"Don't touch me," she slurred, though she made no effort to pull away. "I'm just trying to keep you upright," Owen said, pulling his hand back the second she found her balance. "You need to go home. Where's your purse? Your phone? " Evelyn looked down at her empty hands.
She patted the leather seat around her, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated. Gone. Lost it. Doesn't matter. Fire me without my phone.
Send an email. She let out a bitter wet laugh. They're going to send an email. Owen sighed. Okay, let's get you in a cab.
Getting Evelyn Mercer out of the ballroom was an exercise in pure mechanical effort. She wasn't just drunk. She was entirely disconnected from her own limbs. Owen couldn't just walk her out the front doors. If the paparazzi lingering outside caught the CEO of Mercer Techch being dragged out like a college freshman on a bender, the stock would tank before breakfast.
He waved down the security guard, a heavy set guy named Frank. "Hey," Owen said, keeping his voice low. "She needs an exit, not the front. " Frank took one look at the crumpled billionaire and winced. Service elevator in the back. Go straight down to the loading dock.
I'll call a black car. No, Evelyn mumbled, her head resting on her knees. No company cars. They track them. Richard tracks them.
Frank looked at Owen, raising an eyebrow. Just get a regular city cab, Owen said. Between the two of them, they hoisted her up. Evelyn groaned, her bare feet dragging on the carpet. She had abandoned the other shoe somewhere along the way.
Owen kept his hands strictly on the fabric of her coat, avoiding bare skin. It felt like handling a live wire. She muttered incoherently the whole way down the fluorescent lit service hallway. The loading dock was freezing. November wind whipped through the open concrete bay.
Evelyn shivered violently, her emerald dress offering zero protection. Owen stripped off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She curled into the cheap polyester blend like it was cashmere. A yellow cab idled at the curb. Owen opened the back door and gently guided her inside.
She slumped against the window, her breath fogging the glass. "Good luck, buddy," Frank said, stepping back onto the dock. Owen climbed in the other side and shut the door. "Where, too? " the driver asked, looking at them in the rear view mirror. Owen turned to Evelyn.
"Miss Mercer, I need your address. Where do you live? " she peeled her eyes open. The street lights washed over her face, making her look pale and ghostly. "The pinnacle," she whispered. Owen knew it.