubicle on the fourth floor. If he walked out those doors, he would be home in 20 minutes.
He could relieve Brenda. He could sleep. Evelyn shifted, letting out a low, miserable groan, and her head lulled forward. She looked dangerously close to sliding off the seat and onto the floor. Owen swore softly under his breath.
He was a father. He spent his life catching things before they hit the ground. It was an instinct he couldn't shut off. Even for a billionaire who didn't know his name, he walked over to the booth. "Miss Mercer," he said, keeping his voice even.
She didn't move. Owen checked over his shoulder. The bartender was wiping down the counter, pointedly ignoring them. A lone security guard was checking the fire exits. Ms.
Mercer. Owen stepped closer and tapped the wooden edge of the table. Evelyn opened one eye. It was bloodshot. The sharp, intelligent amber color completely clouded over.
She squinted at him, trying to bring his face into focus. Who are you? Did Did Richard send you? No one sent me. I'm Owen.
I work in logistics. Logistics," she mumbled. She tried to sit up and immediately listed to the right. Owen instinctively shot out a hand, catching her by the shoulder before she hit the table. Her skin was freezing cold.