She opened her Ryde app on her phone, clocked in, and placed the device in her dock. Then she sat back and waited.
A contract driver didn’t seem like a natural job transition for a director at a nonprofit, probably because it wasn’t. She’d left her job at the foundation in a spurt of independence and a desire to spread her wings, but then she’d run into a big problem.
Her name. Anyone and everyone was ready to employ her. No matter how competent or incompetent she might be.
It was a princess problem, but it was a problem. She’d spent two months after she’d quit adrift, half-tempted to take her big brother’s well-meaning job offers even though she’d rather stab herself in the eye with a banana than work for the family’s corporation.
Then, over the holidays, when she was feeling especially lost and depressed by the lack of direction in her life, her roommate had urged her to at least get out.
“Go volunteer somewhere,” Madison had said.
Eve had picked at her pajamas. It was noon, and putting on pants was far too much work. “People will recognize me.” She was a Chandler. The youngest, the girl, the baby. The afterthought. The useless one.
Despair had pressed down hard, but she’d kept her face expressionless, because that was what she did, even around her best friend.
Above all, she wanted to hide from her name. The name she didn’t really feel like she deserved to have.
Madison had tapped her foot. “So don’t be you.”
She’d huffed. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know. But hell, Eve. You gotta get out of the house. You’re moping. Become a waitress. Or a Ryde driver, even. A position where no one looks too closely at you.”
The idea had seemed absurd at first, but that night she’d opened her laptop and researched how difficult it was to be a driver for the most popular ride-sharing service. Frighteningly easy, she was startled to find.
And even more startling... she liked it. It had been exhilarating to drive people around, chat with them without the baggage of them knowing who she was. Sometimes she simply sat silent and listened to their conversation, on the phone or with each other. Couples feuding, or people on their way to a hookup. Mothers exasperated with their sons. Senior citizens eager to talk with anyone.
Her mother had liked to call her a sneak, and that was exactly what she was. She liked to fade into the woodwork and listen to people. Gather information, whether she ever used it or not.
At some point, what had started as a way to get out of the house and keep herself busy had transformed into something else. She’d started talking to the customers some more, memorizing their grievances. She’d scoured over her payments from Ryde, calculating taxes and expenses. Night after night, she’d come home and researched and read, trying to figure out where she would change things.
Obviously, she had no ability to change Ryde. But she could absolutely use it all as market research. If she set up a competitor service.
She’d grown up surrounded by entrepreneurs and businesspeople, and she’d assumed her disinterest in the family business and nonprofit meant she was an oddball. But in hiding from her name, she’d discovered she was more Chandler than not.
Eve made sure her doors were locked and rubbed her hands together, staring at the app as if she could will it to ping. She’d stopped taking fares as she drew up her business plans, but Gabe was the exception. Gabe wasalwaysthe exception.
A couple of months ago, on a cold and blustery February night, she’d been driving around this area when her app had sounded. She’d taken a look at his name and photo and almost declined the fare.
When she’d been a kid, Gabe had seemed like a larger-than-life god. She’d felt the first stirrings of a crush for him as puberty hit, but then the tragedy had happened, and he’d essentially left her, like everyone else. She’d seen him a few times over the years, though, and one drunken night at a bar she’d even worked up her courage to approach him. He’d rejected her, which hurt, of course.
She’d surprised herself by accepting the fare. He’d come stumbling out of this very bar and gotten into her back seat. She’d pulled her hat down lower to hide her face, but he hadn’t recognized her.
Most tipsy guys she picked up that late were content to either play on their phone or doze. He’d folded his long body into her back seat and said in his low, deep voice, “Evening, Anne.”
It wasn’t her name, but it didn’t matter. She’d fallen quickly under his spell. They’d talked about something so mundane she couldn’t even recall it—she’d been too focused on regulating her heartbeat and trying her best to disguise her voice—but the topic wasn’t important.
The way he’d made her feel. Special. Aroused. Attracted to someone for the first time in a long time. That had been important.
She hadn’t known at the time he’d be in a wedding party with her, or maybe she might have rethought this double-life nonsense.
Liar. You wouldn’t have turned down more time in his presence, no matter what name he called you.
So here she was. Waiting for a man who knew her as Eve, the organized glorified trust fund princess party planner by day, and Anne, his trusty Ryde driver by night.
And he had no idea both women had a crush on him. Fuck her life.
Her app pinged and she jumped, almost dropping the phone when she grabbed at it. She wasn’t a religious person, but she said a little prayer as she accessed the ride request. It could easily be someone else. He might not be out tonight. He could have gone to a different bar, and not this dive he seemed to prefer.
