Well, except for Drake. She very nearly shivered at the memory of him simply looking at her. Like he was peeling her, layer by layer, and seeing every single thought, reaction or emotion she so carefully tried to hide from the rest of the world. For all the good that did her.
No, her girls wouldn’t have a chance with him. And though her friends weren’t intimidated by much, one look from Drake would likely send them scurrying in the opposite direction. Which was what Evangeline should have done, and she still questioned why she hadn’t done just that. But she’d been in shock and utterly overwhelmed by the entire sequence of events. Nothing had gone according to her friends’ carefully laid-out plan. But then Evangeline had never really truly believed it would, but foolishly, she’d allowed herself to be talked into the whole sordid mess. And what a mess it was.
She bit into her bottom lip, a sure sign of agitation. Her “tell,” as her friends often told her—in an attempt to get her to quit it. Not that it did any good. Because if she did relate what all happened after Maddox took care of Eddie . . . well, they would get it into their heads to go confront Drake, and that was the last thing she wanted. For a variety of reasons, the foremost being their safety. A close second was, well, it was humiliating enough already. To have her friends march down to Impulse and make a scene with Drake over it?
She shuddered at the thought. She’d already come across as a complete wimp incapable of taking care of herself, and having her friends go to bat for her would only further solidify that fact.
Steph’s narrowed eyes and deep frown softened, and a look of concern creased her pretty features and she asked in a gentle voice, “Vangie, what happened?”
Evangeline swept them all with a glance. Not a look she gave her friends often, because she was too wimpy to cause conflict and she was the peacemaker of the group. She was a perpetual pleaser, much to her friends’ dismay. They wanted to toughen her up. Make her more of a bitch on wheels—what they considered themselves, and they were so not. They were the very best friends any woman could have. But Evangeline just wanted peace. She didn’t want a chaotic existence. She liked her quiet life, her small group of friends and her job at a local pub that wasn’t even in the same stratosphere as a place like Impulse, but it was frequented by locals—except for Eddie, of course, who’d only been at the pub to seduce her. Policemen, firemen and EMS personnel in particular, which made her feel safe. More evidence of her naïveté, no doubt. The patrons were friendly and remembered her by name, and the tips were good, thanks to her gorgeous legs, fuck-me shoes and sweeter-than-sunshine smile—according to her friends. Because she sure as hell didn’t remotely regard herself in that manner. Their description of her made her hysterical with laughter, but she loved them dearly for their unconditional love and support and for the effort they put into trying to convince her they knew her better than she did herself. The endless hours they spent bolstering her self-confidence, and the absolute conviction she saw in their eyes and heard in their voices, warmed her inside and out.
Evangeline had merely rolled her eyes and informed them that any waitress who made the effort to remember their names and their preference in drink and to make them feel welcome after a long shift would receive the same.
Steph had snorted and then pointed out that if that were the case, they’d all be making as much in tips as Evangeline did.
With a sigh, Evangeline plunged ahead, because she was in a no-win situation. If she didn’t tell them everything, they’d haul themselves down to Impulse, interrogate Maddox and then God only knew who else and likely end up in Drake’s office.
And if she did confess every single thing? Who was to say the outcome would be any different? Only in this case, they might well skip Maddox and the other minions and go straight to Drake.
So she did something she never did with them because she trusted them absolutely. Never questioned them or their loyalty. But she also knew once they gave her their word, that even if it killed them—and it would in this case—they’d keep it. She set conditions.
“I’ll tell you the rest but only if you swear to me that one, it never leaves this room and remains between the four of us. And two, you’re to leave it alone. I mean completely alone, as in you forget it as soon as I tell you and there will be no confronting anyone, no questioning anyone, no investigating anyone or being nosy. You have to swear it,” Evangeline repeated emphatically. “Or my lips are sealed.”