Seven Evelyn
Pulling up to the silent auction event, I walked toward the door, spotting Vanessa coming from the other direction.
"Hi," I smiled, offering a small wave.
Noticing my staring, she chuckled. "Is it too much?"
I shook my head, meeting her bright eyes and trying to act like I couldn’t care less. "You look fine," I answered brusquely, looking toward the door to get my eyes off her.
"I look fine? Seriously, Evelyn? That's all you have?" she bemused, rolling her sparkling eyes and arching a brow.
She knew how she looked—she didn’t need to get me all flustered to gain confidence. She already had plenty of that.
"What am I supposed to say? That I think you look really hot?" I asked, meeting her incredulous eyes with faux innocence.
"Oh god, no, sweetheart," she groaned, running her ringed fingers through her hair to fluff it up.
I liked it when she scolded me—when I knew she wasn’t actually mad. It made me want to earn another reaction from her, whether positive or negative. I just liked her undivided attention in any form and was beginning to crave it.
"I'm sorry, but that question puts me in an awkward situation," I shrugged. Maybe it was the cold, but I swore she looked flushed.
Though a moment later, she was composed as ever.
"No, this was all you. You and your overactive mind," she sighed, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts as we approached the door.
She reached it first and pulled it open, sensually walking through it before whipping her hair around, shooting a dazzling grin my way, and passing the door to me.
Only half an hour into the fundraiser, I'd already spoken to—and successfully impressed—several people. They all seemed nice enough, and I’d tried my best to represent Vector Line Media with as much faux enthusiasm as possible.
Michael and Adam had described this perfectly.
Being a wonderful people pleaser, playing the part of the impressive digital marketing manager was thrilling—for tonight.
Everything was fine, except for the fact that both potential investors I’d talked to had wanted me to share a drink with them, and not wanting to be rude, I obliged. I could already feel the alcohol and wasn’t sure how much more I could handle without my tipsy state becoming obvious.
As soon as the last woman walked away, another affluent—though much older-looking—woman approached me, offering her hand, which I took with a forced smile.
Glancing at the tag on my shirt, she launched into an impassioned monologue about technology’s influence on the marketing industry, and how different things were now compared to back in her day.
I was forced to nod along for what felt like an eternity before a server graciously interrupted us.
“Could I interest you ladies in a martini?”
“No thank you,” I said politely, shaking my head as the woman quickly snatched one. I knew my limits, and right now they came first.
“Oh, don’t be silly.” She grabbed another, pushing it into my hand.
It was uncomfortable when I didn’t bring it to my lips as she did.
“Drink. It’s rude not to share a drink with someone—especially someone funding your salary,” she sneered, before returning to her spiel about the olden days before technology.
I sipped the drink knowing damn well I shouldn’t. If I refused again and made her mad, it could seriously cost the company—maybe even my job.
My anxiety increased as I began to sweat. Before I could make a plan, another server appeared, offering us more drinks.
The woman shot me an unfriendly look when I didn’t reach for the red wine myself.
“Your generation’s lack of manners is a disgrace,” she criticized. And unlike when Vanessa was harsh, all I felt was trapped. With the stress—combined with the alcohol already hitting me—I didn’t have it in me to think rationally.
So I drank as she babbled on.
I felt sick with the realization of what I was doing, knowing I had maybe twenty minutes until that last drink would hit me.
“I— I’m not feeling well. Would you excuse me?” I asked, trying my hardest not to erase the positive interaction I’d unwillingly gotten drunk to create.
“If you must.”
I rushed to the bathroom, ready to cry. I hated feeling out of control unless I wanted to, and this was certainly not the time.
By the time I made it to the bathroom I was trembling, on the edge of tears from regret, fear, and guilt for letting myself be so easily influenced by business pressure.
Pushing open the door, looking down, I hoped no one would notice me before I could hide in the safety of a stall. But to my horror, a hand landed on my shoulder, making me flinch.
“Evelyn, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing—nothing, I just needed a minute.”
Burning up, I headed toward the stalls, but my wrist was grabbed.
“Are you fucking kidding? Do you think I can’t tell you’re drunk?” she snapped, worse than ever before.
“I—” My vision blurred with tears I wouldn’t let fall.
“Save it, Evelyn. And don’t even think about going out there like this.” Disdain dripped from her tone before she let go of me.
“You don’t under—understand,” I choked out, unable to stop a few tears from rolling down my cheeks.
“You got drunk. You got drunk at work. I understand perfectly well,” she stated, her calm tone completely detached.
“It was an—an accident.”
“Drinking far more than you can handle is not an accident.”
Her dismay stung.
“I— I w—was scared.” A wave of dizziness hit me and I grabbed her arm instinctively, beginning to sob. My head and heart pounded painfully, my body threatening to collapse on her.
“Sweetheart, how many drinks did you have?”
“I— it— I, did—didn’t…” I kept sobbing, unable to control my mouth or brain enough to form words.
Warm arms wrapped around me, holding me close and keeping me upright, rubbing slow circles on my back. Her familiar vanilla bourbon scent overtook my senses as I inhaled in staggered breaths that only grew more frantic.
For the first time, I understood the appeal of wanting to be held. The way her warmth, stability, and touch soothed my mind and body; it was exactly what I needed. And somehow, she knew.
“Evelyn, just breathe. Focus on my voice.” Her tone was quieter but still impatient, making me tense. Even with her sudden, obvious concern, I sensed she was still upset. I couldn’t handle her seeing me as a failure.
“B—bu—but—” My chest heaved for air. Fully panicking, I couldn’t express anything; every attempt only wound me tighter.
“Shhh… relax, I’ve got you.” Any trace of agitation disappeared, replaced with sympathy and care.
The shift hit me hard, another wave of emotion crashing through me. I cried again without even knowing why—overwhelmed, overstimulated, and far drunker than I’d been just minutes ago.
“I— I’m—” My words were nothing, pure sound. Even I didn’t know what I was trying to say.
“Evelyn, not now. Just focus on me. You’re okay now. I’m right here,” she murmured, her hands moving steadily through my hair.
Being cared for like this made me cry harder. My hands searched for something, anything to hold onto. One found a handful of her hair, not pulling, just gripping. The other squeezed the soft flesh of her arm.
She didn’t stop me, letting me use her to ground myself.
“Sweetheart, please. Take a deep breath with me. In… and out.” Her voice was the gentlest I’d ever heard it.
I obeyed, letting her guide me out of my breakdown.
“I— I’m so sorry,” I whispered once I could breathe again, releasing her immediately. Even drunk, I knew clinging to her wasn’t appropriate.
But when I swayed, her hand steadied me at my waist without hesitation. She exhaled slowly, pressing her palm to my forehead.
“Sweetheart, let’s go outside. Cold air will help. You’re burning up.”
I nodded, letting her guide me, her arm firm around me as we stepped out—both of us aware that I didn’t have the balance to walk on my own.
“Evelyn, do you want to talk about what happened?” she asked tentatively, watching me carefully for my reaction.
We had been sitting in silence outside for what felt like an eternity, the dim fairy lights softening the pounding in my head.
I was grateful she’d understood that I needed time—just quiet, air, and the soft outdoor chairs—before I could even think about talking. Now that I felt slightly better, I still wasn’t myself, but I could speak.
“It’s stupid.”
“No, it’s not.”
“People kept pressuring me to drink with them, and then when I knew my limits and wanted to stop, this one woman got mad at me for refusing.”
Speaking was hard, my thoughts moving slowly, but she listened patiently while I gathered the rest of my thoughts.
“She— I was scared to say no again. I didn’t want to mess up her opinion of the company. I wasn’t thinking straight. She made me feel like I had no choice. I didn’t want to, but I was already feeling off, so I didn’t have the strength to refuse. I don’t do alcohol well.”
“Well, isn’t that glaringly apparent?” Her facetious tone pulled a small smile from me, easing the knot in my stomach.
“Evelyn?” Her voice sharpened into something serious, almost protective. “I understand. These people can be so entitled. You shouldn’t have had to go through that. I should’ve warned you, especially knowing—”
She hesitated.
“What?” Even with a half-functional mind, I knew she was holding something back.
“You go to great lengths to avoid other people’s disappointment in you. You seek their validation,” she said with a sigh, watching my face to make sure she hadn’t hurt me.
“That’s nottt really true,” I slurred, which made her bite back a smile.
“Sweetheart, I’m not saying it’s something you should be ashamed—”
I cut her off. “I’m only like that with you,” I confessed—too drunk to realize what I was implying. Too drunk to hide the truth.
I was too wasted to process the faint smirk that ghosted across her lips before she shook her head.
“You just ignored your boundaries and ruined your night for a random snob. It’s not just me, Evelyn. But we can drop this topic if—”
I interrupted again, not caring at all about respect. Luckily, she let it go, fully aware I had no control over my mouth right now.
“Because I didn’t want you to be mad if I messed up. It was still about you.” I pushed, trying to make her believe something I’d guard with my life if sober.
But she wasn’t going to use my drunken honesty against me, now protecting my dignity herself.
“Honey, you’re drunk. Let me take you home?” she asked, her eyes narrowing when she caught my reaction.
“What?” she asked again, noticing my pathetic attempt to hide how the pet name hit me.
“Honey?” I echoed, tilting my head just to get a better look at her face.
“Oh? I forgot how well you take to pet names.” She stood, flipping her hair over one shoulder before offering me her hand. “Come on, you should sleep this off.”
I took it—wanting her warmth. Wanting to be held again.
As she guided me to her car a wave of nausea came over me.
Sensing my discomfort she stopped, instantly reaching for my hair before even I knew what was about to happen. With quick fingers, she rounded up all my hair and twisted it into an efficient sort of twirl that could hold itself without a hair tie. I leaned over gagging.
"Let it all out, it'll be over soon." She began tracing imaginary lines over my back.
"Good girl," she lulled as my vomiting stopped.
"I have water in my car," she assured as I began to walk again, not having any words to say to her except my address and a thank you for the water.
The car was magnificent, but I wasn't in the mood to appreciate it.
I sipped on a water bottle slowly, only moving when she leaned over my body unexpectedly.
Putting on my seatbelt, her long hair brushed against my arms. Her striking perfume and the sweet smell of her shampoo went together perfectly.
"Are you gonna fire me?" Trying to act unfazed and needing to know my fate, I broke the quiet.
"No, of course not. I have every intention of keeping this little blunder between us."
Little?
"But you fired Jane so impulsively," I said, relieved enough to talk again and seeking a distraction from my nausea.
"It wasn't impulsive. She took advantage of your people-pleasing tendencies, and I wouldn't stand for that."
I blushed, reaching up to play with my hair before realizing it was still in the knot.
"How did you do this?" I asked, unsure of how to untwist it myself.
"Here," she whispered. With both eyes still on the road and only one hand, she stuck a single finger through the knot. As she blindly hooked then twisted it, my hair cascaded back down my shoulders, leaving chills in its wake.
I looked back, watching her fingers manipulate the steering wheel in awe of what they had just done.
"Evelyn, I can feel your eyes on me," she sighed.
"How did you know how to do that?" I was still not over it.
"Boating has been a long-term passion of mine," she answered, turning onto my street.
"That's cool," I replied, my voice detached from the conversation, realizing this was the part where I would have to leave her side. A wave of dread hit me as she pulled up. Now things would be awkward between us. Now she would leave me.
I opened the car door, turning to look back at her, about to get out, not having noticed during my sorrow that she’d unbuckled too and shut off the car.
"Thank you. Again, I'm really—" She leaned over, placing her warm forefinger over my lips, softly shutting me up. My breath hitched.
"Evelyn, it's over and done with. You have nothing to apologize for."
I stared into her eyes as she pulled away her finger, already missing the contact.
"And I'm walking you up," she added, already on my side of the car.
"It's okay, really, I can walk."
"Oh, can you now? I'm happy to give you the straight-line test." She smirked, destroying my train of thought.
"I never said I could walk straight."
"Evelyn, don't even try to pretend you don't want me to walk you up."
"I never said I didn't—"
She shot me a new look. One that shut me up instantly. "Good choice."
I shivered as her hand hovered an inch from my lower back in case I needed her.
"I'm fine."
"Do you need a reminder of what happened less than an hour ago?"
I opened my mouth, closing it instantly as her eyes narrowed.
"Listen, put water and an ibuprofen by your bed for tomorrow, and drink some electrolytes," she instructed as we reached my door, her holding it open as we spoke but shutting it all too soon once I was inside.
When she left, I swore her presence had a withdrawal. I followed her advice, grateful she had taken control over the situation when I needed it most.
There was no way of telling how much of this I would remember—if I even hoped to.