Everybody Loves Evie by Beth Ciotta Page B

was standing across the way, talking on her cell phone. He wondered if she was talking to Arch—or, rather, to his voice mail. The Scot had mentioned dodging her calls, hoping to cool any lingering heat. Although that had been before the whiskey/Midol incident.
    After driving Evie home and seeing her settled, he’d called Arch to disabuse him of the notion that he’d made a pass. Allowing him to believe otherwise, using Evie to somehow manipulate him, didn’t sit right. Granted, he’d considered it, but he couldn’t do it. To Arch, yes. To Evie, no. “You know me better than that,” he’d said.
    â€œ Dinnae mistake my concern for anything beyond friendship,” had been Arch’s reply.
    They’d left it at that, and Milo decided, whether the Scot was in love or not, he was sticking to his personal code, distancing himself so, if the need arose, he could walk away from Evie without a second thought. It made Milo feel less uncomfortable about his own interest in the woman.
    His mouth curved when she turned around and he got another look at her Mighty Mouse T-shirt. It didn’t matter that she was over forty; like Goldie Hawn, she was perpetually cute. He wondered if she’d appreciate the observation. Probably not, given her dislike of her moniker. Twinkie. Not degrading, he thought, fitting.
    She closed her eyes and massaged her jaw and he felt a stab of guilt. She was worried and tired, and here he stood admiring the curves even her cargo pants couldn’t disguise. He wheeled over her beet-red suitcase along with his beat-up Samsonite just as she disconnected.
    â€œI booked us a room at the Airport Ramada.”
    So she hadn’t been talking to Arch. This day was looking up. “Why? Your parents live ninety minutes north.”
    â€œExcept we don’t have a car.”
    â€œWe’ll try another agency.”
    â€œEven if we snag wheels,” she rasped, “by the time we fill out the paperwork, load the luggage and get on the road, we won’t hit Greenville until one in the morning.” Between exhaustion and her lingering cold, she barely had a voice. “I’m fried, Beckett. I need a clear head to focus on our ruse. I need energy to deal with whatever’s happening at home.”
    He could use some downtime himself. He’d volunteered for this unofficial mission on a whim. She’d walked in, Miss Damsel in Distress, and he’d jumped on his white charger.
    I’ll save you.
    My hero.
    But it was more than an opportunity to bring his fantasy to life that had prompted him to offer himself up as her boyfriend. He knew she’d been nervous about compromising her job with Chameleon by taking a leave of absence before she’d even started. That she’d set aside her own ambitions to race to her family’s rescue stirred him. Yes, he was physically attracted to Evie, but he also felt genuine affection.
    Mixing business with pleasure suddenly seemed like a kick-ass idea. This trip to Small Town, USA, provided him with a chance to get to know Evie away from Arch, away from Chameleon. Some quiet time to reevaluate his life. Even though he’d assured the team he’d look into Crowe’s unofficial directive, that didn’t mean he’d take on the job. He hadn’t signed up with the Agency to bail rich politicians out of financial jams. He’d signed up to burn low-life grifters who scammed naive marks out of their life savings. Specifically the scum artists, as Arch called them, who targeted the needy, preyed on the vulnerable and naive. Everyday Joes like Mrs. Parish. Not that he was convinced the woman was being scammed.
    Twinkie, on the other hand, was certain her mom had fallen victim to everything from a Sweetheart swindle to a Nigerian scam. While he’d tried to unsnarl the travel knot in Cleveland, she’d had her nose stuck in a research book she’d purchased online. The more she read,