Bought A Stripper Husband

Chapter 07 : Evalyne's Disaster Blindates

Two hours later, an email popped up in her inbox.

Subject: Tonight – 7 p.m. – Bar Aurelia

M,

I have a friend of a friend, Daniel. 36, works in tech, allegedly sane. I told him only that you’re “successful, private, and not a murderer.” He thinks that’s funny. I did NOT give your last name.

He’ll be waiting at the bar. Blue shirt, dark hair.

Please don’t fire me.

– M

Evalyne stared at the message.

She could just not go.

She could delete it and pretend she’d tried.

Instead, she took a breath and typed back.

Confirmed. I won’t fire you. Yet.

Bar Aurelia was the sort of place where the lights were warm, the wood was dark, and the cocktails had names like “Smoky Reverie.” It was tucked into a side street in SoHo, wedged between a minimalist gallery and a bookstore that pretended it didn’t like you.

Evalyne arrived exactly at seven, wearing what she hoped looked like “effortlessly date-appropriate” and not “woman on her way to a board meeting.” She’d swapped the blazer for a soft cashmere sweater and dark jeans, kept the heels, and left the diamond bracelet at home.

The hostess glanced up, recognition flickering briefly in her eyes before she masked it under professional blandness.

“Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

“I’m meeting someone at the bar,” Evalyne said.

Her skin felt too tight.

The bar stretched along one side of the room, lamps casting pools of light over polished wood. People sat in twos and threes, talking and laughing. No one looked like they were auditioning for the role of Not A Murderer.

Then she saw him.

Blue shirt, dark hair. Thirties. Attractive in a generic, app-ready way. Not too tall, not too short. He checked his watch, then looked up and froze for a second when he saw her.

Mina had not told him, then.

Evalyne crossed the room, aware of glances tracking her as she moved. She sat on the stool beside him.

“Daniel?” she said.

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Wow, you’re… Hi. You’re Eva?”

Wow, nickname already?

“Yes.”

He hesitated. “You’re… that Delaire.”

“So I’m told,” she said.

“I didn’t know,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Mina just said you were, uh, successful. She undersold it a bit.”

“Mina enjoys underselling,” Evalyne said. “It keeps expectations manageable.”

He laughed. It was a little too loud, but not unbearable.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yes,” she said. “Whiskey. Neat.”

He blinked. “Hardcore. I like it.”

The bartender arrived. They ordered. Evalyne clasped her hands on the bar to keep from folding her arms over her chest.

“So,” Daniel said, turning toward her. “Mina says you work in… fashion?”

“She undersold again,” Evalyne said. “I own a fashion company.”

Right. That was too blunt. She should have said, I run a brand, or I’m in design.

Instead, he let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s impressive.”

“It’s work,” she said. “Like any other.”

He grinned. “Sure, yeah. Just like any other. I build logistics software. No one puts on a dress and tags me on Instagram.”

“That sounds peaceful,” she said before she could stop herself.

He laughed again. “I don’t know if I’d call enterprise shipping APIs peaceful, but I get what you mean.”

Their drinks arrived. There was a moment where they both sipped, silence stretching slightly too long.

“So,” he said again. “Been on a lot of these?”

“Dates?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“No” she said. "I'm divorced because of my ex cheated on me with his intern,"

He whistled, "I... didn't expect that honesty,"

Evalyne's cheeks heated, trying to change topic, “Sorry. So, have you been on...?”

“A few,” he admitted. “I tried apps for a while. They’re… weird.”

“I don’t use them,” Evalyne said. “Too public.”

He studied her. “Yeah, I guess for you that would be… intense.”

She shifted. “What did Mina tell you exactly?”

“That you’re big on privacy,” he said. “That you’re focused on work, but you’re trying not to be married to it. That you’re smart, and stubborn, and that if I make any weird jokes about you being my sugar mommy, I’ll die in a mysterious accident.”

Evalyne’s lips twitched, despite herself. “She is dramatic.”

“So it’s not true?” he asked, mock wary. “About the accident?”

“She doesn’t need to warn you,” Evalyne said. “I’m perfectly capable of handling weird jokes personally.”

He grinned. “I see that,.”

This should be the part where she asked about him. Hobbies, dreams, whatever people asked when they were trying to merge their lives.

“So,” she said, reaching for the first question that came to mind, “what is your five-year plan?”

He blinked. “My… what?”

Right. That was a quarterly review question.

She cleared her throat. “I mean. Do you… like what you do? Logistics.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not glamorous, but it scratches the part of my brain that likes puzzles. Making things move where they’re supposed to. Translating chaos into structure.”

She relaxed a fraction. That, at least, made sense.

“I understand that,” she said. “I do a lot of translating chaos.”

He tilted his head. “So you like your work.”

“Yes,” she said, too quickly. “It’s… I’m good at it.”

“Do you like anything else?” he asked.

She stared at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, hands spreading slightly, “when you’re not running your empire. What do you do for fun?”

Fun.

Her mind produced a slideshow: reading industry reports in bed. Sketching design tweaks on red-eye flights. Watching Theresa sleep because it was the only time the girl’s face relaxed around her.

“I don’t believe in ‘fun’ as a separate category,” she said. “Life is not… compartmentalized. Everything you do should be fulfilling on multiple levels.”

His brows shot up. “Okay. That’s… one way to live.”

Heat crept up her neck. That had sounded like something from a TED Talk, not a date.

She tried again.

“I read,” she said stiffly.

“Oh yeah? What?” he asked.

“Reports,” she said.

“Fun reports?” he asked, smiling.

She pressed her nails into her palm, wishing she could rewind thirty seconds.

“Books,” she amended. “Sometimes.”

“What kind?” he asked gently.

She thought of the dog-eared mystery novel hiding in her nightstand, the one she pretended was for a friend’s kid.

“Crime fiction,” she admitted. “Stories where someone does something wrong and there’s a… clean resolution.”

“Ah,” he said. “Justice porn.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s what my friend calls it,” he said. “We watch too many procedurals. There’s something weirdly soothing about the idea that all loose ends get tied up in forty-five minutes.”

“Yes,” she said, relaxing a fraction. “I like that.”

He smiled. “See? That’s fun.”

She took another sip of whiskey, feeling slightly less like she was being interviewed for a merger.

“So, do you… live alone?” he asked.

She hesitated.

There was no point hiding Theresa. If this was going anywhere, he would need to know sooner rather than later. She couldn’t exactly stash her daughter in a spare room and call her an intern.

“No,” Evalyne said. “I live with my daughter.”

His smile faltered.

“You have a kid,” he said.

“Yes,” she answered. “Theresa. She’s five.”

“Wow,” he said. “Okay. That’s… cool.”

He said it like someone who had never used the word “cool” in proximity to children before.

“It is not a disease,” Evalyne said sharply.

He blinked, hands lifting. “No, no, of course not. I just… didn’t know. Mina didn’t mention it.”

“Did she need to?” Evalyne asked. The defensive edge in her voice startled even her.

He cleared his throat. “Well, when you’re setting someone up, it’s usually… relevant. Some guys don’t want that kind of… responsibility.”

“So you’re one of those guys,” she said.

“I didn’t say that,” he replied. “I just meant… it’s a lot. To walk into. And I’m still figuring out if I can keep a plant alive for more than two weeks.”

She stared at him.

He squirmed. “Look, you’re… clearly… intense. In a good way. And I respect the hell out of what you’ve built. But a kid is… a big thing to surprise someone with on date one.”

“Do you want me to apologize?” Evalyne asked coolly. “For having a child?”

He winced. “No. God, no. I’m messing this up. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t think I’m the guy you’re looking for.”

Her chest went cold.

“We barely started talking,” she said. “You’ve already decided.”

He sighed. “I came here hoping for something… easy. Drinks, flirty banter, maybe dinner. You came here looking for someone who can be dropped into a ready-made life with schools and schedules and… Vivian’s brunches.”

She flinched at the sound of Vivian’s name, absurdly.

“Am I wrong?” he asked gently.

No. He wasn’t.

She looked down at her glass. “You’re not wrong.”

“I like you,” he said. “You’re interesting as hell. But I don’t want to pretend I can give you something I know I’m not ready for. That’s how people get hurt.”

Harris had not had that clarity. Or he’d ignored it.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Evalyne said, because that was what you said in meetings when someone told you something inconvenient but true.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She smiled, a small, tired curve of her lips. “I appreciate that.”

They finished their drinks, the conversation sliding into safer, more impersonal topics. When they parted outside, he offered his hand.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “you’ll find someone. You’re… too much of a force not to.”

She shook his hand. “For what it’s worth, I hope you find a plant that survives.”

He laughed, surprised. “I’ll text Mina an update.”

She watched him walk away, then got into her car, feeling like she’d just sat through a job interview for a position no one wanted.

The second date went worse.

Mina, mortified but determined, tried again three nights later. This time, she found someone who had specifically said he liked kids. A thirty-eight-year-old divorced accountant named David who volunteered at a community center and wore sensible shoes.

They met at an Italian restaurant on the Upper West Side. He was already seated when she arrived, menu propped in front of him.

“Eve?” he asked, rising. His eyes widened when he recognized her. “Whoa. I mean. Wow. Hi.”

“It's Evalyne. Hello,” she said, shaking his hand.

He talked. A lot. About his job, which he loved in a way Evalyne had not known numbers could inspire outside of profit. About the kids at the community center, whom he taught basic budgeting to. About his ex-wife, with whom he was “on good terms now, thank God.”

“I’m just glad we figured out how to put Jaden first,” he said, spearing a meatball. “He’s ten. Great kid. Smart. Sensitive. You know how it is.”

Evalyne nodded, pushing penne around her plate. “Children… do complicate things.”

“But they’re worth it,” he said. “I always wanted to be a dad. I can’t imagine not having him. When Mina said you had a daughter, I thought, finally, someone who gets it. You know?”

“Yes,” Evalyne said. “I get it.”

He smiled, then leaned forward, earnestness radiating off him. “So tell me about her. Theresa, right?”

Evalyne’s brain blanked.

How to sum up a girl who spoke in quiet bursts and watched everything? Who drew houses with one adult figure and one small one, and when the therapist asked about it, said, “That’s enough”?

“She’s… five,” Evalyne said brilliantly.

He chuckled. “Right. And?”

“And… she goes to school,” Evalyne added. “She likes… books.”

“What kind?” he asked.

“Children’s books,” Evalyne said.

He gave her a look that said, obviously.

“Favorite?” he prompted gently.

Evalyne took a sip of water. “I don’t… know.”

He blinked. “You don’t know your kid’s favorite book?”

Shame crawled up her throat.

“She reads a lot,” Evalyne said sharply. “We have an entire wall of bookshelves in her room. I don’t… catalogue them.”

He leaned back, studying her. “You’re busy enough.”

“I run a company,” she said.

“And you’re taking time to date,” he countered. “Which is good. But…”

“But?” she asked.

He shrugged, cutting his chicken. “If I’m being honest… it’s a little bit of a red flag. A parent who doesn’t know what their kid likes. Favorite book, favorite food, favorite color… those are the basics.”

Her spine went rigid.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said.

“I know enough to be cautious,” he replied. “You’re probably a great provider. But being present isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

Her knife scraped against the plate.

“Excuse me?” she said.

He sighed. “Look, Eva. You seem… intense. Impressive. I’m sure you’re an amazing CEO. But I’m not looking to be someone’s accessory. Or a warm body slotted into a life that already has no room for the people in it.”

The words landed with a sickening familiarity.

You chose them over us.

Harris’s voice, faint as smoke.

“I didn’t say I needed you to be an accessory,” she said coldly. “I don’t need anyone. That is not what this is.”

“That’s what it feels like,” he said. “Like you have a checklist: must be good with kids, must be good on paper, must be willing to endure your schedule. I get it. You don’t have time to mess around. But I’m not applying for a position in your life. I’m looking for an actual connection.”

Her cheeks burned.

“This was clearly a mistake,” she said.

He nodded, not unkind. “Yeah. I think so.”

Outside, she told the driver to circle for twenty minutes before heading home. She needed time for the furious, humiliated tears to dry before she walked past the staff.

The third attempt lasted forty minutes.

This one was a lawyer a friend of Mina’s fiancé had recommended. “Smart, funny, likes powerful women,” the fiancé had insisted over speakerphone. “You two would get along.”

He spent the first half-hour explaining crypto to her, unprompted.

Ten minutes later, when she’d tried, politely, to steer the conversation away by mentioning she had a daughter, he’d smiled and said, “That’s hot.”

“Hot,” she repeated flatly.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back. “MILF energy.”

She stood up, placed her napkin neatly on the table, and left without saying another word.

Mina didn’t even ask how it went. She just texted, I’m sorry, followed by a row of skull emojis.

Evalyne stood in the hallway, hand hovering uselessly in the air.

She could handle snide comments from women at parties. She could sit across from men who evaluated her like a resume. She could retort, deflect, withdraw.

She did not know what to do when it was her own child quietly calling her out by existing.

That night, she lay awake until two, phone on her chest, watching as another message from Vivian blinked onto the screen.

Found the perfect florist for your wedding. Sending you her portfolio!

She turned the phone face down and pretended, for fifteen minutes, that none of this was happening.